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Privatizing Global Health
There's an interesting new article in Globalization and Health about the privatization of global health policy that's well worth highlighting. The story here starts in the late 1980s, when UN agencies began collaborating with private financial institutions on health funding and policy-setting, in part because these agencies were getting less and less aid from developed countries, and in part due to a fear that the UN needed to work more closely with the private sector lest it become irrelevant. At any rate, global health spending now comes increasingly from private organizations like the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, whereas multilateral agencies themselves contribute only about one third of all global health funding.
Now the article notes that this turn for privatization has also come with a shift in actual health policy—including a sharp focus on communicable and infectious diseases, AIDS and malaria especially, along with malnutrition, maternal health, and child mortality. Similar priorities are set by the UN's Millenium Project, directed by Jeffrey Sachs. This is all genuinely important—and these organizations are doing a lot of good—but one should also note that infectious diseases aren't the main health priority in any region other than sub-Saharan Africa, and altogether represent "less than a third of global ill-health."
Nevertheless, it seems that private organizations have kept the focus on infectious diseases partly because many of these battles are high-profile—especially the battle over AIDS—and partly because it's easier to show results here than it is with, say, non-communicable diseases, or the mundane-but-important task of developing health infrastructure. As well, global health policy is increasingly aligning itself with trade and industrial interests, which often tends to weaken the efforts of health agencies to combat non-communicable diseases by regulating, say, tobacco and alcohol use. At any rate, it's not an easy topic to sort out, and it's not like no one has ever thought about market failures before, but it's still reason to question the increasing role of private firms in setting global policy. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 2,968 |
The Yukon International Storytelling Festival was held every Summer in Whitehorse, Yukon, generally in an outdoor setting. Cofounders of the storytelling festival were storytellers Louise Profeit-Leblanc and Anne Taylor. Profeit-Leblanc, from the Northern Tutchone Nation, was the niece of Angela Sidney (1902 – 1991), one the Yukon's last Tagish. Sidney had devoted her life to preserving the stories of the Tagish of Southern Yukon, Profeit-Leblanc and Taylor were motivated to found a more local venue for sharing Yukon stories when they realized that Sidney had had to travel in 1984 to the Toronto Festival of Storytelling to disseminate her peoples' stories to a world audience. In 1987 interested parties came together to plan the first Yukon Storytelling Festival in 1988. It later grew beyond the scope of Yukon and Canada to attract storytellers from all over the world with an emphasis on native peoples storytelling and circumpolar countries.
History
In 1984 Angela Sidney shared her stories at the Toronto Festival of Storytelling. Fellow storytellers were inspired by her to develop the Yukon International Storytelling Festival which was created in 1988.
First decade. The first edition in 1988 proposed storytellers from 4 continents and 23 languages (including 16 native languages). In 1989 the festivals take flight and promotes attendance by schoolchildren and Jerry Alfred was one of the artists. In 1990 the festival grows. In 1991 the festival gains notoriety from a national festival reviewer and changes its name to "Yukon International Storytelling Festival". The Tagish lady who inspired the creation of the festival, Angela Sidney, died. 1992's edition experienced diplomatic problems with its scheduled Russian guests. 1993 saw record attendance and box office sales. 1994 the festival experienced severe financial losses due to a windstorm that nearly destroyed the festival tents and caused the festival to relocate. In 1995 the festival was scaled down in order to recoup past financial losses, and produced a surplus for the first time. In 1996 the festival grew once more and saw its second best attendance. The 10th anniversary edition in 1997 experienced its best attendance yet and interest from the Canada Council finally started happening.
Second decade. The 1998 edition felt a loss of attendance because of competing local events. In 1999 it proposed a new successful "Winter tour" and finally garnered support from the Canada Council. The 2000 edition was held in June and had great weather . 2001, rain did not impede the festivals popularity. In 2002 the festival gained much political support and moved into new offices with a new dynamic leader. The 2003 edition saw a successful Circumpolar Banquet and other workshops and events throughout the day. The many forest fires of 2004 created a unique atmosphere for the festival, the highlight storytellers were Red Sky Performance Troupe from Ontario. The largest festival in 2005 had 12 tents with many different activities. Highlighted artists were Uzume Taiko Japanese drumming ensemble, Aché Brasil performing the Brazilian martial art of capoeira and Robert Bly. 2006, with MacPap International Brigades veteran Jules Paivio as highlight remembering the Spanish Civil War, was a similarly large and well attended endeavour. Partnership with "Harvest Fair" and the Mongolian yurts provided cozy, warm and intimate storytelling venues. The 20th anniversary was held indoors for the first time at the Yukon Arts Center in August. Highlighted artists were SunsDrum, an interactive Inuit presentation of traditional drumming and throat singing, Jeanne Doucet Currie, an Acadian traditional storyteller and singer/songwriter, Dan Yashinsky (founder of the Toronto Festival of Storytelling) and Ida Calmagne (Tagish, Yukon), daughter of the founder of the festival.
The festival is currently on an indefinite sabbatical.
Regular local guest storytellers
Jerry Alfred - Michele Emslie - Anne-Louise Genest - Backwoods Benny
See also
World storytelling day
Footnotes
References
External links and references
International Storytelling Center
International listing of links to storytelling festivals
Literary festivals in Canada
Storytelling festivals
Culture of Whitehorse
Indigenous festivals in Canada
Arts festivals in Yukon | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 7,864 |
\section{Introduction}
In polars, a subclass of cataclysmic variables (CVs), a magnetic white
dwarf accretes matter from its Roche-lobe filling low-mass
main-sequence companion. The strong magnetic field channels the flow
onto a small accretion spot on the surface of the white dwarf, where
the energy not expanded in the accretion stream is released in form of
hard X-rays, soft X-rays, and cyclotron radiation. About 100 of these
systems are known, most of them discovered as bright soft X-ray and
EUV sources. The spectral characteristics of the spot emission depend
sensitively on the magnetic field strength $B$ in the accretion spot
and on the density of the accreted matter (e.g.,
\citep[e.g.][]{kuijperspringle,fischerbeuermann}. The distribution of
observed field strengths in polars ranges from 10\,MG to about 200 MG,
with only three stars known to possess a field strength exceeding
100\,MG \citep{schwope09}. For comparison, single magnetic white
dwarfs are known to possess field strengths up to 1000\,MG and display
a higher incidence of very high field strengths. It is not known why
such systems are lacking among the polars. Either post-common envelope
binaries contain fewer white dwarfs with very high field strengths, or
we fail to detect these systems once they reach the CV-stage. RX~J1007.5--2017\
(henceforth RXJ1007) is one of the few high-field polars. We present here
a comprehensive analysis of its properties.
\begin {table}[b]
\caption[]{Summary of observations: X = X-ray, S
= spectrophotometry, C = circular spectropolarimetry, P =
photometry, WL = white light.}
\label{tab:observations}
\begin {flushleft}
\begin {tabular}{r@{\hspace{1mm}}l@{\hspace{0mm}}l@{\hspace{3mm}}l@{\hspace{2mm}}l@{\hspace{2mm}}l@{\hspace{2.5mm}}l}
\hline
\noalign{\smallskip}
\multicolumn{3}{l}{\hspace{9.0mm}Date} & Telescope/Instrument & & Range & Resol.\\
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\noalign{\smallskip}
24--26 & Nov & ~1990 & ROSAT\,/\,PSPC & X & 0.11--2.0\,keV & \\
9--13 & Jan & ~1992 & ESO 2.2m\,/\,EFOSC2 & S & 3500--9000\AA & 40\,\AA\\
& & & & S & 3500--5400\AA & 10\,\AA\\
17 & Nov & ~1992 & ROSAT\,/\,PSPC & X & 0.11--2.0\,keV & \\
15 & Nov & ~1995 & ESO 2.2m\,/\,EFOSC2 & S & 3800--9100\AA & 30\,\AA\\
6 & Mar & ~1997 & ESO 2.2m\,/\,EFOSC2 & S & 3500--10200\AA & 50\,\AA\\
14 & Dec &~1999 & 2MASS & P & J, H, K$_\mathrm{s}$ & \\
2--3 & Feb & ~2000 & ESO 3.6m\,/\,EFOSC2 & C & 3378--7516\AA & 15\,\AA\\
7 & Dec & ~2001 & XMM\,/\,EPIC pn & X & 0.22--8.5\,keV & \\
19--20 & Jan & ~2010 & MONET/N & P & I$_\mathrm{Bessell}$, Sloan g & \\
Jan~-- & Mar & ~2011 & MONET/N & P & I$_\mathrm{Bessell}$, WL & \\
2 & Jan & ~2012 & MONET/N & P & I$_\mathrm{Bessell}$ & \\
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\end {tabular}
\end {flushleft}
\end {table}
RXJ1007\ was discovered in 1990 as a bright, very soft X-ray source in
the ROSAT All Sky Survey and was subsequently identified with a
19-mag magnetic cataclysmic variable of the polar subclass
\citep{bt93,tb98,reinschetal99}.
In this paper, we summarize our observations of RXJ1007\ carried out over
more than two decades, from its discovery in 1990 to 2012. The
analysis of the early data suffered from the lack of a sufficiently
accurate ephemeris, preventing a proper phasing of the data taken over
the years in different wavelength regimes. This problem has now been
overcome and the entire set of so-far unpublished data is presented
here. Our analysis is based on optical observations, comprising
time-resolved spectrophotometry, spectropolarimetry, and
photometry. It includes an analysis of the ROSAT X-ray data and a
re-analysis of the XMM-Newton X-ray data previously discussed by
\citet{ramsaycropper03}.
\section{Observations and data analysis}
Table~\ref{tab:observations} contains a log of our own and previously
published observations. RXJ1007\ displayed substantial long-term
variability both at X-ray and optical wavelengths. It was encountered
in low states of accretion in 1997 and 2011/2012, in intermediate
states in 1992, 2001, and 2010, and in a high state in 2000. The
optical position of RXJ1007\ is $\alpha_{2000}=10^{\rm h} 07^{\rm m}
34\fs 6$, $\delta_{2000}=-20^\circ 17' 32\arcsec$.
\subsection{X-ray observations}
RXJ1007\ was observed from 24--26 November 1990 in the ROSAT
All-Sky-Survey (RASS) with the Position Sensitive Proportional Counter (PSPC)
as detector for a total of 510\,s (25 sightings). The highly variable
source 1RXS J100734.4-201731 had a mean count rate of
1.0\,$\rm {cts\,s}^{-1}$\ and a very soft spectrum.
It was subsequently observed with the ROSAT PSPC on 17 November 1992
with a total exposure time of 10\,ks and again found to be very soft
with a lower mean count rate of 0.37\,$\rm {cts\,s}^{-1}$. \citet{ramsaycropper03}
observed the source on 7 December 2001 with XMM-Newton with the
European Photon Imaging Camera (EPIC pn) for 5.5\,ks. This observation
showed the source in a brighter state again and confirmed the very
soft X-ray spectrum.
\begin{figure}[t]
\includegraphics[height=8.9cm,bb=52 61 543 700,angle=270,clip=]{19878f1.ps}
\caption{Mean spectra of RXJ1007\ in February 2000 (top), January 1992
(center), and March 1997 (bottom). }
\label{meanspectra}
\end{figure}
\begin {table}[b]
\caption[]{New photometric minima with $O\!-\!C$\ residuals from Eq.~1. }
\label{tab:monet}
\begin {flushleft}
\begin {tabular}{@{\hspace{3mm}}r@{\hspace{4.2mm}}c@{\hspace{4.2mm}}c@{\hspace{4.2mm}}r@{\hspace{4.2mm}}rl}
\hline
\noalign{\smallskip}
E\hspace{3.5mm} & BJD(TDB) & Error & O--C\hspace{1mm} & Orbital & Band \\
& 24000000+ & (day) & (day)\hspace{0.7mm} & Phase\hspace{0.6mm} & \\
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\noalign{\smallskip}
--45458.0 & 48630.7399 & 0.0020 & 0.0015 & 0.010 & \hspace{-1.0mm}7500\AA \\
--32460.0 & 50513.6773 & 0.0020 &$-$0.0023 & $-$0.016 & \hspace{-1.0mm}7500\AA \\
0.0 & 55215.9649 & 0.0020 & 0.0023 & 0.016 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
--0.5 & 55215.8915 & 0.0020 & 0.0014 & 0.501 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
6.0 & 55216.8337 & 0.0030 & 0.0020 & 0.014 & Sloan g \\
2408.5 & 55564.8625 & 0.0030 &$-$0.0048 & 0.467 & WL \\
2409.0 & 55564.9378 & 0.0030 &$-$0.0019 & $-$0.013 & WL \\
2415.5 & 55565.8790 & 0.0020 &$-$0.0024 & 0.483 & WL \\
2457.0 & 55571.8921 & 0.0020 &$-$0.0011 & $-$0.008 & WL \\
2457.5 & 55571.9622 & 0.0020 &$-$0.0034 & 0.477 & WL \\
2484.5 & 55575.8754 & 0.0020 &$-$0.0016 & 0.489 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2485.0 & 55575.9514 & 0.0020 & 0.0020 & 0.014 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2485.5 & 55576.0200 & 0.0030 &$-$0.0019 & 0.487 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2587.5 & 55590.7981 & 0.0020 & 0.0002 & 0.501 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2588.0 & 55590.8689 & 0.0040 &$-$0.0015 & $-$0.011 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2588.5 & 55590.9487 & 0.0060 & 0.0059 & 0.541 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2594.5 & 55591.8151 & 0.0020 & 0.0031 & 0.522 & WL \\
2595.0 & 55591.8857 & 0.0020 & 0.0013 & 0.009 & WL \\
2642.5 & 55598.7691 & 0.0030 & 0.0036 & 0.525 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2643.0 & 55598.8402 & 0.0020 & 0.0023 & 0.016 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2643.5 & 55598.9086 & 0.0030 &$-$0.0017 & 0.488 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2835.5 & 55626.7192 & 0.0050 &$-$0.0050 & 0.466 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2836.0 & 55626.7961 & 0.0030 &$-$0.0006 & $-$0.004 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
2843.0 & 55627.8101 & 0.0030 &$-$0.0006 & $-$0.004 & WL \\
4921.5 & 55928.9102 & 0.0020 &$-$0.0001 & 0.499 & $I_\mathrm{Bessell}$ \\
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\end {tabular}
\end {flushleft}
\end {table}
\subsection{Optical spectrophotometry and spectropolarimetry}
Phase-resolved spectrophotometry was performed in January 1992, using
the ESO/MPI 2.2-m telescope with EFOSC2 and either grism G1 (FWHM
resolution 50\,\AA) or grism G3 (FWHM resolution 10\,\AA). Further
low-resolution spectrophotometry was performed on 6~March 1997. On
3~February 2000, when the source was at the brightest level
encountered so far, we performed circular spectropolarimetry, using
the ESO 3.6-m telescope with EFOSC2 and a customer-supplied
quarter-wave plate. All spectrophotometry was placed on an absolute
flux scale using standard stars. Fig.~\ref{meanspectra} shows the mean
spectra of RXJ1007\ in the 1992, 1997, and 2000 observations, which
demonstrate its variability. In the 1997 low state, the red part of
the spectrum is dominated by the TiO bands of the secondary star and
the visual magnitude varies over the orbit between
$V\!=\!19.4-20.0$. The weak Balmer and the intense cyclotron emission
lines indicate that low-level accretion is still taking place. The
1992 intermediate and 2000 high states are characterized by
significantly increased levels of Balmer line emission and the
associated continuum, but only by a moderate increase in cyclotron
emission, as discussed in Sect.~\ref{sec:cyc}. In the 2000 high state,
the source varied over the orbit between $V\!=\!16$ and 17.
The profiles of the Balmer and helium emission lines in the
medium-resolution spectra of 1992 and 2000 display phase-dependent
asymmetries, but the narrow and broad line components, typical of
polars, cannot reliably be separated. For simplicity, we measured
radial velocities by fitting single Gaussians to the strong Balmer and
HeII$\lambda$4686 emission lines. Given the lack of better-resolved
low-state spectra, we measured radial velocities and line fluxes also
from the weak H$\alpha$ emission lines as well as radial velocities
from the unresolved near-infrared NaI$\lambda 8190$ absorption-line
doublet in the 1997 spectra. In retrospect, the phasing of the
velocities suggests that the bulk of the intermediate and high-state
emission originates from the magnetically confined part of the
accretion stream and the low-state Balmer emission from the heated
face of the secondary star.
\begin{figure}[t]
\includegraphics[width=86.5mm,viewport=54 112 482 760,clip=]{19878f2a.ps}
\vspace*{-2.8mm}
\includegraphics[height=88.7mm,bb= 76 65 558 714,angle=270,clip=]{19878f2b.ps}
\caption{Orbital variations of RXJ1007\ from top: (1) 1990 X-ray light
curve from the ROSAT All Sky Survey; (2) 1992 ROSAT pointed
observation; (3) 1992 quasi $U$-band flux; (4) 1997 quasi $U$-band
flux; (5) 2000 visual flux; (6) 2000 Balmer/HeII emission-line radial
velocity. The optical fluxes are in units of $10^{-16}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$\AA$^{-1}$.}
\label{lc1}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[t]
\includegraphics[height=88.7mm,bb= 91 67 502 684,angle=270,clip=]{19878f3a.ps}
\vspace*{-0.8mm}
\includegraphics[width=89.5mm,viewport=51 60 493 746,clip=]{19878f3b.ps}
\caption{Orbital variations continued: (1) 1997 H$\alpha$\ emission-line
flux; (2) 1997 NaI$\lambda8190$ absorption-line
radial velocity ; (3) 1997 H$\alpha$\ emission-line radial velocity
(open circles, dashed curve) and 1992 Balmer/HeII emission-line
radial velocity (filled circles, solid curve); (4) 1992
$f_\mathrm{7500\AA}$ flux; (5) 1997$f_\mathrm{7500\AA}$ flux; (6)
2010 $I$-band flux; (7) 2011 $I$-band flux.}
\label{lc2}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Optical and IR photometry}
We performed time-resolved relative optical photometry in 2010--2012,
using the MONET/North telescope at McDonald Observatory via the MONET
browser-based remote-observing interface. The data were taken with an
Apogee ALTA E47+ 1k$\times$1k CCD camera mostly in Bessel $I$ (central
wavelength 8000\,\AA) and white light (clear filter) with exposure
times of 60\,s. Photometry was performed relative to the comparison
star USNOA 0675\,10804546 (2000:
RA=$10^{\mathrm{h}}07^{\mathrm{m}}32.87^{\mathrm{s}}$,
DEC=$-20^\circ15`36.3"$), which has a DENIS $I$-band magnitude of
13.14$\pm$0.03 \citep{fouqueetal00}. Combined with standard-star
measurements in the 1992 and 1997 campaigns, we derived a common
$I$-band calibration for the spectrophotometry and photometry.
All our $I$-band data display a clear double-wave orbital modulation.
RXJ1007\ was found at $I\!=\!17.5\!-\!18.1$ in January 1992,
$I\!=\!17.75\!-\!18.08$ in March 1997, $I\!=\!17.28\!-\!17.74$ in
January 2010, and $I\!=\!17.71\!-\!18.08$ in January--March 2011 as
well as January 2012.
The source has an entry in the 2-micron All Sky Survey (2MASS)
catalog, which gives $J\!=\!16.30\!\pm\!0.10, H\!=\!15.63\!\pm\!0.12$,
and $K_\mathrm{s}\!=\!15.22\!\pm\!0.13$.
\section{Results}
In this section, we describe first the effort to derive an accurate
orbital ephemeris, which allows us to correctly phase the
observations collected over more than 20 years, and then continue to
discuss the physical properties of the system.
\subsection{Orbital period}
\label{period}
Early in the project, we obtained approximate values of the orbital
period $P$ of RXJ1007\ by folding the X-ray fluxes (Fig.~\ref{lc1},
panels 1 and 2 from top), the optical spectrophotometric fluxes, and
the Balmer and HeII emission-line radial velocities (Fig.~\ref{lc1},
panels 3--6, and Fig.~\ref{lc2} panel 3 from top, solid circles). The
individual observations yielded $P\!=\!208.1\!\pm\!0.7$\,min
(RASS), $P\!=\!205\!\pm\!3$\,{\bf min} (ROSAT pointed), and
$P\!=\!208.2\!\pm\!0.3$\,min (1992 radial velocities),
suggesting $P\!\simeq\!0.145$\,d. All attempts to derive a long-term
ephemeris from these data suffered from alias problems.
An alternative approach is suggested by the quasi-$I$ band fluxes in
Fig.~\ref{lc2} (panels 4 and 5 from top), which show what may be
the ellipsoidal modulation of the secondary star in the 1992
intermediate and the 1997 low-state data. The two light curves
refer to the 7450--7550\,\AA\ band, which measures the flux of the
secondary star with some contribution from the white dwarf and the
accretion stream. These early data were supplemented by the $I$-band
light curves taken in the 2010 intermediate and the 2011--2012
extended low states (Fig.~\ref{lc2}, bottom two panels). For the dM3--
secondary star in RXJ1007\ (Sect.~\ref{sec:sec}), the spectral flux at
7500\,\AA\ and the mean Bessell $I$-band flux agree within a few
percent (Beuermann 2006), allowing an easy comparison. The four light
curves shown have a common ordinate scale normalized to the peak flux
in 2010, which corresponds to $I\!=\!17.3$. Standard theory of the
ellipsoidal modulation for Roche-lobe filling stars predicts two
minima, of which the deeper one, according to von Zeipel's (1924) law,
occurs at superior conjunction of the secondary star. This order may
be reversed if the low-gravity hemisphere of the secondary is
radiatively heated by the accreting white dwarf. The different fluxes
in the displayed light curves cannot be explained by heating alone,
however, and the presence of an accretion-induced component is
indicated for at least the 1992 and 2010 intermediate states.
In a first step toward an ephemeris, we corrected the observed
minimum times in 1992, 1997, and 2010 for this additional light
source. We performed Fourier fits to the light curves, using two
sinusoids with periods $P/2$ and $P$. The former approximates the
ellipsoidal light curve (assuming two equal minima) and the latter
represents the additional light source. The fit has five free
parameters, the period $P$, the two amplitudes, and two phase
shifts. Higher harmonics are not needed for the present purpose. The
resulting fits are shown as solid lines in Fig.~\ref{lc2} (bottom four
panels) and an example of the $P/2$ sinusoid is added as a dotted
curve in the third panel from the bottom. We used these fits for the
sole purpose of correcting the observed minimum times to those that
the $P/2$ component alone would have had. In the low state, this
correction practically vanishes. Table~\ref{tab:monet} lists the
minimum times with this small correction included.
In a second step, we performed a period search around P/2, using the
times of Table~\ref{tab:monet}. The best-fit period is
$P/2\!=\!0.072431961(18)$~d with \,$\chi^2\!=\!22.2$ for 23 degrees of
freedom (d.o.f.). The next-best alias corresponds to a difference of
one cycle on the $P/2$ scale over one year. It has an unacceptable
\,$\chi^2\!=\!58.0$ and can be excluded. Hence, our fit fixes the
orbital period $P$, but still leaves us with the choice of which of
the two minima corresponds to inferior conjunction of the
secondary. It is encouraging though that the deeper minima in 1992 and
2010 are separated by an even number of $P/2$ cycles and thus occur at
the same orbital phase. We adopt the deeper minimum in the
intermediate states as corresponding to inferior conjunction, a choice
that we justify in Sect.~\ref{sec:vrad}, and obtain the ephemeris
\begin{equation}
T_0 = {\rm BJD(TDB)}\ 24\,55215.96256(48) + 0.144\,863\,923\,(36)\,E,
\label{eq:ephem}
\end{equation}
where $T_0$ refers to the inferior conjunction of the secondary
star. All orbital phases quoted in this paper refer to Eq.~1.
\subsection{Orbital variations}
Figures~\ref{lc1} and \ref{lc2} display the X-ray fluxes, optical
fluxes, and radial velocities folded over the orbital period. We
determined the times of maximum flux or of maximum positive radial
velocity by fitting sinusoids to the data, which are shown in the as
dotted or solid curves in the appropriate panels. All time tags from
the optical telescopes and from the ROSAT satellite are given in UTC,
while XMM Newton has the leap seconds added and provides times in
Terrestrial Time (TT). We converted all times to Barycentric Dynamical
Time (TDB), which agrees with TT at the ms
level\footnote{http://www.cv.nrao.edu/$\sim$rfisher/Ephemerides/times.html},
and corrected them for the light travel time to the solar system
barycenter, i.e., we use Barycentric Julian Days in TDB or
BJD(TDB). The conversion from UTC was made with the interactive tool
\texttt{astroutils}\footnote{http://astroutils.astronomy.ohio-state.edu/time/}.
Note that we quote Julian days and not modified Julian days.
\subsubsection{X-ray flux}
The ROSAT X-ray light curves display an orbital maximum near phase
$\phi\!\simeq\!0.78$. A pronounced dip in the light curve of the
pointed ROSAT observation (Fig.~\ref{lc1}, second panel from top)
occurs just before maximum, which lasts from $\phi\!=\!0.73$ to 0.78
and is likely produced by the accretion stream crossing the line of
sight. Ramsay \& Cropper (2003) observed RXJ1007\ with the CCD cameras on
board of XMM-Newton for part of the orbital period at unknown
phase. With the ephemeris of Eq.~\ref{eq:ephem}, we now find that
their observation intervals covered orbital phases
$\phi\!=\!0.13-0.71$ (EPIC MOS) and $\phi\!=\!0.31-0.69$ (EPIC pn),
just missing the dip. The ROSAT light curves show X-ray emission at
all orbital phases, suggesting either that the X-ray emitting spot
never disappears completely behind the horizon, or that we are seeing
emission from more than one region on the white dwarf. The X-ray flux
varies substantially on time scales down to minutes. Orbit-to-orbit
variability is responsible for the low fluxes in the RASS light curve
(Fig.~\ref{lc1}, top panel, open circles).
\begin {table}[b]
\caption[]{Times and phases of events around the orbit}
\label{tab:events}
\begin {flushleft}
\begin {tabular}{lcc}
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\noalign{\smallskip}
\multicolumn{1}{l}{Maximum of} &
\multicolumn{1}{c}{BJD(TDB)} &
\multicolumn{1}{c}{$\phi$} \\
& 24000000+ & \\
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\noalign{\smallskip}
X-ray flux RASS 1990 & 48220.1588\,(40) & 0.76(3) \\
X-ray flux ROSAT 1992 & 48943.6190\,(40) & 0.83(3) \\
H$\beta$--H$\epsilon$, HeII radial velocity 1992 & 48631.7244\,(40) & 0.81(3) \\
H$\beta$--H$\gamma$, HeII radial velocity 2000 & 51577.6920\,(50) & 0.91(4) \\
Visual flux 2000 & 51577.6197\,(50) & 0.41(4) \\
NaI radial velocity 1997 & 50513.7086\,(70) & 0.20(5) \\
H$\alpha$\ radial velocity 1997 & 50513.7260\,(70) & 0.32(5) \\
H$\alpha$\ line flux 1997 & 50513.7477\,(70) & 0.47(5) \\
Cyclotron flux 3670\AA\ 1992 & 48630.6984\,(40) & 0.73(3) \\
Cyclotron flux 3750\AA\ 1997 & 50513.6496\,(30) & 0.79(2) \\
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\end {tabular}
\end {flushleft}
\end {table}
\subsubsection{Radial velocities in the intermediate and high states}
\label{sec:vrad}
Peak radial velocity of the Balmer and HeII$\lambda4686$ line emission
in the 1992 and 2000 intermediate and high states occur at orbital
phases near X-ray maximum, suggesting that the line emission
originates in the magnetically confined section of the accretion
stream that leads from the stagnation point in the magnetosphere to
the hot spot on the white dwarf
\citep[e.g.][]{schwopeetal00-QQVul,staudeetal01-V1309Ori}. The large mean
radial-velocity amplitudes of the the H$\beta$,
H$\gamma$, H$\delta$, H$\epsilon$, and He II $\lambda$ 4686 emission
lines, $K\!=\!484\pm\!30$\,$\rm {km\,s}^{-1}$\ in 1992 and
and $K\!=\!470\pm\!30$\,$\rm {km\,s}^{-1}$\ in 2000, support this notion. At this
point, it is appropriate to comment on the phase convention adopted in
Section~\ref{period}. Had we assigned $\phi\!=\!0$ to the less deep
$I$-band minimum, we would face the implausible situation that the
radial velocity maxima would occur half an orbit offset from the X-ray
maxima. Furthermore, the coincidence of maximum X-ray and 1992 and 1997
cyclotron fluxes would be destroyed.
\subsubsection{Optical-continuum fluxes}
\label{sec:emili}
The quasi-$U$ band fluxes in the center two panels of Fig.~\ref{lc1}
represent the cyclotron flux in the third harmonic, with a small
contribution from the white dwarf in 1997 and an additional larger
contribution from the accretion stream in 1992. Peak flux agrees in
phase with the X-ray maximum and the radial velocity maximum in 1992,
and approximately also in 2000. We note that cyclotron beaming, which
shapes the optical light curves in many polars, is not prominent for
the low harmonics observed in RXJ1007. The quasi-$V$ band flux
$f_\mathrm{vis}$ observed in 2000 displays an entirely different
behavior, being in antiphase to the emission line radial velocities
$v_\mathrm{rad}$ (bottom panels of Fig.~\ref{lc1}). The high-state
continuum flux must, therefore, have an origin different from the low-
and intermediate-state cyclotron fluxes. A straightforward
interpretation assigns the emission to the accretion stream as the
dominant light source in the high state. The excess flux of the 2MASS
data over the infrared continuum of the secondary star would then
represent the Brackett and Pfund continua emitted in an intermediate or
high state. The observed phase shift between
$f_\mathrm{vis}$ and $v_\mathrm{rad}$ in 2000 can be understood if the
free-free and recombination continuum of the stream is optically thick
and its brightest inner section is hidden from view at the phase of
maximum recessional velocity. This model implies that cyclotron
emission is not a major contributor to the optical flux in the high
state. Cyclotron line emission, while the dominant source of the
low-state $U$-band flux, is restricted to the optically thin fringes
of the accretion spot in the high state and possibly shows little
variation between the low and high states. This behavior is expected
if high-density accreted matter carries its energy into
subsphotospheric layers instead of expanding it in free-standing
shocks above the photosphere of the white dwarf
\citep[e.g.][]{kuijperspringle,fischerbeuermann}.
\subsubsection{Radial velocities and H$\alpha$\ line flux in the low state}
\label{sec:emili}
The top three panels in Fig.~\ref{lc2} display the H$\alpha$\ line flux in
arbitrary units, the NaI$\lambda8190$ radial velocity, and the H$\alpha$\
radial velocity (open circles), as measured from the 1997
low-resolution spectra. The line flux peaks at $\phi\!=\!0.5$, when
the irradiated face of the secondary is in view, and maximum
recessional radial velocity occurs at $\phi\simeq0.25$, suggesting
that these quantities trace the motion of the secondary, providing
additional support for our phase convention. Heating does occur, as
indicated by the fact that the NaI line is best defined when the back
side is in view. However, the H$\alpha$\ flux does not drop to zero at
$\phi\!=\!0$, as expected for an origin on the heated side of the
secondary and illustrated by the dashed curve calculated for an
inclination $i\!=\!73^\circ$ (Sect.~\ref{sec:cyc}). Higher resolved
spectra are needed to resolve the origin of the low-state H$\alpha$\
emission.
The measured radial-velocity amplitudes are
$K'_\mathrm{2,H\alpha}\!=\!218\pm 30$\,$\rm {km\,s}^{-1}$\ and
$K'_\mathrm{2,NaI}\!=\!278\pm 30$\,$\rm {km\,s}^{-1}$. The true radial velocity
amplitude $K_2$ of the secondary is probably larger than the former value
and smaller than the latter, and we compromise on
$K_2\!\simeq\!250\!\pm\!20$\,$\rm {km\,s}^{-1}$.
\subsection{The secondary star}
\label{sec:sec}
\begin{figure}[t]
\includegraphics[height=8.9cm,bb=85 67 545 699,angle=270,clip=]{19878f4.ps}
\caption{\label{fig:sec} Observed spectrum in the 1997 low state at
cyclotron minimum (green curve), fitted by a dM3- star and a
blackbody (see text). }
\end{figure}
TiO features of the secondary star dominate the 1997 low-state spectra
longward of 6200\,\AA. The secondary star is best detected at orbital
minimum of the cyclotron flux near $\phi\!=\!0.25$, which corresponds
to the maximum of the ellipsoidal modulation. The mean of the three
spectra at $\phi\!=\!0.18$, 0.26, and 0.34 (Fig.~\ref{fig:sec}, green
curve) shows the M star, the blue continuum of the white dwarf, and
remnant cyclotron emission in the restricted intervals of
3700--4200\,\AA\ (third harmonic) and 5500-6200\,\AA\ (second
harmonic).
We fitted the observed spectrum in the intervals free of cyclotron
emission, using representative spectra of M2 to M4 dwarfs from the
Sloan Digital Sky Survey \citep{rebassaetal12} and a blackbody for the
white dwarf. We find a spectral type dM3-- with an uncertainty of half
a spectral class (dotted black curve) and a blackbody temperature of
22000\,K (dashed black curve) for a white dwarf of 0.8\,$M_\odot$\ with a
radius of $\ten{7.4}{8}$\, cm at a distance of 790\,pc
(Sections~\ref{sec:masses} and \ref{sec:dist}). Extinction with
$A_\mathrm{I}\!\sim\!0.04$, as suggested by the interstellar absorbing
hydrogen column density derived from the X-ray spectral fits
(Section~\ref{sec:x}), implies an $I$-band flux higher by 4\%. The
7500\,\AA\ spectral flux of the secondary reduced to the level of the
primary minimum at $\phi\!=\!0$ (Fig.~\ref{lc2}, third panel from
bottom) then is $f_{7500}=\ten{6.6}{-17}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$\AA$^{-1}$\ with an error of
10\% based on the uncertainties in the flux calibration. Differential
extinction would lead to a minimally earlier spectral type than
adopted above. This value of $f_{7500}$ is used in
Sect.~\ref{sec:dist} to derive the distance of RXJ1007.
The amplitude of the ellipsoidal modulation is 25\% of the peak flux,
a number typical of a dM star viewed at high inclination $i$. For a
dM3-- star and $i\!=\!73^\circ$ (Sect.~\ref{sec:cyc}), the observed
modulation amplitude is reproduced using the appropriate
gravity-darkening coefficient $\beta_1\!=\!0.65$ and limb-darkening
coefficient $u_\mathrm{l}\!=\!0.216$ from \citet{clareta,claretb}.
The ellipsoidal modulation is also seen in the wavelength interval
$\lambda\!=\!4400\!-\!5200$\,\AA, where the secondary still
contributes about half of the observed flux.
\subsection{Masses of the stellar components of RXJ1007}
\label{sec:masses}
The mean Roche-lobe radius of the secondary star is given by
\begin{equation}
R_2/R_{\odot} = 0.234\,(M_2/M_{\odot})^{1/3}\,P^{2/3}f,
\label{eq:radius}
\end{equation}
\noindent where $M_2$ is its mass, $P$ is the orbital period in hours,
and $f\!\simeq\!0.989$ (Kopal 1959). In CVs above the period gap, mass
loss has usually driven the secondary somewhat out of thermal
equilibrium \citep{kniggeetal11}. As a consequence, its radius is
increased beyond that of an undisturbed field star by a higher
percentage than expected from tidal and centrifugal forces alone
\citep{kippenhahnthomas70,renvoizeetal02}.
Depending on the long-term average of the mass transfer rate $\dot{M}$,
the secondary could have a mass as large as 0.40\,$M_\odot$\ with a
spectral type dM2.9 or as low as 0.24\,$M_\odot$ with a spectral type
dM3.9 \citep[][their Table 2]{kniggeetal11}. The observed spectral
type of dM3- favors a larger mass and settle on $M_2\!=\!0.35\pm
0.05$, which allows for moderate bloating. From Eq.~\ref{eq:radius}, we
obtain $R_2\!=\!(2.60\pm\!0.13)\,10^{10}$\,cm.
An estimate of the primary mass $M_1$ can be obtained from the
radial-velocity amplitude $K_2$ derived in Section~\ref{sec:emili}.
With $i\!=\!73^\circ$, we obtain $M_1\!=0.80\!\pm\!0.15$\,$M_\odot$.
\subsection{The distance of RXJ1007}
\label{sec:dist}
We obtained the distance of RXJ1007\ from the observed spectral flux of the
secondary star combined with its radius and surface brightness.
Roche geometry yields
an effective radius of the projected cross section of the star at
$\phi\!=\!0$ and $i\!=\!73^\circ$ of
$R_\mathrm{proj}\!=\!0.957\,R_2\!=\!\ten{2.49}{10}$\,cm.
With the 7500\,\AA\ spectral flux of the secondary star from above,
$f_{7500}=\ten{(6.6\!\pm\!0.7)}{-17}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$\AA$^{-1}$, and the surface
brightness of a dM3-- star at 7500\,\AA\ of
$F_{7500}=\ten{(6.4\!\pm\!0.9)}{5}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$\AA$^{-1}$\ \citep{beuermann06}, the
distance is obtained as
$d\!=\!R_\mathrm{proj}\,(F_{7500}/f_{7500})^{1/2}\!=\!\ten{(2.45\!\pm\!0.32)}{21}\,\mathrm{cm}=790\!\pm\!105$\,pc.
\begin{figure}[t]
\includegraphics[width=89mm,bb=93 506 468 735,clip=]{19878f5.ps}
\caption{2-D representation of the phase-dependent observed and
calculated cyclotron lines of RXJ1007\ in 1997. The best-fit
calculated spectral flux (color) is compared with the observed
fluxes (contour lines). The abscissa is frequency in units of
$10^{14}$\,Hz, the ordinate is phase and data and model are
displayed twice. The image shows the second and third harmonic
with an indication of the first harmonic at the lowest
frequencies. }
\label{fig:cyc2}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Cyclotron spectroscopy}
\label{sec:cyc}
Cyclotron line emission dominates the 1997 low-state spectra and
displays a marked orbital variation with a minimum at
$\phi\!\simeq\!0.3$ and a maximum at $\phi\!\simeq\!0.8$. The latter
coincides with the X-ray maximum (Fig.~\ref{lc1}). Peak flux occurs
when the line of sight is closest to the axis of the accretion
funnel. This differs from the situation encountered in low-field polars,
where cyclotron beaming results in a flux minimum in the direction of
the funnel. In RXJ1007, however, we observed in low harmonics with little
or no preference of emission perpendicular to the field (note that the
first harmonic is emitted primarily along the field).
The phase-resolved cyclotron spectra were obtained by subtracting the
contributions of the secondary and primary star from the 13 observed
spectra of the 1997 data set. At peak flux, the second and third
harmonics extend over the wavelength intervals
5200--6700\,\AA\ and 3500--4400\,\AA,
respectively. Between these intervals, the cyclotron flux is
effectively zero. For a more detailed analysis, we rebinned the spectra to the
spectral resolution of 50\,\AA\ and assigned 'errors' to the individual
spectral bins that reflect the scatter of the original data points
within each 50\,\AA\ bins. These spectra are displayed on a
frequency scale in the 2-D image of Fig.~\ref{fig:cyc2} (contour
lines). As an example, a single spectrum at maximum cyclotron flux is
shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:cyc1} (top panel, green curve).
\begin{figure}[t]
\includegraphics[height=8.9cm,bb=248 67 491 705,angle=270,clip=]{19878f6a.ps}
\includegraphics[height=89mm,bb=248 67 543 705,angle=270,clip=]{19878f6b.ps}
\caption{Representative cyclotron spectra showing the second and third
harmonic in a field of 94\,MG. \emph{Top: }Cyclotron spectrum at
$\phi\!=\!0.8$ in the 1997 low state (green) and
theoretical cyclotron spectrum (black) obtained from a
simultaneous fit to the entire set of spectra as shown in
Fig.~\ref{fig:cyc2}. \emph{Bottom: }Circular polarization in the high
state on 6/7 February 2000 measured around the flux minimum at
orbital phase $\phi\!=\!0$.}
\label{fig:cyc1}
\end{figure}
\begin {table}[b]
\caption[]{Best-fit parameters for the fit shown in Figs.~\ref{fig:cyc2}
and ~\ref{fig:cyc1}.}
\label{tab:cyc}
\begin {flushleft}
\begin {tabular}{lrc}
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\noalign{\smallskip}
\multicolumn{1}{l}{Parameter} &
\multicolumn{1}{@{\hspace{10mm}}c}{Value} &
\multicolumn{1}{c}{Error} \\
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\noalign{\smallskip}
Magnetic field strength (MG) & 94.0 & 0.3 \\
Plasma temperature (keV)) & 2.1 & 0.3 \\
Size Parameter $\Lambda$ ($10^4$) & 2.8 & \hspace{3.4mm}+2.3,--1.3 \\
Solid angle $\Omega$ ($10^{-26}$\,sr) & 3.0 & 0.3 \\
Inclination $i$ ($^\circ$) & 73\hspace{2.3mm} & 1\hspace{2.3mm} \\
Colatitude of field/spot $\beta$ ($^\circ$) & 12.3 & 1.6 \\
Azimuth of field/spot $\psi$ ($^\circ$) & 70\hspace{2.3mm} & 4\hspace{2.3mm} \\
\noalign{\smallskip}
\hline
\end {tabular}
\end {flushleft}
\end {table}
We fitted the entire set of cyclotron spectra simultaneously, using
model spectra calculated for an isothermal homogeneous plasma slab \citep
[][so-called constant-$\Lambda$ model]{barrett}. The free parameters
of the multi-parameter fit were the magnetic field strength \(B\), the
plasma temperature \(T\), the dimensionless slab thickness
\(\Lambda\), the solid angle $\Omega$ subtended by the accretion spot
as seen from the Earth, the inclination \(i\) of the system, and the
direction of the accreting field line given by the polar angle
\(\beta\) and the the azimuth \(\psi\). The location of the spot is
assumed to agree with the foot-point of the field line. We found that a
consistent set of parameters exists that simultaneously fits the
thirteen spectra with 50 data points each. A color representation of
the calculated spectral flux is shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:cyc2}. The spectra
represent the second and third harmonics in a field of 94\,MG.
The complete set of fitted parameters is provided in
Table~\ref{tab:cyc} along with their $1\!-\!\sigma$ errors. The fit
has a \,$\chi^2\!=\!517$ for 643 d.o.f. It is remarkable that a
close-to-perfect fit to the observed data set is possible using the
fairly simple theoretical model. The fit fixes the orbital inclination
of RXJ1007\ at $i\!=\!73^\circ\pm 1^\circ$ ($1\!-\!\sigma$ error),
implying that the system just escapes eclipse of the white dwarf by
the secondary star. With 2.1\,keV, the plasma temperature is lower
than the mean temperature of 6\,keV derived from the fit to the XMM
spectrum, but both temperatures are substantially lower than expected
for a free-standing shock on a white dwarf of 0.8\,$M_\odot$.
\begin{figure*}[t]
\includegraphics[height=92.5mm,bb=83 83 543 602,angle=270,clip=]{19878f7a.ps}
\hfill
\includegraphics[height=87.0mm,bb=80 34 543 524,angle=270,clip=]{19878f7b.ps}
\caption{ Spectral energy distribution of RXJ1007-20. \emph{Left: } IR-optical-UV part. \emph{Right: } X-ray part. See text for further explanation. }
\label{fig:sed}
\end{figure*}
The dominance of emission from the magnetic pole with $B\!=\!94$\,MG
persists from the low state into the high state of RXJ1007. Even against
the intense Paschen continuum of the 2000 high state, the second and
third harmonics stand out in the circular polarization at practically
the same wavelengths as in the low state (Fig.~\ref{fig:cyc1}, bottom
panel). The line shape, furthermore, suggests a low temperature
similar to the 2\,keV of the low state, consistent with emission from
the low-density fringes of the accretion spot, in which cyclotron
emission is the prime cooling agent (Woelk \& Beuermann 1996, Fischer
\& Beuermann 2001). Radiation-hydrodynamic calculations suggest that
columns with different temperatures and plasma densities may coexist
in the spot and that cyclotron cooling dominates in low-density
columns, in which the plasma cools before the ion and electron
temperatures can equilibrate (Woelk \& Beuermann 1996, Fischer \&
Beuermann 2001).
Despite the generally excellent agreement, some differences between
the observed and calculated line profiles are noteworthy. An observed
feature that is not present in the blackbody-limited line flux is the
pronounced central depression in the second harmonic around
6000\,\AA. It is likely that this depression represents the
Fraunhofer-type absorption produced by the temperature stratification
in columns that are optically thick in the emitted cyclotron harmonics
\citep{woelketal96}. A similar profile was observed in the cyclotron
lines of the high-field polar UZ~For \citep{rousseauetal96} and was
successfully modeled with the theory of \citet{woelketal96}. The
slight notch in the long-wavelength fall-off of the model profiles
results from differences in the line profiles for the ordinary and
extraordinary rays in this fairly simple theory.
\subsection{The X-ray spectrum}
\label{sec:x}
\begin{table}[b]
\caption{Bolometric fluxes and luminosities of RXJ1007 for the
intermediate states of 1992/2001. See text for the geometry factors $\eta\pi$.}
\label{tab:sed}
\begin{tabular}{l@{\hspace{4.0mm}}c@{\hspace{4.0mm}}c@{\hspace{4.0mm}}c}
\hline \hline \noalign{\smallskip}
Component & F & $\eta \pi$ & $L$ \\
& (erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$) & & (erg\,s$^{-1}$) \\
\noalign{\smallskip} \hline
\noalign{\smallskip}
Soft X-ray blackbody,\hspace{2.4mm}32\,eV & $8.5\times 10^{-11}$ & $2\,\pi$ & $3.2\times 10^{33}$ \\
\hspace{30.3mm}59\,eV & $3.5\times 10^{-11}$ & $2\,\pi$ & $1.3\times 10^{33}$ \\
Thermal X-rays\hspace{8.0mm}0.2\,keV & $9.0\times 10^{-13}$ & $4\,\pi$ & $6.7\times 10^{31}$ \\
\hspace{28.3mm}6.0\,keV & $2.8\times 10^{-13}$ & $4\,\pi$ & $2.1\times 10^{31}$ \\
\hspace{26.2mm}$>10$\,keV ?& $1.5\times 10^{-13}$ & $4\,\pi$ & $1.1\times 10^{31}$ \\
Cyclotron + accretion stream & $4.0\times 10^{-12}$ & $4\,\pi$ & $3.0\times 10^{32}$ \\[0.6ex]
Total & & & $4.9\times 10^{33}$ \\[1.0ex]
\noalign{\smallskip} \hline \noalign{\smallskip}
\end{tabular}
\end{table}
We have re-analyzed the mean X-ray spectrum taken with XMM-Newton on 7
December 2001 \citep[][their Fig.~8]{ramsaycropper03}, using an
improved spectral representation of the soft and hard X-ray
components. As demonstrated for AM Her \citep{beuermannetal12}, a
model including two or more blackbody components may yield a more
realistic estimate of the soft X-ray luminosity than the
single-blackbody assumption employed by \citet{ramsaycropper03}. Our
fit involves two blackbodies with best-fit temperatures
k$T_1\!=\!59\pm3$\,eV and k$T_1\!=\!32\pm5$\,eV for a best-fit
absorbing column density $N_\mathrm{H}\!=\!\ten{1.9}{20}$\,H-atoms\,cm$^{-2}$. The
hard X-ray component was modeled with two MEKAL spectra for solar
abundances and temperatures k$T\!=\!6.0$\,keV (fixed) and
k$T\!=\!0.19\pm0.01)$\,keV. The fit has a \,$\chi^2\!=\!115$ for
107\,d.o.f. (\,$\chi^{2}_\nu\!=\!1.07$). The integrated fluxes for the
best-fit parameters are $\ten{3.5}{-11}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$\ and
$\ten{8.5}{-13}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$\ for the two blackbodies and
$\ten{3.5}{-13}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$\ and $\ten{8.5}{-13}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$\ for the two
thermal components, respectively. Guided by the case of AM~Her
\citep{christian00}, we considered that the hard X-ray component of
RXJ1007\ possibly contains highly absorbed components that are not
accounted for by the XMM spectral fit at $E\!<\!8$keV. We estimated
that this could contribute another $\ten{(1\!-\!2)}{-13}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$. Since
the presence of a substantial hard X-ray component is uncertain, it is
entered in Table~\ref{tab:sed} with a question mark. We caution,
furthermore, that the correlated errors between the blackbody
temperature and the interstellar absorbing column imply large
uncertainties, preventing us from quoting errors for the
fluxes. Despite all the uncertainties, however, the
emission of RXJ1007\ is clearly dominated by soft X-rays. In the 1992 pointed
ROSAT observation, the source was fainter by almost an order of
magnitude. The fit parameters are less well-defined than those of the
XMM fit and are not quoted here.
\subsection{Overall spectral energy distribution}
\label{sec:sed}
Fig.~\ref{fig:sed} shows the spectral fluxes from the infrared to the
hard X-ray regime collected into a single overall spectral energy
distribution (SED). For the chosen form $\nu f_{\nu}$ vs. $\nu$, the
integrated energy flux of a component with spectral flux $f_{\nu}$ is
$F\!=\!\int\nu f_{\nu}~\mathrm{dlog}\,\nu$, with log the natural
logarithm. Given the flux of a spectral component, the luminosity
\mbox{$L\!=\!\eta \pi d^2F$} was calculated with $d\!=\!790$\,pc and
the geometry factor $\eta$ quoted in Table~\ref{tab:sed}. As for the
prototype polar AM~Her \citep{beuermannetal12}, we adopted emission of
the soft X-ray blackbody and of cyclotron radiation into $2\,\pi$ and
of the accretion stream and the hard X-rays into $4\,\pi$.
The left panel shows our spectrophotometry of 1992, 1997, and 2000
(black curves), supplemented by the 2MASS J, H, and K-band fluxes of
1999 (red filled squares) and the visual and ultraviolet fluxes
measured with the optical monitor on board of XMM-Newton simultaneous
to the 2001 X-ray observation (red filled circles). For the low state,
which is dominated by the secondary star, we added the flux
distribution of the dM3 star LHS58 \citep[][green
curve]{leggettetal96} adjusted to the 1997 low-state
spectrophotometry. The right panel shows the incident spectra for the
2001 XMM pn observation (red filled circles) and the 1992 ROSAT PSPC
observation (open circles). For the XMM spectrum, we also
included the 'source spectrum' corrected for interstellar absorption,
using the X-ray spectral parameters quoted above (dashed curve in the
left and the right panel).
There is a close agreement between our 1992 spectrophotometry and the
2001 XMM optical-monitor fluxes in the visual and ultraviolet bands,
suggesting that they delineate the common SED of an intermediate state
of accretion assumed by RXJ1007 in 1992 and 2001. This SED is well
documented from the infrared to the hard X-ray regime. About 92\% of
the bolometric flux in this state is emitted as soft X-rays, 6\% as
cyclotron radiation and stream emission, largely in the ultraviolet,
and only 2\% as hard X-rays. The dominance of soft X-rays implies that
most of the accretion energy is released in shocks, which are buried
in the photosphere of the white in a scenario first described by
\citet{kuijperspringle}. The luminosity ratio
$L_\mathrm{softX}/(L_\mathrm{cyc}+L_\mathrm{hardX}+L_\mathrm{stream})\!\sim\!11$.
The low-level cyclotron emission in 1997 suggests that the associated
X-ray flux was low as well. Similarly, we can only speculate that the
optical high state in February 2000 was accompanied by a
correspondingly increased soft X-ray flux. The rough equality of the
ROSAT and XMM X-ray fluxes in the 1-2\,keV range hints at a lower
variability of the hard X-ray fluxes, consistent with the notion of
\citet{kuijperspringle} that an increased $\dot M$ arises primarily
from dense blobs, which penetrate to subphotospheric layers.
For a white dwarf with $M_1\!=\!0.8$\,$M_\odot$\ and
$R_1\!=\!\ten{7.4}{8}$\,cm, the accretion luminosity in the 1992/2001
intermediate state of $L_\mathrm{acc}\!\simeq\!\ten{4.9}{33}$\,erg\,cm$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$\
requires an accretion rate $\dot
M\!=\!R_1\,L_\mathrm{acc}/(G\,M_1)\!\simeq\!\ten{3.4}{16}$\,g\,s$^{-1}$\ or
$\ten{5.4}{-10}\,M_\odot\,{\rm yr}^{-1}$. The lack of X-ray coverage
prevents an estimate of the accretion rate in a high state, but if it
follows the optical continuum, it could exceed
$10^{-9}\,M_\odot\,{\rm yr}^{-1}$ and, thereby, reach into the realm typical of
long-period CVs \citep{kniggeetal11}.
\section{Conclusions}
We have presented a comprehensive study of the high-field polar RXJ1007,
which includes observations performed over more than 20 years. It is a
highly variable source that was encountered at optical flux levels
differing by 4 mag over the years. In the intermediate state of 1992
and 2001, RXJ1007\ has a soft X-ray luminosity
$L_\mathrm{softX}\!\ga\!0.90\,L_\mathrm{acc}\!\simeq\!1.2\,L_\odot$. In
a high state of accretion, the soft X-ray luminosity is possibly
higher still, both relatively and absolutely. With a polar field
strength of 94\,MG, RXJ1007\ belongs to the few high-field
polars. The main accreting pole is permanently in view and is the
source of the cyclotron lines observed at all accretion levels. The
observed cyclotron line profiles and the low temperature in the
emission region are perfectly consistent with cyclotron theory.
\begin{acknowledgements}
A draft of this paper was left by the late Hans-Christoph Thomas,
who had finished analysis of the photometric MONET/N data of RXJ1007\
collected in early January 2012, before he suddenly died of heart
failure on 18 January 2012, aged 75. Hans-Christoph Thomas was
highly regarded as a collaborator and as a friend by many colleagues
in the communities dealing with stellar structure theory and with
close binaries. Being one of the earliest collaborators of Rudolf
Kippenhahn, Hans-Christoph Thomas was the first to follow the
evolution of a solar-like star numerically through the helium flash.
Many young scientists benefitted from his ever selfless and friendly
cooperation.
This work is based in part on data obtained with the MOnitoring
NEtwork of Telescopes (MONET), funded by the Alfried Krupp von
Bohlen und Halbach Foundation, Essen, and operated by the
Georg-August-Universit\"at G\"ottingen, the McDonald Observatory of
the University of Texas at Austin, and the South African
Astronomical Observatory. The spectroscopic observations were
obtained with the ESO 3.6-m telescope under Program No. 64.H-0311(A)
and with the ESO/MPI 2.2-m telescope in MPI time. This paper
makes use of observations with the X-ray telescopes on board of
the German/British/American ROSAT satellite and XMM-Newton, an ESA
Science mission with instruments and contributions directly funded
by ESA Member States and NASA.
\end{acknowledgements}
\bibliographystyle{aa} \input{19878.bbl}
\end{document}
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} | 9,198 |
Example of how to create a custom submit action that updates contact details.
You can use the submit button for navigation (previous and next buttons), to submit the form, and/or to trigger submit actions. To all submit buttons, whether used for navigation or for submitting the form, you can add submit actions. For example, the submit action Save data added to the next button makes sure the data is saved to your database when a contact clicks Next to move on to the next page of the form.
By default, you can add the Trigger Goal, Trigger Campaign Activity, Trigger Outcome, Redirect to Page, and Save Data submit items. This walkthrough describes how to create a custom submit action that enables you to select the form fields used to update the contact details.
This walkthrough describes one example of building a custom submit action. Depending on your experience and preferences, you might prefer to do things slightly differently.
To submit a form (page), a contact must click the Submit button. You can add different types of actions to perform when a user clicks Submit. For example, the Save Data submit action ensures that data is saved to your database, and the Trigger Campaign Activity submit action selects a preset campaign activity.
In this walkthrough, you create the Update Contact submit action.
The submit action stores the parameters of the JSON object that is passed to the action. The JSON object is parsed into an instance of the type specified in the TParametersData class, in this case, the UpdateContactData class. Therefore, in this example, you create a derived class UpdateContact that inherits from SubmitActionBase<TParametersData> with the UpdateContactData parameter.
Create the UpdateContact class and inherit from the SubmitActionBase<TParametersData> class.
/// Initializes a new instance of the <see cref="UpdateContact"/> class.
Select the /sitecore/client/Speak/Templates/Pages/Speak-BasePage template, and in the Enter the name of the new item field, enter UpdateContact and click OK.
Right-click the UpdateContact item you just created and click Tasks, and click Design Layout.
In the Layout dialog box, navigate to /sitecore/client/Speak/Layouts/Layouts and select the Speak-FlexLayout layout and click OK.
Select PageCode and click OK.
Set the SpeakCoreVersion property to Speak 2-x.
Search for and select the Text View rendering and click Add to add three items: HeaderTitle, HeaderSubtitle, and ValueNotInListText.
These items are used as texts that set the action editor dialog title, subtitle, and the not found value. If you fill in the text property here, the texts will be visible in all languages but will not be localizable.
Navigate to /sitecore/client/Applications/FormsBuilder/Components/Layouts/Actions, and right-click the UpdateContact item you created earlier, click Add, and click New item.
Right-click the PageSettings item that you just created and click Add, New Item.
Navigate to /sitecore/client/Applications/FormsBuilder/Components/Layouts/Actions and right-click the PageSettings item that you just created.
Click New Folder and name it MapContactForm.
Navigate to the UpdateContact layout and set the Form rendering ConfigurationItem property to the ID of the MapContactForm folder that contains the FormDropList parameters.
Navigate to /sitecore/client/Applications/FormsBuilder/Components/Layouts/Actions and right-click the PageSettings item that you created earlier.
Use the EditActionSubAppRenderer component. The editors are loaded in a frame in a Speak dialog by the EditActionSubAppRenderer component. They must pass the dialog header title and subtitle to the parent, and set when the submit button is enabled.
loadDone – iterates the form controls, and sets their dynamic data to the fields array. If the current submit action Parameters property value is not in the fields list (for example, if the field is deleted, or the form copied), it includes an id - value not in the selection list item in the array. Then it binds the SPEAK form to the Parameters object.
getData – when the submit button is clicked, the getData function is called. It iterates the form data in order to collect the new Parameters object. Empty selections (field mappings) are omitted.
Select the /System/Forms/Submit Action template, in the Item Name field, enter the name Update Contact Details and click Insert.
In the Error Message field, enter an error message, for example, Update contact failed!
In the Editor field, select the editor that you just created, for example, Update contact.
In the Appearance section, select the icon that you want to display in the Form elements pane.
In the Form elements pane, when you click Add a submit action, you can now select the Update Contact Details action. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 7,204 |
#region Licence
#endregion
using Paramore.Brighter.Monitoring.Events;
using Paramore.Brighter.Monitoring.Mappers;
namespace Paramore.Brighter
{
/// <summary>
/// Class ControlBusSenderFactory. Helper for creating instances of a control bus (which requires messaging, but not subcribers).
/// </summary>
public class ControlBusSenderFactory : IAmAControlBusSenderFactory {
/// <summary>
/// Creates the specified configuration.
/// </summary>
/// <param name="gateway">The gateway to the control bus to send messages</param>
/// <param name="logger">The logger to use</param>
/// <param name="messageStore">The message store for outgoing messages to the control bus</param>
/// <returns>IAmAControlBusSender.</returns>
public IAmAControlBusSender Create(IAmAMessageStore<Message> messageStore, IAmAMessageProducer gateway)
{
var mapper = new MessageMapperRegistry(new SimpleMessageMapperFactory(() => new MonitorEventMessageMapper()));
mapper.Register<MonitorEvent, MonitorEventMessageMapper>();
return new ControlBusSender(CommandProcessorBuilder.With()
.Handlers(new HandlerConfiguration())
.DefaultPolicy()
.TaskQueues(new MessagingConfiguration(messageStore, gateway, mapper))
.RequestContextFactory(new InMemoryRequestContextFactory())
.Build()
);
}
}
} | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 6,922 |
Q: Null check operator used on a nullsis value flutter I have problem with null check operator and i using firebase firestore or json model
And i using the method to get data user from model
But while i return he give me null check operator help!
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 7,912 |
Witchboard III: The Possession (released in some territories as Witchboard: The Possession) is a 1995 Canadian horror film directed by Peter Svatek and starring David Nerman, Elizabeth Lambert, Cedric Smith, Donna Sarrasin, and Danette MacKay. It is the second sequel to the film Witchboard (1986), following Witchboard 2: The Devil's Doorway (1993).
Plot
Brian (David Nerman), is an unemployed broker who befriends his landlord Francis (Cedric Smith) only to find out that the old man is, in reality, a demon named Kral. After trapping Brian's soul via a Ouija board, Kral assumes Brian's identity and attempts to impregnate his wife Julie (Elizabeth Lambert). With the sudden change in Brian's personality, Julie begins to suspect that something is wrong, and, when she finds the demon's Ouija board, she contacts her husband. Discovering the truth, Julie tracks down Francis's ex-wife: the only person who can help her defeat the evil creature that has taken possession of her husband.
Cast
David Nerman as Brian
Elizabeth Lambert as Julie
Cedric Smith as Francis
Donna Sarrasin as Lisa
Danette MacKay as Dora
Cas Anvar as Paramedic
Release
After first film, which was released theatrically, became popular on home video, the sequels were released direct-to-video. Republic Pictures released it in the United States in December 1995. Téléscéne released it in Canada on February 16, 1996. International distribution was by Fries/Schultz Film Group.
Production
Unlike the first two films, which were shot in California, this film was shot in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Shooting started on December 7, 1994, and was scheduled to end on December 30. Kevin S. Tenney, the writer-director of the first two films, co-wrote the script for Witchboard III. Svatek said the script was delivered to him without previously having met Tenney. Some of the special effects were designed by KNB EFX Group, which is located in Los Angeles. To collaborate, Svatek and KNB traded faxes of designs. Elizabeth "Locky" Lambert was drawn to her character's active role in saving her husband rather than being a passive victim. Lambert said she was encouraged to give input about her character and felt the film's more exploitative elements were still tastefully done.
Reception
Comparing it to the other films in the series, Fangoria called it "the weakest of the lot". The reviewer said it "moves along at a nice pace" but "never gets anywhere", focusing on poorly-done exploitation instead of horror. In rating it 2/5 stars, TV Guide wrote that although it "has moments of high energy", the film loses its focus and spends too much time on special effects and nudity. Daniel Kurland of Bloody Disgusting wrote that Witchboard III "likes to pile on its gore" in an entertaining way, but the scenes are nonsensical.
References
External links
1995 films
1995 direct-to-video films
1995 horror films
Canadian supernatural horror films
English-language Canadian films
1990s English-language films
Films shot in Montreal
Direct-to-video horror films
Direct-to-video sequel films
Films about board games
Films directed by Peter Svatek
1990s Canadian films | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 5,716 |
Anna Sofia Tillgren, född Björkman 18 september 1815 i Adolf Fredriks församling, Stockholm, död 2 juni 1877 i Klara församling, Stockholm, var en svensk skådespelare.
Biografi
Hon var engagerad vid Djurgårdsteatern hos Ulrik Torsslow 1835-42, vid Mindre teatern 1842–54, Södra teatern 1854–56, Dramaten 1856–59, Södra teatern 1859-65, hos Anders Selinder 1865-66, hos Constantin Rohde 1866-69 och slutligen på Ladugårdslandsteatern 1869-77.
Bland hennes roller nämns Mamsell Sundblad i Mamsell Sundblad vill gifta sig, Fru Carlsson i Frun af stånd och frun i ståndet, Gudule i Ringaren i Notre Dame, Fru Tennander i Syfröknarna, Fru Bernard i Tant Bazu och Fru Hylling i Bröstkaramellerna.
Hon var gift med kollegan Olof Niklas Tillgren.
Teater
Roller (ej komplett)
Referenser
Fredrik August Dahlgren: Förteckning öfver svenska skådespel uppförda på Stockholms theatrar 1737-1863 och Kongl. Theatrarnes personal 1773-1863. Med flera anteckningar. Stockholm (1866)
Svenskt porträttgalleri / XXI. Tonkonstnärer och sceniska artister (biografier af Adolf Lindgren & Nils Personne)
Noter
Svenska skådespelare under 1800-talet
Födda 1815
Kvinnor
Avlidna 1877 | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 5,234 |
\section{Introduction}
\subsection{Constrained Compositions}
This work was inspired by the ``constrained compositions'' introduced
by Andrews, Paule, and Riese in \cite{PAVII}.
We consider the problem of enumerating
{\em symmetrically constrained compositions}, that is, {compositions}
of an integer $M$ into $n$ nonnegative parts
\[
M = \lambda_1 + \lambda_2 + \cdots + \lambda_n = |\lambda| \, ,
\]
where the sequence $(\lambda_1, \lambda_2, \dots, \lambda_n)$ is
{constrained} to satisfy
a {symmetric} system of linear inequalities.
For example, the compositions
$\lambda_1+ \lambda_2+ \lambda_3$ of $M$
satisfying
\begin{equation}
\lambda_{\pi(1)} + \lambda_{\pi(2)} \geq \lambda_{\pi(3)}
\label{triangles}
\end{equation}
for every permutation $\pi \in S_3$,
are known as {\em integer-sided triangles}
of perimeter $M$
\cite{andrews,PA2,JWW,stanley1}.
The number $\Delta_M$ of {\em incongruent} triangles of perimeter $M$ is given by
\begin{equation*}
\sum_{ M \ge 0 } \Delta_M \, q^M \ = \
\sum_{\substack{\lambda_1 \geq \lambda_2 \geq \lambda_3 \geq 0 \\[2pt]
\lambda_2 + \lambda_3 \geq \lambda_1 }} q^{|\lambda|}
\ = \
\frac{1}{(1-q^2)(1-q^3)(1-q^4)} \, .
\end{equation*}
However, $3+2+1$ and $2+3+1$ are different {\em compositions} (i.e., ordered partitions) of 6 and
counting the number $\Delta^*_M$ of {\em ordered} solutions to \eqref{triangles} gives
\begin{equation}
\sum_{ M \ge 0 } \Delta^*_M \, q^M \ = \
\sum_{\substack{\lambda_1 + \lambda_2 \geq \lambda_3 \\[2pt]
\lambda_1 + \lambda_3 \geq \lambda_2 \\[2pt]
\lambda_2 + \lambda_3 \geq \lambda_1}} q^{|\lambda|} \
= \
\frac{1+2q^2 + 2q^4 + q^6}{(1-q^2)(1-q^3)(1-q^4)} \ = \
\frac{1}{(1-q^2)^2(1-q)} \, .
\label{ist}
\end{equation}
One could generalize this example in several ways.
For example, moving to $n$ dimensions, one could ask for the integer
sequences $(\lambda_1, \lambda_2, \dots, \lambda_n)$ satisfying
\begin{equation*}
\lambda_{\pi(1)}+\lambda_{\pi(2)}+\cdots+\lambda_{\pi(n-1)}\ge\lambda_{\pi(n)}
\end{equation*}
for {all} $n!$ permutations
$\pi \in S_n$.
Another generalization would be to study,
given positive integers $k,\ell,m$,
the integer
sequences $(\lambda_1, \lambda_2, \dots, \lambda_n)$ satisfying
\[
k\lambda_{\pi(1)} + \ell \lambda_{\pi(2)} \geq m\lambda_{\pi(3)}
\qquad \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \,.
\]
Another example, considered in \cite{PAVII}, was inspired by a Putnam
exam problem \cite[Problem B3]{putnam-prob}: Enumerate all compositions of $M = \lambda_1 + \lambda_2$ into two parts satisfying
\[
2 \lambda_1 \geq \lambda_2 \qquad \text{ and } \qquad
2 \lambda_2 \geq \lambda_1 \, .
\]
It is shown that
\begin{equation}
\sum_{\substack{ 2 \lambda_1 \geq \lambda_2\\[2pt]
2 \lambda_2 \geq \lambda_1
}} x^{\lambda_1}y^{\lambda_2}
\ = \
\frac{1+xy + x^2y^2}{(1-xy^2)(1-x^2y)} \, ,
\label{putnam}
\end{equation}
giving a complete parametrization of all solutions.
In \cite{PAVII}, Andrews, Paule, and Riese demonstrate the suitability of the
Omega package \cite{PA3} for experimenting with problems of this sort and
the power of Macmahon's partition analysis \cite{PA2} to prove some
elegant generalizations.
The goal of this paper is
(1) to formulate a generalization of the symmetrically constrained compositions enumeration problem;
(2) to show how this problem is connected to permutation statistics;
(3) to show that the permutation statistics approach gives, for many
cases, an effective computation method and, for certain cases, a way to
derive compact formulas; and
(4) to show that the insight provided by the geometry of lattice-point
enumeration aids in the handling of the most general case.
\subsection{The Symmetrically Constrained Compositions Enumeration Problem}
Fix integers $a_1, a_2, \dots, a_n$. We are interested in enumerating
compositions $\lambda = \left( \lambda_1, \lambda_2, \dots, \lambda_n \right) \in
{\mathbb Z}_{ \ge 0 }^n$ that satisfy the $n!$ homogeneous linear constraints
\[
a_1 \lambda_{ \pi(1) } + a_2 \lambda_{ \pi(2) } + \dots + a_n \lambda_{ \pi(n)
} \ge 0
\qquad \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \, .
\]
Specifically, we are interested in computing the generating functions
\[
F \left( z_1, z_2, \dots, z_n \right) := \sum_{ \lambda } z_1^{ \lambda_1 } z_
2^{ \lambda_2 } \cdots z_n^{ \lambda_n }
\]
and
\[
F(q) := F(q,q,\dots,q) = \sum_{ \lambda } q^{ \lambda_1 + \lambda_2 + \dots +
\lambda_n },
\]
by exploiting the symmetry of the constraints.
Note that
because of the symmetry, there is no loss of generality in assuming
that
\[
a_1 \leq a_2 \leq \dots \leq a_n \, ,
\]
which we will do from now on.
In Section 2, we show how to solve the enumeration problem
when
$\sum_{i=1}^{n} a_i = 1$.
In certain special cases, we show that permutation statistics can be used
to derive elegant formulas.
We note that even this simple case is
difficult for general purpose software
like the Omega Package \cite{PA3},
Xin's improvement of Omega \cite{xin}, and LattE macchiato \cite{LattE,Koeppe},
designed to enumerate solutions to linear Diophantine equations and
inequalities. In Section 3 we solve the general problem.
We close this section with some notation and background on
permutation statistics.
\subsection{Permutation Statistics}
Throughout the paper, the following notation is used:
$[\, n \,] _q = (1-q^n)/(1-q)$;
$[\, n \,] _q ! = \prod_{i=1}^n [\, i \,] _q$; and
$(a;q)_n =
\prod_{i=0}^{n-1} (1-aq^i)$.
For a permutation $\pi =
\pi(1)\pi(2) \cdots \pi(n)$ of $[n] := \{ 1, 2, \dots, n \}$,
the {\em descent set of $\pi$} is
\[
D_{\pi} = \{\,j : \, \pi(j) > \pi(j+1) \,\} \, .
\]
The statistic $\mathrm{des}(\pi)=|D(\pi)|$ is
the number of descents of $\pi$ and the {\em major index} of $\pi$
is the sum of the descent positions: $\mathrm{maj}(\pi)=\sum_{i \in
D(\pi)}i$.
It is well known that
\begin{equation}
\sum_{\pi \in S_{n}}
q^{\mathrm{maj}(\pi)} \ = \
\prod_{i=0}^{n}\frac{1-q^i}{1-q} = [\,n\,]_q!
\label{eq:majdist}
\end{equation}
(see, e.g., \cite{stanley1}).
The joint distribution of $\mathrm{des}(\pi)$ and $\mathrm{maj}(\pi)$
over the set $S_n$ of all permutations of $[n]$ is given by Carlitz's
$q$-Eulerian polynomial
\cite{carlitz1, carlitz2}:
\[
C_n(x,q) = \sum_{\pi \in S_{n}}
x^{\mathrm{des}(\pi)}q^{\mathrm{maj}(\pi)} \ = \
\prod_{i=0}^{n}(1-xq^i) \sum_{j=1}^{\infty} [\, j\,] _q^n \, x^{j-1} .
\]
Applying the definition of $[\, j\,] _q$ and the binomial theorem, we can
rewrite this as
\begin{equation}
C_n(x,q) =
\frac{(x;q)_{n+1}}{(1-q)^n} \sum_{i=0}^n {n \choose i}
\frac{(-q)^i}{1-q^ix} \, .
\label{eq:carlitz2}
\end{equation}
So, for example,
\begin{align}
C_1(x,q) & = 1 \nonumber\\
C_2(x,q) & = 1+ xq \label{C123} \\
C_3(x,q) & = 1+2xq+2xq^2+x^2q^3 . \nonumber
\end{align}
If we take the limit as $x\to q^{-n}$ in \eqref{eq:carlitz2} all terms except $i=n$ in the sum are canceled by $(q^{-n};q)_{n+1}=0$ in the numerator, so
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:limit}
C_n(q^{-n},q) = \frac{(-q)^n}{(1-q)^n}\lim_{x\to q^{-n}} \frac{(x;q)_{n+1}}{1-q^n x}
=\frac{(-q)^n}{(1-q)^n}\lim_{x\to q^{-n}}{(x;q)_{n}}
=\frac{(-q)^n}{(1-q)^n}{(q^{-n};q)_{n}} \, .
\end{equation}
Finally, for $i \leq n-1$,
let $S_{n}^{(i)}$ be the set of permutations of $[n]$
that have no
descent in positions $\{n-i,n-i+1, ..., n-1 \}$.
Let
\begin{align*}
C_{n}^{(i)}(x,q) & : = \sum_{\pi \in S_{n}^{(i)}}
x^{\mathrm{des}(\pi)}q^{\mathrm{maj}(\pi)}. \label{Fnidef}
\end{align*}
In \cite{permstats}, it is shown that
\begin{equation*}
C_{n}^{(i)}(x,q)=\frac{C_{n}(x,q)}{(xq^{n-i};q)_i}-\sum_{k=1}^i
{n\choose k}xq^{n-k}
\frac{C_{n-k}(x,q)}{(xq^{n-i};q)_{i-k+1}}
\label{eq:sc}
\end{equation*}
so, in particular,
\begin{align}
C_{n}^{(1)}(x,q) & = \frac{C_n(x,q)-nxq^{n-1}C_{n-1}(x,q)}
{1-xq^{n-1}} \, .
\label{C1}
\end{align}
\section{Symmetrically Constrained Compositions when
$\sum a_i = 1$}
\subsection{The Main Theorem}
\begin{theorem}\label{mainthm}
Given integers $a_1 \leq a_2 \leq \dots \leq a_n$ satisfying
$\sum_{i=1}^n a_i = 1$, the generating function for those $\lambda \in {\mathbb Z}^n_{ \ge 0 } $
satisfying
\[
\sum_{ j=1 }^n a_j \lambda_{ \pi(j) } \ge 0 \ \ \qquad \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \,
\]
is
\begin{align*}
F(z_1,z_2, \dots, z_n) & =
\sum_{\pi \in S_n}
\frac{\prod_{j\in D_{\pi}}(z_1^{b_{1,j}}z_2^{b_{2,j}} \cdots z_n^{b_{n,j}})}
{\prod_{j=1}^n (1-z_1^{b_{1,j}}z_2^{b_{2,j}}
\cdots z_n^{b_{n,j}}) }
\end{align*}
where
\[
b_{i,j} = \left \{
\begin{array}{ll}
1 & \mbox{if $j = n$,}\\
-(a_1+ \dots + a_j) & \mbox{if $n \geq i > j \geq 1$,}\\
1 -(a_1+ \dots + a_j) & \mbox{if $1 \leq i \leq j < n$}.
\end{array}
\right.
\]
In particular, setting $z_1 = \cdots = z_n = q$ yields
\begin{align*}
F(q) & =
\frac{\sum_{\pi \in S_n}\prod_{j \in D_{\pi}}q^{j-n\sum_{i=1}^j a_i}}
{(1-q^n)\prod_{j=1}^{n-1}(1-q^{j-n\sum_{i=1}^j a_i})} \, .
\end{align*}
\end{theorem}
\noindent
{\bf Proof.}
To simplify notation, let
\[
F(z) =
F(z_1,z_2, \dots, z_n) \, .
\]
For $b \in {\mathbb Z}^n$, let
\[
z^b = z_1^{b_1} z_2^{b_2} \cdots z_n^{b_n}
\]
and for $\pi \in S_n$, let
\[
z_{\pi} = (z_{\pi(1)}, z_{\pi(2)}, \dots, z_{\pi(n)}) \, .
\]
With
\[
L := \biggl\{ \lambda \in {\mathbb Z}_{ \ge 0 }^n : \,
\sum_{ j=1 }^n a_j \lambda_{ \pi(j) } \ge 0 \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \,
\biggr\}
\]
we have
\[
F \left( z \right) = \sum_{ \lambda \in L } z^{\lambda}.
\]
Now we use the
standard method of partitioning the elements of $L$ into classes
$L_{\pi}$ indexed
by permutations $\pi \in S_n$:
\begin{eqnarray*}
L_{\pi} = \Bigl\{\, \lambda \in {\mathbb Z}^n & : & \lambda_{\pi(1)} \geq \lambda_{\pi(2)} \geq \dots \geq \lambda_{
\pi(n)},\\
&& \sum_{i=1}^{n} a_i \lambda_{\sigma(i)} \geq 0 \ \text{ for all $\sigma\in S_n$, and}\\
&& \lambda_{\pi(i)} > \lambda_{\pi(i+1)} \ {\rm if} \ i \in D_{\pi}\,\Bigr\} \, .
\end{eqnarray*}
Since
the last condition guarantees that no $\lambda$ is in more than
one class, $L$ is the disjoint union
\[
L = \bigcup_{\pi \in S_n} L_{\pi} \, .
\]
Our goal now simplifies to computing
\[
F_\pi \left( z \right) := \sum_{ \lambda \in L_\pi} z^\lambda ,
\]
because $F \left( z \right) = \sum_{ \pi \in S_n } F_\pi \left( z \right)$.
In $L_{\pi}$, since
\[
\lambda_{ \pi(1) } \ge \lambda_{ \pi(2) } \ge \dots \ge \lambda_{ \pi(n) } \,
\]
and since, by our assumption, $a_1 \leq a_2 \leq \dots \leq a_n$,
the $n!$ constraints
\[
a_1 \lambda_{ \sigma(1) } + a_2 \lambda_{ \sigma(2) } + \dots + a_n \lambda_{ \sigma(n) } \ge 0
\qquad \text{ for all } \sigma \in S_n \,
\]
are all implied by the single constraint
\[
a_1 \lambda_{ \pi(1) } + a_2 \lambda_{ \pi(2) } + \dots + a_n \lambda_{ \pi(n) } \ge
0 \, ,
\]
so that we get the more compact description
\[
L_\pi = \left\{ \lambda \in {\mathbb Z}^n : \,
\begin{array}{l}
\lambda_{ \pi(1) } \ge \lambda_{ \pi(2) } \ge \dots \ge \lambda_{ \pi(n) } \ge 0 \ \text{ and
} \ \lambda_{ \pi(j) } > \lambda_{ \pi(j+1) } \text{ if } j \in D_\pi \\
a_1 \lambda_{ \pi(1) } + a_2 \lambda_{ \pi(2) } + \dots + a_n \lambda_{ \pi(n) } \ge 0
\end{array}
\right\}.
\]
But this means that all $L_\pi$ look similar, except for the strict inequalities
determined by $D_\pi$. More precisely, if we let
\[
\widetilde L_\pi := \left\{ \lambda \in L_\mathrm{Id} : \, \lambda_j > \lambda_{ j+1 } \text{ if } j \in
D_\pi \right\}
\]
and $G_\pi (z) := \sum_{ \lambda \in \widetilde
L_\pi } z^\lambda$, then
\[
F_\pi (z) = G_\pi \left( z_{\pi} \right) .
\]
So it remains to find $G_\pi( z) $, the generating function for
\[
\widetilde L_\pi = \left\{ \lambda \in {\mathbb Z}^n : \,
\begin{array}{l}
\lambda_1 \ge \lambda_2 \ge \dots \ge \lambda_n \ge 0 \ \text{ and } \ \lambda_j > \lambda_{ j+1 } \text{
if } j \in D_\pi \\
a_1 \lambda_1 + a_2 \lambda_2 + \dots + a_n \lambda_n \ge 0
\end{array}
\right\} ,
\]
for a given $\pi \in S_n$.
The constraints of $\widetilde L_\pi$ are given by the system
\begin{equation}\label{constraintmatrix1}
\left[
\begin{array}{cccccccccccccccccccc}
1 & -1 & \\
& 1 & -1 & \\
& & & \ddots \\
& & & & 1 & -1 \\
a_1&a_2& a_3& \cdots &a_{ n-1 }& a_n
\end{array}
\right]
\ \lambda \ \ge \
\left[
\begin{array}{c}
e_1 \\ e_2 \\ \vdots \\ e_{ n-1 } \\ e_n
\end{array}
\right] ,
\end{equation}
where
\[
e_j =
\begin{cases}
0 & \text{ if } j \notin D_\pi \, , \\
1 & \text{ if } j \in D_\pi \, .
\end{cases}
\]
We make use of the following lemma, a well known result in
lattice-point enumeration.
This version
was formulated in \cite{Cmatrix2} for easy application to partition and
composition
enumeration problems.
\begin{lemma}
Let $C = [c_{ i,j }]$ be an $n \times n$ matrix of integers such that $C^{-1} = B
= [b_{i,j}]$ exists and $b_{ i,j }$ are all nonnegative integers. Let
$e_1, \dots, e_n$ be nonnegative integer constants.
For each $1 \leq i \leq n$, let
$c_i$ be the constraint
\[
c_{i,1}\lambda_1 +
c_{i,2}\lambda_2 + \dots +
c_{i,n}\lambda_n \geq e_i \, .
\]
Let $S_C$ be the set of nonnegative integer sequences $\lambda=
(\lambda_1,\lambda_2, \dots,\lambda_n)$ satisfying the constraints $c_i$ for
all $i$, $1 \leq i \leq n$. Then the generating function for $S_C$ is:
\[
F_C(x_1,x_2, \dots, x_n) =
\sum_{\lambda \in S_C}x_1^{\lambda_1} x_2^{\lambda_2} \cdots x_n^{\lambda_n} =
\frac{\prod_{j=1}^{n}(x_1^{b_{1,j}}x_2^{b_{2,j}} \cdots x_n^{b_{n,j}})^{e_j}}
{\prod_{j=1}^n (1-x_1^{b_{1,j}}x_2^{b_{2,j}}
\cdots x_n^{b_{n,j}}) } \, .
\]
\label{Cmatrix}
\end{lemma}
Now let $C$ be the matrix on the left side of (\ref{constraintmatrix1}).
Then $\det(C) = a_1+\cdots + a_n=1$, so $C$ is invertible and
$B=C^{-1}$ has all integer entries:
\[
b_{i,j} = \left \{
\begin{array}{ll}
1 & \mbox{if $j = n$,}\\
-(a_1+ \dots + a_j) & \mbox{if $n \geq i > j \geq 1$,}\\
1 -(a_1+ \dots + a_j) & \mbox{if $1 \leq i \leq j < n$}.
\end{array}
\right.
\]
If, in addition, $a_1 + \dots + a_j \leq
0$ for
$1 \leq j \leq n-1$, the integer entries of $B=C^{-1}$ are all nonnegative
and Lemma 1 gives the generating function $G_{\pi}(z)$ and
the theorem follows.
To complete the proof, we show that
if $a_1 + \dots + a_n = 1$ and $a_1 \leq a_2 \leq \dots \leq a_n$,
then for $1 \leq j \leq n-1$ we have
$a_1 + \dots + a_j \leq 0$.
Let $j$ be the smallest index satisfying $1 \leq j \leq n-1$ and
$a_1 + \dots + a_j \leq 0$, but $a_1 + \dots + a_{j+1} > 0$.
Then $a_{j+1} > -(a_1 + \dots + a_j) \geq 0$.
Thus
\[
1 \leq a_{j+1} \leq \dots \leq a_n \, ,
\]
so
\[
1 = a_1 + \dots + a_n \geq a_1 + \dots + a_{j+1} + n-j-1 > n-j-1 \, .
\]
So $j=n-1$ and therefore $a_1 + \dots + a_j \leq 0$ for
$1 \leq j \leq n-1$.
\qed
In Section 2.3 we derive an algorithm based on Theorem 1
for efficient computation of $F(q)$, given the $a_i$.
In the next section, we give examples of how to combine Theorem 1 with results on permutation statistics to derive formulas for $F(q)$
in special cases.
\subsection{Applications}
\noindent
{\bf Example 1}
Given positive integers $b$ and $n \geq 2$,
let $L$ be the set of nonnegative integer sequences
$\lambda$
satisfying
\[
(nb-b+1)\lambda_{\pi(n)} \geq b(\lambda_{\pi(1)} + \cdots + \lambda_{\pi(n-1)})
\qquad \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \,.
\]
The case $n=2$, $b=1$ is the Putnam problem (\ref{putnam}).
Here $a=[-b,-b, \dots, -b, nb-b+1]$, so by Theorem 1,
\begin{equation*}
F(q) \ = \
\frac{\sum_{\pi \in S_n}\prod_{j \in D_{\pi}}q^{j+jbn}}
{(1-q^n)\prod_{j=1}^{n-1}(1-q^{j+jbn})}\\
\ = \
\frac{\sum_{\pi \in S_n} (q^{1+bn})^{\mathrm{maj}(\pi)}}
{(1-q^n)\prod_{j=1}^{n-1}(1-q^{j+jbn})} \, .
\end{equation*}
By (\ref{eq:majdist}), the numerator is just $[\,n\,]_{q^{1+bn}}!$ and simplifying gives
\[
F(q) =
\frac{1-q^{n(nb+1)}}
{(1-q^n)(1-q^{nb+1})^n} \, .
\]
This generating function was discovered by Andrews, Paule, and Riese and
a complete parametrization was proved in \cite{PAVII} using partition analysis.
\noindent
{\bf Example 2}
Given positive integers $b$ and $n \geq 2$, let $L$
be the set of nonnegative integer sequences
$\lambda$ satisfying
\[
b(\lambda_{\pi(2)} + \cdots + \lambda_{\pi(n-1)}) \geq
(nb-b-1)\lambda_{\pi(1)}
\qquad \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \,.
\]
The case $n=3$, $b=1$ is the integer-sided triangle problem
(\ref{ist}) and the case $n=2$, $b=2$ is the Putnam problem (\ref{putnam}).
Here $a = [-(nb-b-1),b,b, \dots, b]$,
so by Theorem 1,
\begin{equation*}
F(q) \ = \
\frac{\sum_{\pi \in S_n}\prod_{j \in D_{\pi}}q^{(bn-1)(n-j)}}
{(1-q^n)\prod_{j=1}^{n-1}(1-q^{(bn-1)(n-j)})}\\
\ = \
\frac{\sum_{\pi \in S_n} (q^{1-bn})^{\mathrm{maj}(\pi)}
(q^{n(bn-1)})^{\mathrm{des}(\pi)}}
{(1-q^n)\prod_{j=1}^{n-1}(1-q^{(bn-1)(n-j)})} \, .
\end{equation*}
By (\ref{eq:limit}), the numerator is
\begin{equation*}
C_n(q^{n(bn-1)}, q^{1-bn})
= \frac{(q^{n(bn-1)};q^{1-bn})_{n} (-q)^{(1-bn)n}}{(1-q^{1-bn})^n} \, ;
\end{equation*}
Simplifying further and dividing by the denominator gives
\[
F(q) =
\frac{1-q^{n(nb-1)}}
{(1-q^n)(1-q^{nb-1})^n} \, .
\]
This generating function was also originally proved by Andrews,
Paule, and Riese in \cite{PAVII}.
\noindent
{\bf Example 3}
Given positive integers $b$ and $n \geq 2$, let $L$ be the set
of
nonnegative integer sequences
$\lambda = (\lambda_1, \dots, \lambda_n)$ satisfying the constraints
\[
(b+1)\lambda_{\pi(n)} \geq b \lambda_{\pi(1)}
\qquad \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \, .
\]
The case $n=2$, $b=1$ is the Putnam problem (\ref{putnam}).
Here $a=[-b,0,0, \dots, 0,b+1]$
so by Theorem 1,
\begin{equation*}
F(q) \ = \
\frac{\sum_{\pi \in S_n}\prod_{j \in D_{\pi}}q^{j+bn}}
{(1-q^n)\prod_{j=1}^{n-1}(1-q^{j+bn})}\\
\ = \
\frac{\sum_{\pi \in S_n} q^{\mathrm{maj}(\pi)}
(q^{bn})^{\mathrm{des}(\pi)}}
{(1-q^n)\prod_{j=1}^{n-1}(1-q^{j+bn})} \, .
\end{equation*}
By (\ref{eq:carlitz2}), the numerator is
\begin{align*}
C_n(q^{bn}, q) & =
\frac{(q^{bn};q)_{n+1}}{(1-q)^n} \sum_{i=0}^n {n \choose i}
\frac{(-q^{i})}{1-q^{bn+i}} \, .
\end{align*}
Combining with the denominator and simplifying gives
\[
F(q) = \frac{(1-q^{bn})(1-q^{bn+n})}
{(1-q^n)(1-q)^n} \sum_{i=0}^n {n \choose i}
\frac{(-q^{i})}{1-q^{bn+i}} \, .
\]
\noindent
{\bf Example 4}
Given positive integers $k \leq \ell$, and $n \geq 3$,
let $m=k+\ell-1$ and
let $L$ be the set of
nonnegative integer sequences
$\lambda$
satisfying
\[
k \lambda_{\pi(n-1)} + \ell \lambda_{\pi(n)} \geq m \lambda_{\pi(1)}
\qquad \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \,.
\]
The case $n=3$ and $k=\ell=1$ is the integer-sided triangles (\ref{ist}).
Here $a=[-m, 0,0,\dots, 0, k,\ell]$, so by Theorem 1,
\begin{align*}
F(q) & =
\frac{\sum_{\pi \in S_n}\prod_{j \in D_{\pi}, j \not = n-1}q^{j+mn}
\prod_{j \in D_{\pi}, j = n-1}q^{j+mn -nk}}
{(1-q^n)(1-q^{n\ell -1})\prod_{j=1}^{n-2}(1-q^{j+bn})} \, .
\end{align*}
Recall from (\ref{C1}) that $C_n^{(1)}$ is the joint distribution
of des and maj over all permutations with no descent in position $n-1$.
Then in $F(q)$, we can
split the sum over $\pi \in S_n$ into two sums according to
whether or not $i \in D_{\pi}$.
We get that the numerator can be written as:
\[
C_n^{(1)}(q^{nm},q) + q^{-nk} (C_n(q^{nm},q) - C_n^{(1)}(q^{nm},q)) \, .
\]
Using (\ref{C1}) and combining with the denominator gives
(eventually)
\begin{align*}
F(q) & =
\frac{C_n(q^{nm},q)(1-q^{n\ell-1})
- C_{n-1}(q^{nm},q) nq^{nm+n-1}(1-q^{-nk})}
{(1-q^n)(1-q^{n\ell-1})(q^{nm+1};q)_{n-1}} \, .
\label{fnq}
\end{align*}
Details appear in \cite{permstats}.
\subsection{Efficient Enumeration of Symmetrically Constrained Compositions}
We can compute the generating function $F(q)$ for compositions satisfying the $n!$ constraints
\[
\sum_{i=1}^n a_i \lambda_{\pi(i)} \geq 0
\qquad \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \,
\]
via Theorem 1.
The denominator is given explicitly, but the numerator is a sum of $n!$
terms. However, regardless of the values of the $a_i$, the numerator
of $F(q)$, when simplified, is a polynomial with at most $2^{n-1}$
terms (one for each possible descent set).
Let $u_1, u_2,\dots$ be arbitrary and define polynomials $G_n$ by
\begin{equation*}
G_n=\sum_{\pi\in S_n} \prod_{i\in D_{\pi} } u_i \, .
\end{equation*}
We can compute $G_n$ in the following way:
Let
\begin{equation*}
\G{n}{i} = \sum_{\pi\in\SS ni} \prod_{i\in D_{\pi} } u_i \, ,
\end{equation*}
where $\SS ni$ is the set of all permutations $\pi\in S_n$ that end with $i$.
Then $G_n = \G{n+1}{n+1}$.
A permutation $\pi$ in $\SS ni$ can be obtained uniquely from some permutation
$\bar \pi$ in $S_{n-1}$ by replacing each $j\ge i$ with $j+1$ and then appending $i
$ at the end. The descent set of $\pi$ will be the same as the descent set of
$\bar \pi$ if the last entry of $\bar \pi$ is less than $i$ and the descent set of $\pi$ will be $D_{\bar \pi}\cup\{n-1\}$ if
the last entry of $\bar \pi$ is greater than or equal to $i$. Thus we have the recurrence
\begin{equation*}
\G ni = \sum_{j=1}^{i-1} \G{n-1}j + u_{n-1}\sum_{j=i}^{n-1} \G{n-1}j
\end{equation*}
with the initial condition $\G 11=1$.
We can simplify this a bit to get {\bf ``Algorithm $G$''}:
\begin{align*}
\G ni = \G n{i-1} +(1-u_{n-1})\G{n-1}{i-1} \quad\text{for $i>1$} \, ,
\end{align*}
with $\G n1 = u_{n-1}\sum_{j=1}^{n-1} \G{n-1}j$.
Now, to compute the numerator of $F(q)$ in Theorem 1 using Algorithm $G$,
simply set $u_i = q^{i-n(a_1 + \cdots + a_i)}$ for $1 \leq i < n$ and
compute $\G{n+1}{n+1}$.
If we use dynamic programming to implement the recurrence of Algorithm $G$,
(e.g. ``option remember'' in Maple), then to compute $G_n = \G{n+1}{n+1}$,
at most
$O(n^2)$ polynomials are computed. However, we must consider the time required
to compute them.
In order to compute one of the $G_k^{(i)}$, essentially we
only need to add two polynomials.
It is fair to assume that the time is proportional
to the number of terms in the polynomials times the logarithm of the
coefficient magnitude. So, overall, the time (and number of terms) grows
roughly like $2^n$ in the dimension $n$, but logarithmically in the
coefficient size, which is considered polynomial time in fixed dimension.
In practice, we found that we could compute $F(q)$ for arbitrary $a$ with
$\sum a_i = 1$ within seconds for $n \leq 11 $, in about 10 seconds for
$n=12$ and
in less than a minute up to $n=15$,
using a naive implementation in Maple on a tablet PC running Windows XP.
For comparison, there are existing software packages that,
when given a collection of linear inequalities, produce the
generating function for the integer points in the solution set.
These packages include the Omega Package \cite{PA3},
Xin's speed-up of Omega \cite{xin}, and LattE macchiato \cite{LattE,Koeppe}.
We used these programs to compute symmetrically constrained compositions in $n$
dimensions, by giving as input the
$n!$ inequalities. The computation became infeasible when $n \geq 4$
for the Omega package and Xin's program. LattE was able to handle
examples for $n=5$ in under 10 seconds and $n=6$ in under an hour.
Thus exploiting the symmetry via Theorem 1 and Algorithm $G$ makes a huge difference in what we can compute.
\section{The General Case}
\subsection{A General Version of the Main Theorem}
We remove the requirement that $\sum a_i = 1$ and
enumerate compositions $\lambda = \left( \lambda_1, \lambda_2, \dots, \lambda_n \right) \in {\mathbb Z}_{ \ge
0 }^n$ that satisfy the $n!$ constraints
\begin{equation}\label{symconstraintseq}
a_1 \lambda_{ \pi(1) } + a_2 \lambda_{ \pi(2) } + \dots + a_n \lambda_{ \pi(n)
} \ge 0
\qquad \text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \,
\end{equation}
via the generating function $F(z) = \sum_{\lambda} z^{\lambda}$.
\begin{theorem}\label{mainthmgeneralized}
Given integers $a_1 \leq a_2 \leq \dots \leq a_n$,
with $a_1 + a_2 + \dots + a_j \le 0$ for $1 \le j \le n-1$ and $a_1 + a_2 + \dots + a_n \geq 1$,
define the vectors $A_1, A_2, \dots, A_n
\in {\mathbb Z}^n$ as the columns of the matrix
\[
\left[
\begin{array}{cccccccccccccccccccc}
a_2 + \dots + a_n & a_3 + \dots + a_n & a_4 + \dots + a_n & \cdots & a_n &
1 \\
-a_1 & a_3 + \dots + a_n & a_4 + \dots + a_n & & a_n & 1 \\
-a_1 & -a_1-a_2 & a_4 + \dots + a_n & & a_n & 1 \\
-a_1 & -a_1-a_2 & -a_1-a_2-a_3 & & a_n & 1 \\
\vdots & \vdots & \vdots & & \vdots & \vdots \\
-a_1 & -a_1-a_2 & -a_1-a_2-a_3 & & a_n & 1 \\
-a_1 & -a_1-a_2 & -a_1-a_2-a_3 & \cdots & -a_1-\dots-a_{ n-1 } & 1
\end{array}
\right]
\]
and let
\[
\P := \sum_{ j=1}^n [0,1) A_j = \biggl\{\,\sum_{i=1}^n c_iA_j : \ 0 \leq c_i < 1 \,\biggr\}
\, .
\]
Then
\[
F \left( z \right) = \sum_{p \in \P \cap {\mathbb Z}^n} \, \sum_{ \pi \in S_n }
\frac{z_{\pi}^p \prod_{i \in D_{\pi},\, p_i = p_{i+1}} z_{\pi}^{A_i}}
{\prod_{ j=1 }^n \left( 1 - z_{ \pi }^{A_i} \right)} \, ,
\]
where we take the product over all descent positions $i$ of $\pi$ for which the $i$th and the $(i+1)$st coordinate of $p$ are the same.
\end{theorem}
\noindent
If, for some $i$, $d$ divides every coordinate of $A_i$, we can
replace $A_i$ by $A_i/d$ in Theorem \ref{mainthmgeneralized} and thereby reduce the number of
lattice points in $\P$ by a factor of $d$.
\noindent
{\bf Proof.}
The start of our proof is similar to that of Theorem \ref{mainthm}, except that we find it advantageous to view the compositions satisfying
\eqref{symconstraintseq} as integer points in the cone
\[
K := \biggl\{\, x = \left( x_1, x_2, \dots, x_n \right) \in {\mathbb R}_{ \ge 0 }^n : \,
\sum_{ j=1 }^n a_j x_{ \pi(j) } \ge 0\
\text{ for all } \pi \in S_n \,
\biggr\} .
\]
From this point of view,
\[
F \left( z \right) = \sum_{ \lambda \in K \cap {\mathbb Z}^d } z^\lambda.
\]
The setup now continues in analogy with the proof of Theorem \ref{mainthm}. Like there, it suffices to study
\[
\widetilde K_\pi := \left\{ x \in {\mathbb R}^n : \,
\begin{array}{l}
x_1 \ge x_2 \ge \dots \ge x_n \ge 0 \ \text{ and
} \ x_j > x_{ j+1 } \text{ if } j \in D_\pi \\
a_1 x_1 + a_2 x_2 + \dots + a_n x_n \ge 0
\end{array}
\right\}
\]
and the associated generating function
$G_\pi (z) := \sum_{ \lambda \in \widetilde K_\pi \cap {\mathbb Z}^d } z^\lambda$; then
\[
F \left( z \right) = \sum_{ \pi \in S_n } G_\pi \left( z_{ \pi } \right) .
\]
First, we study the cone $K_{\mathrm{Id}}$.
The constraints of $ K_{\mathrm{Id}}$ are given by the system
\begin{equation}\label{constraintmatrix}
\left[
\begin{array}{cccccccccccccccccccc}
1 & -1 & \\
& 1 & -1 & \\
& & & \ddots \\
& & & & 1 & -1 \\
a_1&a_2& a_3& \cdots &a_{ n-1 }& a_n
\end{array}
\right]
\ x \ \ge \ 0 \, ,
\end{equation}
and the inverse of the matrix on the left of \eqref{constraintmatrix} is
\[
\frac{ 1 }{ \sum_{ j=1 }^n a_j }
\left[
\begin{array}{cccccccccccccccccccc}
a_2 + \dots + a_n & a_3 + \dots + a_n & a_4 + \dots + a_n & \cdots & a_n &
1 \\
-a_1 & a_3 + \dots + a_n & a_4 + \dots + a_n & & a_n & 1 \\
-a_1 & -a_1-a_2 & a_4 + \dots + a_n & & a_n & 1 \\
-a_1 & -a_1-a_2 & -a_1-a_2-a_3 & & a_n & 1 \\
\vdots & \vdots & \vdots & & \vdots & \vdots \\
-a_1 & -a_1-a_2 & -a_1-a_2-a_3 & & a_n & 1 \\
-a_1 & -a_1-a_2 & -a_1-a_2-a_3 & \cdots & -a_1-\dots-a_{ n-1 } & 1
\end{array}
\right] .
\]
The conditions on $a_1, a_2, \dots, a_n$ guarantee
that the inverse exists and that $K_{\mathrm{Id}}$ is a cone in ${\mathbb R}^n_{\geq 0}$.
Thus the columns $A_1, A_2, \dots, A_n$ of this matrix form a set of
generators of $K_{\mathrm{Id}}$ and by an easy
tiling argument (see, e.g., \cite[Chapter 3]{beckbook})
\begin{equation}
K_{\mathrm{Id}} \cap {\mathbb Z}_n = \biggl\{\, p + \sum_{j=1}^n c_jA_j : \, p \in \P, \
c \in {\mathbb Z}^n_{\geq 0} \,\biggr\} ;
\label{KId}
\end{equation}
in other words,
\[
G_{\mathrm{Id}} (z) =
\frac{
\sum_{p \in \P \cap {\mathbb Z}^n} z^p}
{ \prod_{ j=1 }^n \Bigl( 1 - z_{ \pi }^{A_j} \Bigr)} \, .
\]
Before turning to $\widetilde K_\pi$, note that the generators $A_j$
have a special form: we have
\[
A_{j,j} > A_{j+1,j} \text{ for } 1 \leq j < n
\qquad \text{ and } \qquad
A_{i,j} = A_{i+1,j} \text{ for } j \not = i.
\]
This follows because $\sum_{ j=1 }^n a_j \geq 1 $ implies that
\[
a_j + a_{ j+1 } + \dots + a_n > -a_1 - a_2 - \dots - a_{j-1}.
\]
Thus, if $p \in K_{\mathrm{Id}} \cap {\mathbb Z}^n$ satisfies $p_j = p_{j+1}$, then for
any $c \in {\mathbb Z}^n_{\geq 0}$, if
\[
r = (p+ A_j) + \sum_{i=1}^n c_i A_i
\]
then
\[
r_j > r_{j+1}.
\]
Now, what about $\widetilde K_\pi$?
It contains all points $y \in K_{\mathrm{Id}}$ except those $y$ with $y_i = y_{i+1}$
for some $i \in D_{\pi}$.
By (\ref{KId}), every $y \in K_{\mathrm{Id}}$ has a unique representation as
$y = p + \sum_{j=1}^n c_jA_j$ for some $c \in {\mathbb Z}^n_{\geq 0}$.
Thus by the previous paragraph, $y_i = y_{i+1}$ iff
both $p_i = p_{i+1}$ and $c_i=0$.
Now, in the same way as in (\ref{KId}),
\begin{align*}
\widetilde K_\pi \cap {\mathbb Z}^n & = \biggl\{\, p + \sum_{j=1}^n c_jA_j : \, p \in \P, \ c \in {\mathbb Z}^n_{\geq 0}, {\rm \ and \ if \ } j \in D_{\pi} {\rm \ and \ }
p_j = p_{j+1} {\rm \ then \ } c_j > 0 \,\biggr\} \\
& =
\biggl\{\, p + \sum_{j=1}^n c_jA_j +\!\! \sum _{j \in D_{\pi}, \ p_j = p_{j+1}} \!\!\!\!\!\!\!\! A_j \, : \, p \in \P, \ c \in {\mathbb Z}^n_{\geq 0} \,\biggr\}
\end{align*}
Thus
\[
G_{\pi}(z) =
\sum_{p \in \P \cap {\mathbb Z}^n}
\frac{z^p \prod_{j \in D_{\pi}, \ p_j = p_{j+1} } z_{\pi}^{A_i}}
{\prod_{ j=1 }^n \left( 1 - z_{ \pi }^{A_i} \right)} \, .
\]
\qed
\noindent
In the special case of Theorem 1, $\sum_{ j=1 }^n a_j = 1$ and the origin
is the only lattice point in $\P$.
\subsection{Efficient Computation for the General Case}
Give $a_1 \leq \dots \leq a_n$ with $\sum_{ j=1 }^n a_j \geq 1$, once we find the
generators $A_1, A_2, \dots, A_n$, and the lattice points in $\P$, we can
again use Algorithm $G$ to efficiently compute $F(q)$:
By Theorem~2, setting $z=(q,q, \dots, q)$,
\[
F(q) =
\sum_{p \in \P \cap {\mathbb Z}^n} q^{|p|}
\frac{ \sum_{ \pi \in S_n } \prod_{ i \in D_{\pi},\, p_i = p_{i+1}
} q^{|A_i|}}
{\prod_{ j=1 }^n \left( 1 - q^{|A_i|} \right)},
\]
where $|x| = x_1 + \dots + x_n$ for an $n$-dimensional vector $x$.
The denominator is easy. To find the numerator, for each
point $p \in \P \cap {\mathbb Z}^n$, set
\[
u_i =
\left \{
\begin{array}{ll}
q^{|A_i|} & {\rm if \ } p_i = p_{i+1}\\
1 & {\rm otherwise}
\end{array}
\right.
\]
and then compute $\G{n+1}{n+1}$.
Now the running time also depends on $|\P \cap {\mathbb Z}^n|$.
This can grow linearly with the magnitude of the entries
(rather than the logarithm of the magnitude), even in fixed dimension.
However, when $|\P \cap {\mathbb Z}^n|$ is of moderate size, this computation method
can be quite effective.
{
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 2,910 |
HomeFederal GovernmentBig Brother's Still Watching
Federal GovernmentPrivacySurveillance
Big Brother's Still Watching
By Editor Ken Martin
But mass surveillance is being reined in a bit, technology companies are fighting for our privacy
It happened yet again. This time hackers accessed the computer system of credit reporting agency Experian and stole personal information about some 15 million T-Mobile wireless customers and potential customers, The New York Times reported October 1. The information stolen from Experian servers included social security numbers, home addresses, birthdates and more.
As if to underline the topic's importance, news of this latest data breach broke the day after the American Civil Liberties Union of Texas hosted its Privacy and Technology Conference at The University of Texas at Austin. The conference featured ACLU experts from Washington, D.C., and New York City, faculty from UT San Antonio and Texas A&M, the Electronic Frontier Foundation, the Texas Electronic Privacy Coalition, and private companies engaged in providing encryption (Merlin Cryption) and preventing computer fraud (ZapFraud).
While some of the speakers talked about our vulnerability to nefarious parties who seek to wreak havoc or make money by hacking the kind of personal information lost in the Experian breach, others talked about another kind of vulnerability: the loss of privacy through mass surveillance conducted by our own government.
The shift to mass surveillance
Alex Abdo
Alex Abdo, a staff attorney working on the ACLU's Speech, Privacy, and Technology Project, argued that fighting governmental surveillance can be good for business and technology companies are now doing so.
Federal law enforcement agencies since the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001—empowered by the USA PATRIOT Act signed into law barely six weeks later—secretly shifted from targeted surveillance initiated after suspects were identified, to the bulk collection of massive communications that could be stored and sifted later.
In addition, the FBI uses National Security Letters authorized by Section 215 of the USA PATRIOT Act (Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act) to demand personal customer records from financial institutions, Internet service providers, and credit companies.
Letters issued under Section 215 require "the production of any tangible things (including books, records, papers, documents, and other items)" and come with gags to prevent a company from talking about them: "No person shall disclose to any other person (other than those persons necessary to produce the tangible things under this section) that the Federal Bureau of Investigation has sought or obtained tangible things under this section."
While a federal court must approve issuance of Section 215 letters, many courts did so without much questioning, conference speakers said. But some judges have been pushing back. A Washington Post article of April 24, 2014, reported "Low-level federal judges balking at law enforcement requests for electronic evidence."
The basis for the push-back is the Fourth Amendment protection against unreasonable searches and seizures and the spreading judicial resistance to overly broad requests.
In addition to the powers granted under the Act, President George W. Bush further authorized intelligence gathering through executive orders. The ACLU challenged these orders in court after exposure by Seymour Hersh in a New York Times article in 2005, Abdo said. "But our clients could not prove they were monitored and so had no standing."
"We spent the next five years not on the merits of legality but on whether our clients had standing to challenge the law," Abdo said. The ACLU's case won in lower courts was upheld by an appeals court but lost in a 5-4 decision of the U.S. Supreme Court in February 2013.
Instead of reforming such surveillance, Abdo said, it was codified.
Snowden disclosures changed everything
The Supreme Court decision came three months before the first disclosures about massive intelligence gathering were made public by former CIA employee and government contractor Edward Snowden in June 2013, Abdo said.
Those disclosures revealed that since 2006 Section 215 had been relied on to order telecommunications companies to turn over customer records on a daily basis, he said. The ACLU, a customer of Verizon, used the Snowden disclosures to gain legal standing. Congress and the courts got involved, and the program was ruled unlawful.
"These disclosures unsettled the public and created a market for privacy," Abdo said, citing studies done by the Pew Research Center.
"That galvanized the industry and created an adversarial position with government against overreaching access to information storied by companies," he said.
Has that led to better privacy?
"I think it has," Abdo said.
Tech companies fighting back
"Companies have modified their policies. And major companies have sued to allow more disclosure of what they were asked to provide."
Companies also disclosed the fact they were fighting requests for disclosures before turning information over to government, a costly battle given that they receive "tens of thousands of requests."
"Pretty much every tech company now requires a warrant before releasing information," Abdo said. Warrants require a higher degree of justification to get court approval.
Tech companies also use "canaries" in public reports to signal they have never received a Section 215 letter, Abdo said. "If they omit that statement in future reports it will reveal that they have received a Section 215 letter."
Major U.S. tech companies and privacy organizations—which banded together as the Reform Government Surveillance coalition—published an open letter to President Obama, the NSA director and others demanding major changes in how the county conducts domestic surveillance programs, Business Insider reported March 25, 2015.
Section 215 amended
President Obama signed a four-year extension of the PATRIOT Act in May 2015 but parts of the Act expired. In June 2015, Section 215 was amended to "stop the NSA from continuing its mass phone data collection program. Instead, companies will retain the data and the NSA can obtain information about targeted individuals with permission from a federal court," a Wikipedia article states.
Abdo said, "We are starting to see companies recognize that data is a liability and if they don't need it, don't store it. If you do need it, secure it (because) every hack has led to massive class-action lawsuits."
Newest products most vulnerable
While massive data breaches like the one that hit Experian are increasingly common—and we as consumers can only hope that companies having our data are building better defenses against cyber attacks—consumers are nevertheless unwittingly aiding and abetting hackers. With little awareness of the risks, our penchant for the latest and greatest cars and appliances is leading us into perilous territory.
So-called "smart cars" (smart meaning Internet-connected cars, not the brand Smart) can be hacked and disabled by remote control. Samsung TVs with built-in webcams can be hacked to allow surreptitiously watching whoever is watching programs. Thermostats and refrigerators connected to the Internet can be hacked to gain access to routers and computers on the same networks.
Chris Soghoian
Chris Soghoian, PhD, principal technology and senior policy analyst for the ACLU's Speech, Privacy and Technology Project, detailed how researchers hacked a Jeep Cherokee's Internet connection to wirelessly disable the vehicle's transmission while the car was being driven at 50 mph—while the car's windshield washers were splashing, the radio was blaring hip-hop full-blast, and the hackers' images appeared on the car's digital display. Then they disabled the brakes, leaving the SUV to drift into a ditch while the writer driving the vehicle pumped the brake pedal in vain.
Writer Andy Greenberg told the story in his Wired article of July 21, 2015. This hack was only a demonstration but it could've been made worse by killing the engine or, if the car were in reverse, taking control of the steering.
All the researchers needed to accomplish this hack was the car's IP address, which they had a means of gaining.
The researchers shared the information with Jeep maker Chrysler and a patch was released, but it required manual implementation. Even "smart" cars can't download a software patch over the Internet like we can for our computers and phones. So it's likely that many of these cars will never be updated to prevent such hacks.
Soghoian said this demonstration triggered the recall of 1.4 million cars. (See Fiat Chrysler Automobiles recall notice issued July 24, 2015, which indicated owners would be provided a USB device they could use to upgrade their vehicle's software.)
The researchers also published parts of the code they used in the demonstration, much to the dismay of the carmaker, but justified the help the code might provide to malicious hackers by stating it provided a means for peer review.
"It also sends a message: Automakers need to be held accountable for their vehicles' digital security," the article stated. "If consumers don't realize this is an issue, they should, and they should start complaining to carmakers. … This might be the kind of software bug most likely to kill someone."
Jeeps are not the only cars vulnerable to hacks. Every new General Motors vehicle comes equipped with OnStar services that provide automatic crash response, remote services, and the option to make the car a mobile Wi-Fi hotspot. But it took the manufacturer five years to fix the OnStar's vulnerability to a hacker's ability to fully take over control, Soghoian said.
"That's a horror story of the 'Internet of things,' " he said, referring to the "networking of physical objects embedded with electronics, software, sensors, and network connectivity that enables these objects to collect and exchange data."
"We gone from having dumb devices that work in a predictable way to being vulnerable to software hacks," he said.
Android phones not secure
"Android cell phones are not updated," Soghoian said. "Google doesn't have the capability to give you upgrades," he said, "so most consumers don't get regular updates."
The result: "There is a smart phone security crisis," he said, pointing to a July 27, 2015, article in the technology publication Ars Technica headlined "950 million Android phones can be hijacked by malicious text messages."
One caveat: Android phones sold by Google under the Nexus brand and equipped with Google Play are regularly updated, but other brands making Android phones get software updates slowly, if ever, according to a CNET article published October 1, 2015.
Soghoian said the ACLU filed a complaint with the Federal Trade Commission over the vulnerability of Android phones coupled with the fact that consumers were locked into two-year contracts, but the FTC took no action.
Let the buyer beware
Don't look to lawmakers to help, Soghoian said. Congress is doing nothing about this problem. "We're on our own right now and it will be a long time before Washington wakes up to these security problems," he said.
An exception to that neglect among legislators is that Senators Ed Markey (D-Mass.) and Richard Blumenthal (D-Conn.) have introduced automotive security legislation, the Security and Privacy in Your Car Act.
So what can we do in the meantime?
Regularly update the software on your cell phone, which may be remotely activated and used to eavesdrop on nearby conversations, as detailed in a CNET article nine years ago, when the FBI was authorized by a court and used that technique to surveil a suspected criminal.
Prevent electronic peeping by putting a sticker over your webcams.
"Think twice about buying a smart TV," Soghoian advised, and instead buy devices like Apple TV or Roku to connect your television to Internet services.
If you have a smart refrigerator or thermostat, then it should be put on a "quarantined" wireless network that is separate from—and cannot connect to—your computers.
It's a business problem
Soghoian said that manufacturers have a problem with business models that require providing ongoing services, as in regular software updates that prevent security breaches, but which provide no revenue for that support. As examples, he noted that Google no longer supports TVs made before 2012 and Microsoft no longer supports its aged Windows XP operating system.
Smart cars need updates but companies do not profit from providing them, he said.
"It's not a technical problem, it's a business problem," Soghoian said. "Our relationship with manufacturers doesn't go forward. The companies we send a check to every month are the companies that can afford to update systems; they have resources and business incentives."
Companies put computers in devices but they don't think of themselves as tech companies so they don't make security a priority.
"With power comes responsibilities," he said. "Companies have huge power but have not accepted responsibility."
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Broadband Access Sure Way to Spur Economic Growth | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 1,261 |
Hollywood, CA ---- Joseph Szabo's photographs of angst driven adolescents have earned him the admiration of many in the entertainment community including Sofia Coppola, Kirsten Dunst, Cameron Crowe and Andrew Garfield. Now a new film, making its Los Angeles premiere at the HollyShorts Film Festival August 9-16, 2012, reveals the stories behind the images.
On his blog, legendary photographer Bruce Weber has called it "A great photography documentary." The Project has previously screened at over a dozen festivals including Cinequest, the Florida Film Festival, DOC NYC and the St. Louis International Film Festival.
Joseph Szabo will be attending the premiere which screens during a program of short documentaries on Thursday, August 16, 2012, starting at 6:30 PM. The location: Grauman's Chinese 6 Theaters in Hollywood at 6801 Hollywood Blvd. Tickets can be purchased at Eventbrite or in person at the box office.
"The Joseph Szabo Project" was produced and directed by David Khachatorian and George P. Pozderec. To learn more about the film and watch a preview please visit: www.thejosephszaboproject.com. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 5,379 |
Immortalised by Tom "Maverick" Cruise in Tony Scott's 1986 classic Top Gun, Aviator glasses are one of the most popular frames available.
Otherwise, scroll down to read more!
Will Aviator Glasses Work For Me?
Will Aviator Glasses Suit My Face Shape?
Finding the right pair of glasses for you can be a frustrating task. As Aviator glasses are so common with a plethora of variations, it can be difficult to find a pair that you like and that fit you properly.
Whether you're looking for new prescription glasses or just a pair of shades, you can use this guide to find the right glasses for you.
Each of the featured glasses below have been tested by us among at least 20 different pairs. We also include as much information as possible with regards to their size, customisation and other considerations.
Furthermore, most are available as clear glasses or sunglasses with prescription lenses.
Finally, we also cater to every budget range and will offer comments on quality and value for money.
Walking the fine line between vintage and modern, the Warby Parker York aviator frames are versatile and comfortable. Made from Japanese ion-plated titanium, they're lightweight and feel comfortable thanks to acetate temple tips.
Additionally, the Akulon-coated screws are an attention to detail that indicate the high-quality for these premium glasses.
Available in blue, copper or silver metal colours, the palette may be limited but each look fantastic. We were particularly fond of the shade of blue and thought it was perfectly wearable with most attires.
Unfortunately, these are only available with clear or light-responsive frames. Therefore, if you're looking for sunglasses, they're not ideal.
Finally, the Warby Parker York frames are somewhat premium compared to the other options on this list. However, at $145 they also cover the prescription lenses and consist of a far higher-end quality.
Coastal's stylish aviators from Joseph Marc are an elegant choice for the more conservative-minded.
We were particularly keen on the Antique Gold frames, which offer a slight contrast and vintage feel. However, the Observations also come in silver or black if preferred.
Although the metal type was divulged, the glasses are lightweight yet sturdy. They're also available in small, medium and large to fit most head sizes.
Finally, the frames are available for only $95 through Costal. However, take note that this doesn't include the lenses so they can be quite costly in comparison.
We really liked these somewhat unusual frames from Glasses USA by Ottoto. A unique design inspired by the classic Aviators, the Ottoto Plato is made from acetate rather than metal.
Available solely in black, they can still be relatively modest despite their adventurous curved design. Nevertheless, there's something quite fun about these frames that make them very geek chic.
Being made from acetate, they're also very durable and quite comfortable on the nose bridge even without pads.
Finally, they're available for only $90 on Glasses USA but can sometimes be found on sale for around $60. The pricing includes single, near and non-prescription lenses. However, you will need to pay more for progressive or bifocals. You can also add sunglasses lenses for only $29 extra.
EyeBuy Direct's "Harrier" aviators may be considerably cheaper, but their quality is still quite reasonable. Available in either gunmetal or gold, both feature striking tortoise acetate in brown and honey for an elegant finish.
Only available with 56mm lenses, this frame is best suited to people with larger heads. Nevertheless, it could be sported for an intentionally oversized geeky look.
Meanwhile, the metal is quite lightweight but doesn't quite feel as sturdy as those made by Coastal and Warby Parker. Nevertheless, the price is unbeatable at only $29 on EyeBuy Direct, which includes single vision and non-prescription lenses.
Adding sunglasses lenses is easy too and there are plenty of options to choose from. Basic sunglasses cost only $4.95. Meanwhile, mirrored and polarised lenses cost $29 and $49 respectively.
Like the Ottoto frames sold through EyeBuy Direct, Zenni Optical has drawn inspiration for the classic design to create something unique. However, instead of opting for only acetate, Zenni's interpretation features mixed materials.
Whilst the lenses are enclosed with black acetate, the brow bridge and temple arms have a dark gold metal finish. In the shade, the colour is almost bronze but shines like antique gold under the light.
Pushing the geek-chic concept to the full, the resulting style is almost steampunk and suits eccentric and fashionable styles alike. They're also very lightweight and comfortable to wear.
Finally, at only $27.95 on Zenni, these glasses offer excellent value for money, which includes single and non-prescription lenses. Sunglasses lenses cost only and additional $4.95!
Originally invented in 1936 by Bausch & Lomb, Aviators were designed to protect pilots from the sun's glare when flying. This is why the lens is teardrop-shaped and its surface area is about three times that of the human eyeball.
Its introduction swiftly replaced the outdated goggles worn during the 1st World War and they became enormously popular among all military personnel.
Whilst the goggles were a source of mockery since they looked quite goofy, aviator glasses became synonymous with heroism and bravery. Many famous generals including Douglas MacArthur were renowned for their dark shades.
Soon after the war, they were highly sought after by civilians and eventually trademarked as "Ray Bans". Most popular as sunglasses, aviators had a stint in the 1970's and early-to-mid-1980's wherein they were used as prescription glasses.
This fell out of fashion before the turn of the century but has since experienced a Renaissance in recent years. For instance, they're stylishly worn by The Professor in the extremely successful Spanish series, Casa de Papel (Money Heist).
Will Aviator Frames Work For Me?
Firstly, aviators are usually quite large so always take your head size into account when choosing a pair. If your head is comparatively small, you should take care and double check sizes before buying.
Additionally, they're commonly made from metals ranging from gold to silver. Therefore, refer to our guide to choosing glasses to see which would suit your skin tone best. For instance, warmed-skin men would fare better with gold frames whilst cool-skinned men would likely suit silver metal.
Another consideration is your own style or persona. Are you someone with classic tastes or would you consider yourself to be eccentric? If you're not sure, the guide linked above can help.
Finally, your face shape will play the largest part in whether sunglasses will suit you or not. We cover this in detail below so don't hesitate to scroll down to see whether aviators are frames for you!
Will Aviator Frames Suit My Face Shape?
If you're wondering whether aviator frames will suit your own morphology, you can refer to the guide below. Here, you will learn whether these particular frames will suit you and whether you need to factor in any considerations.
Furthermore, if you don't already know it, we suggest that you refer to our full face shape guide in order to identify it.
If yours are one of the following face shapes, you can usually wear aviator frames with ease. Nevertheless, be sure to read about yours to take any considerations that we highlight into account.
With their prominent cheekbones and angular features, diamond face shapes can benefit from the rounded shape of aviator frames. The smooth curves help soften their features but also provide extra width, which offsets their sometimes narrow forehead.
If this is your face shape and you want to learn more or check out our general advice for styling, head the the diamond face shape guide.
Being the so-called "ideal" face shape, ovals can more-or-less wear most styles. However, take care to find aviators that aren't too wide as this could inadvertently reduce face length. Narrower frames tend to make the face appear squarer whilst wide ones will render it round.
With their prominent jawline and angular features, it's hard to imagine a more fitting frame on square faces than aviators. Exuding masculinity and military bravado, aviators would be right at home if fitted properly.
However, if you're looking for something less imposing, head to our full guide for square shape faces.
Like square face shapes, aviators would suit triangle face shapes very well. The reverse teardrop shape would complement their prominent jawline whilst providing bulk to their narrow cheekbones.
As you will see in the triangle face shape guide, rounder glasses work best but you can peruse all our recommended frames.
If yours is one of the following face shapes, you can try these glasses. However, unless you're particularly attached to this style, you may find more success elsewhere. Perhaps head to the face shape's own guide linked below or head back to all the frames that we cover to discover what else is possible.
Featuring a relatively wide forehead, heart face shapes will need to take care in selecting the right pair for them. Avoid wide lenses and opt for a narrower bridge, which should slightly reduce overall width. With their sloping and sometimes delicate chin, aviators can help widen this with their reserved teardrop shape.
If you have a heart face shape and want to see which frames and general styles we recommend, head to its dedicated guide.
The following face shapes may struggle to wear aviator frames successfully. We recommend that you either read their dedicated pages linked below or check out the other frames that we feature!
With their tall features, oblong face shapes will struggle to wear aviators without experiencing some difficulties. In being an equally tall and curved shape, aviators risk softening their features and increasing their face length even further.
Instead, refer to the other styles that we recommend in our detailed oblong face shape page.
Unfortunately, round face shapes will struggle with aviator frames. Being quite large and smooth frames, aviators will reduce the height and overall size of a round face shape. The result may make the face appear even rounder with oversized glasses.
Head to the round face shape style guide to see what frames we would recommend as an alternative.
Reviewed by Gerry H, on 30th August .
"Perfect for both conservative and outgoing occasions. Timelessly stylish, the aviator glasses I found here look and feel great!" | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 5,357 |
\section{Introduction}
The number of Z bosons collected at LEP in the 1990's, $1.7 \times 10^7$, together with SLD data made it possible to
determine electroweak pseudo-observables (EWPOs) with high precision: the $Z$-boson mass $M_\PZ$, its decay width $\Gamma_\PZ$, branching
ratios $R$, forward-backward and left-right asymmetries (\rm{or equivalently} $A_f$ or $\seff{f})$
\cite{ALEPH:2005ablast0}. At that time, theoretical calculations, which included complete one-loop Standard Model
corrections, selected higher order QCD corrections, and partial electroweak two-loop results with intricate QED
resummations, were accurate enough to go hand-in-hand with experimental demands
\cite{Bardin:1997xq,Bardin:1995XX}.
However, up to $5 \times 10^{12}$ $Z$-boson decays are planned to be
observed at projected future $e^+e^-$ machines (ILC, FCC-ee, CEPC) running at the $Z$-boson resonance \cite{Baer:2013cma,Gomez-Ceballos:2013zzn,dEnterria:2016sca,CEPC-SPPCStudyGroup:2015csa}.
These statistics are several orders of magnitude larger than at LEP
and would lead
to very accurate experimental measurements of EWPOs.
Limitations will come from experimental systematics, but they are in many cases estimated to be improved by more than an order of magnitude compared to the LEP experiments \cite{Baer:2013cma,Gomez-Ceballos:2013zzn,dEnterria:2016sca,CEPC-SPPCStudyGroup:2015csa}.
This raises a new situation and theoretical calculations must
be much more precise than assumed before \cite{mini,poster}.
The improved precision will provide a platform for deep tests of the quantum structure of nature and unprecedented sensitivity to heavy or super-weakly coupled new physics.
As an important step towards that goal, this article
reports on the completion of such calculations at the two-loop level in the
Glashow-\-Weinberg-\-Salam gauge theory, known as the Stan\-dard Mo\-del (SM)
\cite{Weinberg:1967tq,Glashow:1961tr,Salam:1968rm}.
\bigskip
The first non-trivial study of electroweak (EW) loop effects was the calculation of the large quadratic top quark
mass contribution to the $Z$
and $W$ propagators at one-loop order \cite{Veltman:1977kh}.
A few years later, the on-shell renormalization scheme as it is used today \cite{Sirlin:1980nh} and the notion of
effective weak mixing angles \cite{Marciano:1980pb} were introduced, and the
scheme was used for calculations of the $W^{\pm}$ and $Z$ boson masses \cite{Marciano:1983wwa}.
The complete one-loop corrections to the $Z$ decay parameters were derived in
Refs.~\cite{Akhundov:1985fc,Beenakker:1988pv,Jegerlehner:1988ak,Bernabeu:1987me}, and those to the $W^{\pm}$
width in Refs.~\cite{Bardin:1986fi,Jegerlehner:1988ak,Denner:1990tx}.
Through the years of LEP and SLC studies, the effects of EW corrections became visible in global
fits of the SM parameters \cite{Hikasa:1992je,ALEPH:2005ablast0,Bardin:1997xq,Bardin:1995XX}. Global fits to EW
precision measurements allowed to
predict
the mass of the top quark and the Higgs boson prior to their discoveries
at Tevatron in 1995 \cite{Abe:1995hr,D0:1995jca}
and
at the LHC in 2012 \cite{Aad:2012tfa}.
At future $e^+e^-$ colliders, EWPOs will again play a crucial role.
These include the total and partial widths
of the $Z$ boson and the $Z$-boson couplings.
The latter can be extracted from
measurements of the cross-section and polarization and angular asymmetries of
the processes $e^+e^- \to (Z) \to f\bar{f}$. Here $f$ stands for any SM lepton or quark, except
the top quark, whereas the notation $(Z)$ is supposed to indicate that the amplitude is dominated by the $s$-channel $Z$-boson resonance, but there is contamination from photon and two-boson backgrounds.
Already for the precision achieved at LEP and SLC, the calculation of loop corrections beyond the one-loop order was necessary to keep theory uncertainties under control. Specifically, these included two-loop $\OO(\alpha\as)$ \cite{Djouadi:1987gn,Djouadi:1987di,Kniehl:1989yc,Kniehl:1991gu,Djouadi:1993ss} and fermionic $\OO(\alpha^2)$ \cite{Barbieri:1992nz,Barbieri:1992dq,Fleischer:1993ub,Fleischer:1994cb,Degrassi:1996mg,Degrassi:1996ps,Degrassi:1999jd,Freitas:2000gg,Freitas:2002ja,Awramik:2004ge,Hollik:2005va,Awramik:2008gi,Freitas:2012sy,Freitas:2013dpa,Freitas:2014hra} corrections to the Fermi constant, which can be used to predict the $W$-boson mass, and to the $Z$-pole parameters.
Here $\alpha$ refers an electroweak loop order, whereas ``fermionic'' denotes contributions from diagrams with at least one closed fermion loop.
In addition, leading three- and four-loop results, enhanced by powers of the top Yukawa coupling $y_\Pt$, were obtained at order $\OO(\at\as^2)$
\cite{Avdeev:1994db,Chetyrkin:1995ix},
$\OO(\at^2\as)$, $\OO(\at^3)$ \cite{vanderBij:2000cg,Faisst:2003px},
and
$\OO(\at\as^3)$ \cite{Schroder:2005db,Chetyrkin:2006bj,Boughezal:2006xk},
where $\at = y_\Pt^2/(4\pi)$.
For the EW two-loop corrections, the calculation of the fer\-mi\-onic contributions was a natural first step, since these are numerically enhanced by the numbers of flavors and colors and by powers of $y_\Pt$. Moreover, the fermionic two-loop diagrams are relatively simpler than the full set. For example, the latter includes non-planar vertex topologies, which are absent in the former. The remaining bosonic two-loop corrections to the Fermi constant and the leptonic
effective weak mixing angle, $\seff{\ell}$, have subsequently been presented in Refs.~\cite{Awramik:2002wn,
Awramik:2003ee,Onishchenko:2002ve,Awramik:2003rn,Awramik:2006ar,Hollik:2006ma,Awramik:2006uz}, and more recently also for the weak mixing angle in the $b\bar{b}$ channel \cite{Dubovyk:2016aqv}.
While the numerical effects of the bosonic two-loop corrections are relatively small compared to the current experimental precision from LEP and SLC, their inclusion will become mandatory for future $e^+e^-$ colliders. Thus the computation of the full two-loop corrections for all $Z$-pole EWPOs is an important goal.
This article completes this goal by presenting the remaining bosonic $\OO(\alpha^2)$ contributions to
the $Z$-boson total and partial widths, and the hadronic $Z$-peak cross-section within the SM. This has been achieved by using the numerical integration methods discussed in Ref.~\cite{Dubovyk:2016aqv}, with some technical improvements.
The paper is organized as follows. After a brief review of the field theoretic definition of the relevant observables in section~\ref{sc:def}, the technical aspects of the two-loop calculation are described in section~\ref{sc:calc}. The numerical impact of the bosonic EW two-loop corrections is demonstrated in section~\ref{sc:res}. In particular, results for the total and partial $Z$ widths, several commonly used branching ratios, and the hadronic $Z$-peak cross-section are given in terms of simple parameterization formulae, which provide an accurate description of the full results within the currently allowed ranges of the input parameters.
Finally, the theory uncertainty from missing three- and four-loop contributions is estimated in section~\ref{sc:error}, before concluding in section~\ref{sc:summ}.
\section{Definition of the observables}
\label{sc:def}
The amplitude for $e^+e^- \to f \bar{f}$ near the $Z$ pole, $\sqrt{s} \approx
\MZ$ can be written in a theoretically well-defined way
as a Laurent expansion around the complex pole $s_0 \equiv \mz^2 - i\mz \gz$,
\begin{equation}
{\cal A}[e^+e^- \to f \bar{f}] = \frac{R}{s-s_0} + S +
(s-s_0) S' +
\dots, \label{polexp}
\end{equation}
where $\mz$ and $\gz$ are the on-shell mass and width of the $Z$ boson,
respectively. According to eq.~\eqref{polexp}, the approximate line shape of the
cross-section near the $Z$ pole is given by $\sigma \propto [(s-\mz^2)^2 +
\mz^2\gz^2]^{-1}$. It is important to note that this differs from the line shape
used in experimental analyses, which is of the form $\sigma \propto [(s-\MZ^2)^2
+ s^2\GZ^2/\MZ^2]^{-1}$. As a result, the parameters in eq.~\eqref{polexp}
differ from the experimental mass $\MZ$ and width $\GZ$ from LEP
by a fixed
factor \cite{Bardin:1988xt}:
\begin{align}
\textstyle
\mz &= \MZ\big/\sqrt{1+\Gamma_\PZ^2/\MZ^2}\,, \notag \\
\gz &= \Gamma_\PZ\big/\sqrt{1+\Gamma_\PZ^2/\MZ^2}\,. \label{massrel}
\end{align}
Numerically, this leads to $\mz \approx \MZ - 34\mev$ and $\gz \approx
\Gamma_\PZ - 0.9\mev$.
\vspace{\bigskipamount}
The total width, $\gz$, can be extracted from the condition that the $Z$
propagator has a pole at $s=s_0$, leading to
\begin{equation}
\gz = \frac{1}{\mz} \text{Im}\,\Sigma_\PZ(s_0),
\end{equation}
where $\Sigma_\PZ(s)$ is the transverse part of the $Z$ self-energy. Using the
optical theorem, it can also be written as \cite{Freitas:2013dpa,Freitas:2014hra}
\begin{align}
\gz &= \sum_f \overline{\Gamma}_f, \\
\overline{\Gamma}_f &= \frac{N_c^f\mz}{12\pi} \Bigl [
{\cal R}_{\rm V}^f F_{\rm V}^f + {\cal R}_{\rm A}^f F_{\rm A}^f \Bigr ]_{s=\mz^2}
\;, \label{Gz}
\end{align}
Here the sum runs over all fermion types besides the top quark, $f=e,\mu,\tau,\nu_e,\nu_\mu,\nu_\tau,u,d,c,s,b$,
and $N_c^f = 3(1)$ for quarks (leptons). The radiator functions ${\cal R}_{\rm
V,A}$ capture the effect of final-state QED and QCD corrections. They are known
up to ${\cal O}(\as^4)$ and $\OO(\alpha^2)$ for massless external fermions
and ${\cal O}(\as^3)$ for the kinematic mass corrections \cite{Chetyrkin:1994js,Baikov:2008jh,Kataev:1992dg}.
For the results shown in this article, the
explicit form given in the appendix of Ref.~\cite{Freitas:2014hra} has been used.
The remaining radiative corrections are IR finite and contained in the
form factors $F_{\rm V,A}^f$. These include massive EW corrections as well as mixed EW--QCD
and EW--QED corrections. The bosonic two-loop contributions, which are of interest
for this article, contribute according to \cite{Freitas:2014hra}:
\begin{align}
F_{\rm V(2)}^f =\;& 2 \,\text{Re}\, (v_{f(0)}v_{f(2)}) + |v_{f(1)}|^2 \nonumber \\&- v_{f(0)}^2
\bigl [\text{Re}\,\Sigma'_{\PZ(2)}
- (\text{Re}\,\Sigma'_{\PZ(1)})^2 \bigr ]
\nonumber \\
& -~2 \,\text{Re}\, (v_{f(0)}v_{f(1)})\;\text{Re}\,\Sigma'_{\PZ(1)}
\,, \label{Fv} \\[1ex]
F_{\rm A(2)}^f =\;& 2 \,\text{Re}\, (a_{f(0)}a_{f(2)}) + |a_{f(1)}|^2 \nonumber \\&- a_{f(0)}^2
\bigl [\text{Re}\,\Sigma'_{\PZ(2)}
- (\text{Re}\,\Sigma'_{\PZ(1)})^2 \bigr ]
\nonumber \\&- 2 \,\text{Re}\, (a_{f(0)}a_{f(1)})\;\text{Re}\,\Sigma'_{\PZ(1)}
\,, \label{Fa}
\end{align}
where $v_f$ and $a_f$ are the effective vector and axial-vector couplings,
respectively, which include $Zf\bar{f}$ vertex corrections
and $Z$--$\gamma$ mixing contributions. $\Sigma'_\PZ$ denotes the derivative of
$\Sigma_\PZ$, and the loop order is indicated by the subscript $(n)$.
It should be pointed out that $v_f$, $a_f$ and $\Sigma_Z$ as defined above include $\gamma$--$Z$
mixing contributions, $i.\,e.$
\begin{align}
v_f(s) &= v_f^\PZ(s) - v_f^\gamma(s)\,
\frac{\Sigma_{\rm \gamma Z}(s)}{s+\Sigma_{\gamma\gamma}(s)}\,, \\
a_f(s) &= a_f^\PZ(s) - a_f^\gamma(s)\,
\frac{\Sigma_{\rm \gamma Z}(s)}{s+\Sigma_{\gamma\gamma}(s)}\,, \\
\Sigma_\PZ(s) &= \Sigma_{\rm ZZ}(s) - \frac{[\Sigma_{\rm \gamma
Z}(s)]^2}{s+\Sigma_{\gamma\gamma}(s)}\,.
\end{align}
Here $v_f^\PZ$ and $a_f^\PZ$ are the one-particle irreducible $Zf\bar{f}$
vector and axial-vector vertex contributions, respectively, whereas $v_f^\gamma$
and $a_f^\gamma$ are their counterpart for the $\gamma f\bar{f}$ vertex.
Furthermore, $\Sigma_{V_1V_2}$ denotes the one-particle irreducible $V_1$--$V_2$
self-energy.
Another important quantity is the
hadronic peak cross section, $\sigma^0_{\rm had}$, which is
defined as the total cross section for $e^+e^- \to (Z) \to \text{hadrons}$ for
$s=\MZ^2$, after removal of $s$-channel photon exchange and box diagram
contributions, as well as after the
de-convolution of initial-state and initial-final interference QED effects
\cite{Bardin:1997xq,ALEPH:2005ablast0}.
The impact of the bosonic two-loop vertex corrections on $\sigma^0_{\rm had}$
is given by \cite{Freitas:2013dpa,Freitas:2014hra}
\begin{align}
\sigma^0_{\rm had(2)} = \sum_{f=u,d,c,s,b}
\frac{12\pi}{\mz^2} \Biggl[
&\frac{\overline{\Gamma}_{e(0)}\overline{\Gamma}_{f(2)} +
\overline{\Gamma}_{e(2)}\overline{\Gamma}_{f(0)}}{{\gz^2}_{(0)}} \nonumber \\&
- 2\frac{\overline{\Gamma}_{e(0)}\overline{\Gamma}_{f(0)}}{{\gz^2}_{(0)}}
{\gz^2}_{(2)} \Biggr]. \label{s0had}
\end{align}
The form factors $F^f_{\rm V,A}$ are understood to include appropriate
counterterms such that they are UV finite. Throughout this work, the on-shell
renormalization scheme is being used, which defines all particle masses in terms
of their (complex) propagator poles and the electromagnetic coupling in terms of the
photon-electron vertex in the Thomson limit. A more detailed discussion of the
relevant counterterms can be found in Ref.~\cite{Freitas:2002ja}.
As a consequence of this renormalization scheme, the EW corrections are organized as a series in the electromagnetic
coupling $\alpha$,
rather than the Fermi constant $G_\mu$. Instead, $G_\mu$ will be used to compute $\MW$ within the SM, including
appropriate two-loop and partial higher-loop corrections. After this step, the remaining input parameters for the
prediction of the $Z$ coupling form factors are $\MZ$,
$\MH$, $\mt$, $G_\mu$, $\alpha$, $\as$ and $\Delta\alpha$. Here $\Delta\alpha$ captures the running of the
electromagnetic coupling induced by light fermion loops. It is defined through $\alpha(\MZ^2) =
\alpha(0)/(1-\Delta\alpha)$, where $\alpha(q^2)$ is the coupling at scale $q^2$.
The contribution from leptons to $\Delta\alpha$ can be computed perturbatively and is known at the three-loop level
\cite{Steinhauser:1998rq-new}, $\Delta\alpha_{\rm lept}(\MZ) = 0.0314976$. On the other hand, the quark contribution is
non-perturbative at low scales and thus is commonly derived from experimental data. For recent evaluations of
$\Delta\alpha^{(5)}_{\rm had}$, see Refs.~\cite{Davier:2017zfy,Jegerlehner:2017zsb,Keshavarzi:2018mgv}.
As a reference value, $\Delta\alpha^{(5)}_{\rm had} = 0.02750$ is
used in this work.
Additionally, $\GZ$ and $\GW$ are needed as inputs to convert $\MZ$ and $\MW$ to the complex pole scheme, see
eq.~\eqref{massrel}. Furthermore, the radiator functions ${\cal R}^f_{\rm V,A}$ depend on $\mb^{\overline{\rm MS}}$,
$m_{\rm c}^{\overline{\rm MS}}$ and $m_\tau$ to account for kinematic fermion mass effects in the final state, whereas
the masses of electron, muon, neutrinos, and $u/d/s$ quarks can be taken as zero to very good approximation. In contrast
to all other masses in this work, the $\overline{\rm MS}$ masses are used for the bottom and charm quarks, since their
on-shell counterparts are poorly defined.
\section{Calculation of two-loop vertex corrections}
\label{sc:calc}
\label{sec:2l}
For the calculations we followed the strategy developed in Ref.~\cite{Dubovyk:2016aqv}, where the two-loop bosonic corrections
to the bottom quark weak mixing angle, $\seff{b}$, were obtained. In fact, the $Zb\bar{b}$ vertex is the technically most
difficult case due to the larger number
of mass scales in that problem compared to other flavors.
Details are described there and also in \cite{Dubovyk:2016ocz,Dubovyk:2016zok,Dubovyk:2017cqw}.
On the other hand, for the computation of the $Z$ width we are faced not only with ratios $v_{f(2)}/a_{f(2)}$, but also with sums of powers of $v_{f(2)}$ and $a_{f(2)}$, see
\eqref{Fv} and \eqref{Fa}.
This leads to the occurrence of extra integrals which cancel out in the ratios $v/a$.
The complete set of two-loop diagrams required for this calculation have been generated with the computer algebra
package {\tt FeynArts 3.3} \cite{Hahn:2000kx}. They can be divided into several categories.
The renormalization counterterms require two-loop self-energies with Minkowskian external momenta,
$p^2 = M_i^2 + i\varepsilon$, $M_i =
\MW,\, \MZ$. In addition, there are two-loop vertex integrals with
one non-vanishing external momentum squared, $s = \MZ^2 + i\varepsilon$.
The two-loop self-energy integrals needed for the renormalization procedure
and the vertex integrals with self-energy sub-loops have been computed using the dispersion relation technique
described in
Refs.~\cite{Bauberger:1994by,Bauberger:1994hx,Awramik:2006uz}.
The remaining bosonic two-loop diagrams amount to
about one thousand integrals with a planar or non-planar vertex topology.
We did not try to reduce these integrals to a minimal set of master integrals, except for trivial
cancellations of numerator and denominator terms.
This means that tensors of rank $R\leq 3$ were calculated directly.
For this purpose, two numerical approaches were used.
Firstly, sector
decomposition (SD) \cite{Hepp:1966eg} was applied, with the packages {\tt SecDec} \cite{Binoth:2000ps,Borowka:2015mxa}
and {\tt FIESTA 3} \cite{Smirnov:2013eza}.
Secondly,
Mellin Barnes (MB) representations \cite{Usyukina:1975yg,Smirnov:1999gc,Tausk:1999vh} were derived and evaluated with
the {\tt MBsuite}, consisting of software packages available at the {\tt MBtools}
webpage in the {\tt hepforge} archive \cite{mbtools}:
{\tt MB} \cite{Czakon:2005rk},
{\tt MBresolve} \cite{Smirnov:2009up},
{\tt AMBRE 1} \cite{Gluza:2007rt},
{\tt barnesroutines} (D.~Kosower) and
{\tt PlanarityTest} \cite{Bielas:2013rja}, {\tt AMBRE 2} \cite{Gluza:2010rn}
and {\tt AMBRE 3} \cite{Dubovyk:2015yba}, as well as {\tt
MBsums}
\cite{Ochman:2015fho}, which are available from the {\tt AMBRE} webpage \cite{Katowice-CAS:2007}.
The numerical package {\tt MBnumerics} is being developed since 2015 \cite{Usovitsch:201606}. It is of special
importance for Minkowskian kinematics as encountered here.
For the numerical integrations, {\tt MBsuite} calls the {\tt CUHRE} routine of the {\tt CUBA} library
\cite{Hahn:2004fe,Hahn:2014fua}.
Some new classes of integrals compared to the $\seff{b}$ case are met.
They are simpler from a numerical point of view than those solved in Ref.~\cite{Dubovyk:2016aqv}. For instance,
there are various one- and
two-scale integrals with internal $W$ propagators, which improves the singular threshold behaviour of integrals with only $Z$ propagators.
There are altogether about one hundred integrals of this kind with different permutations of propagators,
including the tensor integrals.
As an example of one of the most difficult cases, the SD method for integrals from Fig.~1 in \cite{Dubovyk:2016aqv}
gives an accuracy of up to four relevant digits. Using the MB method, these diagrams are equivalent to up to
4-dimensional MB integrals, which can be calculated efficiently with eight relevant digits by
{\tt MBnumerics}.
In select cases, like those described above, the MB approach is uniquely powerful. This statement applies to several hundred integrals.
In the majority of integrals, though, the SD method is presently more efficient
than the MB approach, mainly due to the smaller number of
integration variables.
For our semi-automatized calculation of massive 2-loop vertices the availability of two complementary numerical methods
with a large overlap was crucial.
\section{Numerical results}
\label{sc:res}
In this section, numerical results for bosonic two-loop corrections are compared to and combined with all other known corrections to the $Zf\bar{f}$ vertices.
These are
\begin{itemize}
\item Complete one-loop EW contributions \cite{Akhundov:1985fc} (which have been re-evaluated for this work) and fermionic $\OO(\alpha^2)$ contributions \cite{Freitas:2013dpa,Freitas:2014hra};
\item Mixed QCD-EW corrections to internal gauge-boson self-energies of order $\OO(\alpha\as)$
\cite{Djouadi:1987gn,Djouadi:1987di,Kniehl:1989yc,Kniehl:1991gu,Djouadi:1993ss}
(where again we use our own re-evaluation of these terms);
\item Higher-loop corrections in the large-$\mt$ limit, of
order $\OO(\at\as^2)$ \cite{Avdeev:1994db,Chetyrkin:1995ix}, $\OO(\at^2\as)$, $\OO(\at^3)$
\cite{vanderBij:2000cg,Faisst:2003px},
and $\OO(\at\as^3)$ \cite{Schroder:2005db,Chetyrkin:2006bj,Boughezal:2006xk},
where $\at \equiv y_\Pt^2/(4\pi)$ and $y_\Pt$ is the top Yukawa coupling;
\item Final-state QED radiation and, for quark final states, QCD radiation up to
$\OO(\alpha^2)$, $\OO(\alpha\as)$ and $\OO(\as^4)$
\cite{Chetyrkin:1994js,Baikov:2008jh,Kataev:1992dg};
incorporated through the radiator functions ${\cal R}_{\rm V,A}$ in \eqref{Fv} and \eqref{Fa};
\item Non-factorizable $\OO(\alpha\as)$ vertex contributions
\cite{Czarnecki:1996ei,Harlander:1997zb,Fleischer:1992fq,Buchalla:1992zm,Degrassi:1993ij,Chetyrkin:1993jp},
which cannot be written as a product of
EW form factors $F_{\rm V,A}$ and final-state radiator functions ${\cal
R}_{\rm V,A}$, but instead are added separately to the formula in \eqref{Gz}.
\end{itemize}
These are applied to a range of EWPOs: The partial $Z$ widths, $\Gamma_f \equiv
\Gamma(Z \to f\bar{f})$, as well as total width, $\GZ$, various branching ratios, and the hadronic peak
cross-section $\sigma_{\rm had}$.
The full electroweak two-loop corrections for the leptonic and bottom-quark
asymmetries have been published previously \cite{Awramik:2006ar,Hollik:2006ma,Awramik:2006uz,Dubovyk:2016aqv}
and are not repeated here.
Nevertheless, as a cross-check we reproduced the result for the leptonic asymmetry and
found agreement with Refs.~\cite{Awramik:2006ar,Hollik:2006ma} within intrinsic numerical uncertainties.
Moreover, with the methods described here we can produce results for the bosonic two-loop corrections to $\seff{\ell}$
with four robust digits of precision, which exceeds the accuracy obtained with asymptotic expansions as in
Ref.~\cite{Awramik:2006ar}.
As discussed above, the gauge-boson mass renormalization has been performed in accordance with the
complex-pole scheme in eq.~\eqref{polexp}. However, for the sake of comparison with the wider literature, the numerical
results below are
presented after translating to the scheme with an $s$-dependent width. In other words, results are shown for un-barred
quantities, such as \GZ\ in eq.~\eqref{massrel}.
Light fermion masses $\mf$, $f\neq t$, have been neglected throughout, except for a non-zero bottom quark mass in the $\OO(\alpha)$ and
$\OO(\alpha\as)$ vertex contributions, as well as for non-zero $\mb$, $m_{\rm c}$ and $m_\tau$ in the
radiators ${\cal R}_{\rm V,A}$.
The numerical input values used in this section are listed in
Tab.~\ref{tab:input}.
\begin{table}[tb]
\renewcommand{\arraystretch}{1.2}
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|ll|}
\hline
Parameter & Value \\
\hline \hline
$\MZ$ & 91.1876 GeV \\
$\Gamma_\PZ$ & 2.4952 GeV \\
$\MW$ & 80.385 GeV \\
$\Gamma_\PW$ & 2.085 GeV \\
$\MH$ & 125.1 GeV \\
$\mt$ & 173.2 GeV \\
$\mb^{\overline{\rm MS}}$ & 4.20 GeV \\
$m_{\rm c}^{\overline{\rm MS}}$ & 1.275 GeV \\
$m_\tau$ & 1.777 GeV \\
$m_e,m_\mu,m_u,m_d,m_s$ & 0 \\
$\Delta\alpha$ & 0.05900 \\
$\as(\MZ)$ & 0.1184 \\
$G_\mu$ & $1.16638 \times 10^{-5}$~GeV$^{-2}$ \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\vspace{-2ex}
\mycaption{Input parameters used in the numerical analysis,
from \cite{Patrignani:2016xqp}, except for $\Delta\alpha$, for which a value close to several recent evaluations \cite{Davier:2017zfy,Jegerlehner:2017zsb,Keshavarzi:2018mgv} has been chosen.
\label{tab:input}}
\end{table}
\subsection{Partial widths}
\begin{center}
\begin{table*}[tbp]
\renewcommand{\arraystretch}{1.2}
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|r|r|r|r|r|r|}
\hline
\multicolumn{1}{|r|}{$\Gamma_i$ [MeV]} & $\Gamma_e\;\;$ & $\Gamma_\nu\;\;$ & $\Gamma_d\;\;$ & $\Gamma_u\;\;$ &
$\Gamma_b\;\;$ & $\Gamma_\PZ\;\;$ \\
\hline \hline
Born & 81.142 & 160.096 & 371.141 & 292.445 & 369.562 & 2420.19
\\
$\OO(\alpha)$ & 2.273 & 6.174 & 9.717 & 5.799 & 3.857 & 60.22
\\
$\OO(\alpha\as)$ & 0.288 & 0.458 & 1.276 & 1.156 & 2.006 & 9.11
\\
$\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^2,\,\alpha_\Pt\as^3,\,\alpha^2_\Pt\as,\,\alpha_\Pt^3)$ &
0.038 & 0.059 & 0.191 & 0.170 & 0.190 & 1.20 \\
$\OO(N_f^2\alpha^2)$ & 0.244 & 0.416 & 0.698 & 0.528 & 0.694 & 5.13
\\
$\OO(N_f\alpha^2)$ & 0.120 & 0.185 & 0.493 & 0.494 & 0.144 & 3.04 \\
$\OO(\alpha^2_{\rm bos})$ &
0.017 & 0.019 & 0.059 & 0.058 & 0.167 & 0.51 \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\mycaption{Contributions of different orders in perturbation theory to the
partial and total $Z$ widths. A fixed value of $\MW$ has been used as input,
instead of $G_\mu$. $N_f$ and $N_f^2$ refer to corrections with
one and two closed fermion loops, respectively, whereas $\alpha^2_{\rm bos}$
denotes contributions without closed fermion loops. Furthermore, $\alpha_\Pt = y_\Pt^2/(4\pi)$.
In all rows the radiator functions ${\cal R}_{\rm V,A}$ with known contributions
through $\OO(\as^4)$, $\OO(\alpha^2)$ and $\OO(\alpha\as)$ are included.
\label{tab:res1}}
\end{table*}
\end{center}
Let us begin by presenting results for a fixed value of $\MW$ as input, instead of calculating $\MW$ from $G_\mu$.
This more clearly illustrates the impact of the newly completed $\OO(\alpha_{\rm bos})^2$ corrections.
Table~\ref{tab:res1} shows the contributions from different loop orders to the SM prediction of various partial $Z$ widths.
As is evident from the table, the two-loop
EW corrections are significant and larger than the current experimental uncertainty (2.3 GeV for $\Gamma_\PZ$
\cite{ALEPH:2005ablast0}).
The newly calculated bosonic corrections $\OO(\alpha^2_{\rm bos})$ are smaller but still noteworthy. They
amount to half of all known leading three-loop
QCD corrections
$\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^2$, $\alpha_\Pt\as^3$, $\alpha^2_\Pt\as$, $\alpha_\Pt^3)$, even though the latter are enhanced by
powers of $\as$, $\at$ and $N_f$.
Table~\ref{tab:res2} shows the SM predictions obtained if one uses $G_\mu$ as an input to compute $\MW$, based on
the results of
\cite{Freitas:2000gg,Awramik:2002wn,Awramik:2003ee,Onishchenko:2002ve,Freitas:2002ja,Awramik:2003rn}. Each line of
the table adds an additional order of perturbation theory to the previous line, using the same order for the $Zf\bar{f}$
vertex corrections and the calculation of the $W$ mass\footnote{Note that the value in the next-to-last line of
Tab.~\ref{tab:res2} differs slightly from Ref.~\cite{Freitas:2013dpa}. This is because in Ref.~\cite{Freitas:2013dpa}
the ``best value'' prediction of $\MW$ was carried with the full (fermionic plus bosonic) EW two-loop predictions
included. Here, however, we are interested in a clear distinction of fermionic and bosonic two-loop terms in all
contributions, including the $\MW$ prediction.}.
The $\OO(\alpha^2_{\rm bos})$ correction to $\Gamma_\PZ$, corresponding to the difference between the last two rows in Table~\ref{tab:res2}, amounts to 0.34~MeV, which is more than three times
larger than its previous estimation \cite{Freitas:2014hra}. An updated discussion on how this knowledge changes the
intrinsic error estimations will be given in section~\ref{sc:error}.
\begin{table}[tb]
\renewcommand{\arraystretch}{1.2}
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|r|r|}
\hline
& $\Gamma_\PZ$ [GeV] & $\sigma^0_{\rm had}$ [nb] \\
\hline \hline
Born & 2.53601 & 41.6171 \\
$+~\OO(\alpha)$ & 2.49770 & 41.4687 \\
$+~\OO(\alpha\as)$ & 2.49649 & 41.4758 \\
$+~\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^2,\,\alpha_\Pt\as^3,\,\alpha^2_\Pt\as,\,\alpha_\Pt^3)$ &
2.49560 & 41.4770 \\
$+~\OO(N_f^2\alpha^2,N_f\alpha^2)$ & 2.49441 & 41.4883 \\
$+~\OO(\alpha^2_{\rm bos})$ & 2.49475 & 41.4896 \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\vspace{-2ex}
\mycaption{Results for $\Gamma_\PZ$ and $\sigma^0_{\rm had}$, with $\MW$ calculated
from $G_\mu$ using the same order of perturbation theory as indicated in each
line. In all cases, the complete radiator functions ${\cal R}_{\rm V,A}$
are included.
\label{tab:res2}}
\end{table}
\bigskip
\subsection{Ratios}
The experimental results from LEP and SLC are typically not presented in terms of partial widths for the different final
states.
Instead, this information is captured in the form of various branching ratios. The most relevant ones are
\begin{align}
\hspace{-1em}
R_\ell &\equiv \Gamma_{\rm had}/\Gamma_\ell, &
R_c &\equiv \Gamma_c/\Gamma_{\rm had}, &
R_b &\equiv \Gamma_b/\Gamma_{\rm had}, \label{rat}
\end{align}
where $\Gamma_\ell = \frac{1}{3}(\Gamma_e + \Gamma_\mu + \Gamma_\tau)$, and
$\Gamma_{\rm had}$ is the partial width into hadronic final states, which at the parton level is
equivalent to $\sum_q \Gamma_q$ ($q=u,d,c,s,b$).
In addition, the hadronic peak cross-section \eqref{s0had} is, to a good approximation, defined as a ratio of partial widths and the total $Z$ width.
\begin{table*}[tb]
\renewcommand{\arraystretch}{1.2}
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|c|c|c|}
\hline
& $R_\ell$ & $R_c$ & $R_b$ \\
\hline \hline
Born & 21.0272 & 0.17306 & 0.21733 \\
$+~\OO(\alpha)$ & 20.8031 & 0.17230 & 0.21558 \\
$+~\OO(\alpha\as)$ & 20.7963 & 0.17222 & 0.21593 \\
$+~\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^2,\,\alpha_\Pt\as^3,\,\alpha^2_\Pt\as,\,\alpha_\Pt^3)$ &
20.7943 & 0.17222 & 0.21593 \\
$+~\OO(N_f^2\alpha^2,N_f\alpha^2)$ & 20.7512 & 0.17223 & 0.21580 \\
$+~\OO(\alpha^2_{\rm bos})$ & 20.7516 & 0.17222 & 0.21585 \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\vspace{-2ex}
\mycaption{Results for the ratios $R_\ell$, $R_c$ and $R_b$, with $\MW$ calculated
from $G_\mu$ to the same order as indicated in each
line.
In all cases, the complete radiator functions ${\cal R}_{\rm V,A}$
are included.
\label{tab:resr}}
\end{table*}
Numerical results for $\sigma^0_{\rm had}$ and the ratios in \eqref{rat} are given in Tab.~\ref{tab:res2} and
Tab.~\ref{tab:resr}, respectively, again broken down to different orders of radiative corrections. These quantities are
less sensitive to higher loop effects than $\Gamma_\PZ$,
since there is a partial cancellation between the corrections in the numerators and denominators of the ratios.
Thus the influence of the new bosonic corrections on all branching ratios $R_\ell,R_c,R_b$ and on $\sigma^0_{\rm had}$
is about 0.02\% or less, which
is far below the current experimental errors: $R_\ell = 20.767 \pm 0.025$, $R_c = 0.1721 \pm
0.0030$, $R_b = 0.21629 \pm 0.00066$, and $\sigma^0_{\rm had} = 41.541 \pm 0.037$~nb \cite{ALEPH:2005ablast0}.
However, these are at the level of sensitivity of proposed measurements of $R_b$ at future $e^+e^-$ colliders
\cite{Baer:2013cma,Gomez-Ceballos:2013zzn,dEnterria:2016sca,CEPC-SPPCStudyGroup:2015csa}
\subsection{Parameterization formulae}
\label{sc:fit1}
\begin{table*}[tb]
\renewcommand{\arraystretch}{1.3}
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|cccccccc|c|}
\hline
Observable & $X_0$ & $c_1$ & $c_2$ & $c_3$ & $c_4$ & $c_5$ & $c_6$ & $c_7$ &
max.\ dev. \\
\hline
$\Gamma_{e,\mu}$ [MeV] &
83.983 & $-$0.061 & 0.810 & $-$0.096 & $-$0.01 & 0.25 & $-$1.1 & 286
& $<0.001$\\
$\Gamma_{\tau}$ [MeV] &
83.793 & $-$0.060 & 0.810 & $-$0.095 & $-$0.01 & 0.25 & $-$1.1 & 285
& $<0.001$\\
$\Gamma_{\nu}$ [MeV] &
167.176 & $-$0.071 & 1.26 & $-$0.19 & $-$0.02 & 0.36 & $-$0.1 & 504
& $<0.001$\\
$\Gamma_{u}$ [MeV] &
299.993 & $-$0.38 & 4.08 & 14.27 & 1.6 & 1.8 & $-$11.1& 1253
& $<0.002$\\
$\Gamma_{c}$ [MeV] &
299.916 & $-$0.38 & 4.08 & 14.27 & 1.6 & 1.8 & $-$11.1& 1253
& $<0.002$\\
$\Gamma_{d,s}$ [MeV] &
382.828 & $-$0.39 & 3.83 & 10.20 & $-$2.4 & 0.67 & $-$10.1& 1470
& $<0.002$\\
$\Gamma_{b}$ [MeV] &
375.889 & $-$0.36 &$-$2.14& 10.53 & $-$2.4 & 1.2 & $-$10.1& 1459
& $<0.006$\\
$\GZ$ [MeV] &
2494.74 & $-$2.3 & 19.9 & 58.61 & $-$4.0 & 8.0 & $-$56.0& 9273
& $<0.012$\\
\hline
$R_\ell$ [$10^{-3}$] &
20751.6 & $-$7.8 & $-$37& 732.3 & $-$44 & 5.5 & $-$358 & 11696
& $<0.1$ \\
$R_c$ [$10^{-3}$] &
172.22 & $-$0.031 & 1.0 & 2.3 & 1.3 & 0.38 & $-$1.2 & 37
& $<0.01$ \\
$R_b$ [$10^{-3}$] &
215.85 & 0.029 &$-$2.92& $-$1.32 & $-$0.84 & 0.032 & 0.72 & $-$18
& $<0.01$ \\
\hline
$\sigma^0_{\rm had}$ [pb] &
41489.6 & 1.6 & 60.0 & $-$579.6 & 38 & 7.3 & 85 & $\!\!\!\!-$86011
& $<0.1$\\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\vspace{-2ex}
\mycaption{Coefficients for the parameterization formula \eqref{par1} for various
observables ($X$). Within the ranges $\MH = 125.1\pm 5.0\gev$, $\mt = 173.2\pm 4.0\gev$,
$\as=0.1184\pm 0.0050$, $\Delta\alpha = 0.0590 \pm 0.0005$ and $\MZ = 91.1876 \pm
0.0042 \gev$, the formulae approximate the full results with maximal deviations
given in the last column.
\label{tab:fit1}}
\end{table*}
While the tables above only contain numbers for a single benchmark point, the results for a range of input values can
be conveniently expressed in terms of simple para\-meteri\-zation formulae. The coefficients of these formulae
have been fitted to the full calculation results on a grid that spans the currently allowed experimental ranges for
each input parameter. Here the full calculation includes all higher-order corrections listed at
the beginning of section~\ref{sc:res} for the partial widths, branching ratios
and the peak cross-sections, and with $\MW$ calculated from $G_\mu$ to the
same precision\footnote{Fit formulae for the leptonic and bottom-quark asymmetries can be found in Refs.~\cite{Awramik:2006ar,Awramik:2006uz,Dubovyk:2016aqv}.}. For all EWPOs reported here, the same form of parameterization formula is utilized:
\begin{align}
X = X_0 &+ c_1 L_\PH + c_2 \Delta_\Pt + c_3 \Delta_{\as} + c_4 \Delta_{\as}^2
\nonumber \\ &+ c_5 \Delta_{\as}\Delta_\Pt
+ c_6 \Delta_\alpha + c_7 \Delta_\PZ, \label{par1}
\end{align}
\begin{align}
&L_\PH = \log\frac{\MH}{125.7\gev}, &
\Delta_\Pt &= \Bigl (\frac{\mt}{173.2\gev}\Bigr )^2-1, \quad \nonumber \\
& \Delta_{\as} = \frac{\as(\MZ)}{0.1184}-1, & \Delta_\alpha &= \frac{\Delta\alpha}{0.059}-1, \nonumber \\
& \Delta_\PZ = \frac{\MZ}{91.1876\gev}-1. \nonumber
\end{align}
As before, $\MH$, $\MZ$, $\mt$ and $\Delta\alpha$ are defined in the on-shell
scheme, using the $s$-dependent width scheme for $\MZ$ (to match the published
experimental values), while $\as$ is defined in the $\overline{\rm MS}$ scheme. The dependence on $\mb$, $m_{\rm c}$ and
$m_\tau$ is
negligible within the allowed ranges for these quantities.
The fit values of the coefficients for the different EWPOs are given in Tab.~\ref{tab:fit1}. With these parameters,
the formulae
provide very good approximations to the full results within the ranges $\MH =
125.1\pm 5.0\gev$, $\mt = 173.2\pm 4.0\gev$, $\as=0.1184\pm 0.0050$,
$\Delta\alpha = 0.0590 \pm 0.0005$ and $\MZ = 91.1876 \pm 0.0042 \gev$, with
maximal deviations as quoted in the last column of Tab.~\ref{tab:fit1}.
As can be seen from the latter, the accuracies of the fit formulae are sufficient for the forseeable future.
\section{Error estimates}
\label{sc:error}
In addition to the dependence on the input parameters, the accuracy of the
results presented here is limited by unknown three- and four-loop contributions.
The numerically leading missing pieces are the $\OO(\alpha^3)$, $\OO(\alpha^2\as)$,
$\OO(\alpha\as^2)$ and $\OO(\alpha\as^3)$ corrections beyond the known leading
$y_\Pt^n$ terms from Refs.~\cite{Avdeev:1994db,Chetyrkin:1995ix,vanderBij:2000cg,Faisst:2003px,Schroder:2005db,Chetyrkin:2006bj,Boughezal:2006xk}.
Following Refs.~\cite{Freitas:2014hra,Freitas:2016sty}, the size of these terms may be
estimated by assuming that the perturbation series
approximately is a geometric series. In this way one obtains
\begin{equation}
\begin{aligned}
\OO(\alpha^3)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt^3) &\sim
\frac{\OO(\alpha^2)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt^2)}{\OO(\alpha)}
\OO(\alpha^2), \\
\OO(\alpha^2\as)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt^2\as) &\sim
\frac{\OO(\alpha^2)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt^2)}{\OO(\alpha)}
\OO(\alpha\as), \\
\OO(\alpha\as^2)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^2) &\sim
\frac{\OO(\alpha\as)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as)}{\OO(\alpha)}
\OO(\alpha\as), \\
\OO(\alpha\as^3)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^3) &\sim
\frac{\OO(\alpha\as)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as)}{\OO(\alpha)}
\OO(\alpha\as^2),
\end{aligned} \label{errprop}
\end{equation}
where the known leading large-$\mt$ approximations have been subtracted in the
numerators. For the example of the total $Z$ width, these expressions lead to
\begin{equation}
\begin{aligned}
\Gamma_\PZ: \quad
& \OO(\alpha^3)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt^3) \sim 0.20\mev, \\
&\OO(\alpha^2\as)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt^2\as) \sim 0.21\mev, \\
&\OO(\alpha\as^2)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^2) \sim 0.23\mev, \\
&\OO(\alpha\as^3)-\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^3) \sim 0.035\mev.
\end{aligned}
\label{errgz}
\end{equation}
An additional source of theoretical uncertainty stems from the unknown
$\OO(\as^5)$ final-state QCD corrections and three-loop mixed QED/QCD
final-state correc\-tions of order $\OO(\alpha\as^2)$ and $\OO(\alpha^2\as)$.
In \cite{Freitas:2014hra}
they were found to be sub-dominant, and the estimates can be
taken over from there without change.
Combining these findings with eqs.~\eqref{errgz} in quadrature,
the total theory error adds up to $\delta\GZ\approx 0.4\mev$. Compared to the previous theory error estimate $\delta\GZ\approx 0.5\mev$ \cite{Freitas:2014hra}
one observes a slight decrease due to the knowledge of the bosonic corrections calculated in this work.
In addition to the elimination of an uncertainty associated with the previous unknown
${\cal O}(\alpha_{\rm bos}^2)$ corrections, the values in the first and second rows of \eqref{errgz} also shifted since
the full ${\cal O}(\alpha^2)$ corrections used in \eqref{errprop} were not available before. These shifts conspire to
result in a reduction of the uncertainty estimate for these two error sources.
\begin{table}[tbp]
\renewcommand{\arraystretch}{1.2}
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|l||l|l||l|l|}
\hline
$\Gamma_{e,\mu\,\tau}$ & 0.018~MeV &
$\Gamma_{u,c}$ & 0.11~MeV &
$R_\ell$ & $6\cdot 10^{-3}$ \\
$\Gamma_\nu$ & 0.016~MeV &
$\Gamma_b$ & 0.18~MeV &
$R_c$ & $5\cdot 10^{-5}$ \\
$\Gamma_{d,s}$ & 0.08~MeV &
$\GZ$ & 0.4~MeV &
$R_b$ & $1\cdot 10^{-4}$ \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\vspace{-2ex}
\mycaption{Theory uncertainty estimates
for the partial and total $Z$ widths and branching ratios from missing 3-loop and higher orders. See text for details.
\label{tab:err}}
\end{table}
\vspace{\bigskipamount}
The corresponding error estimates for the partial widths are shown in
Table~\ref{tab:err}. For the ratios ($R_\ell$, $R_c$ and $R_b$), the
theory uncertainty has been estimated from the partial widths
using simple Gaussian error propagation.
The theory uncertainty for the hadronic peak cross-section is dominated by a non-factorizable contribution stemming from the imaginary part of the $Z$-boson self-energy \cite{Freitas:2014hra}. This non-factorizable term does not receive any bosonic two-loop corrections, so that its error estimate can be taken from Ref.~\cite{Freitas:2014hra} without change:
\begin{equation}
\sigma^0_{\rm had}: \quad
\OO(\alpha^3) \sim 3.7 \text{ pb} , \qquad
\OO(\alpha^2\as) \sim 4.2 \text{ pb}.
\label{errsig}
\end{equation}
Adding these in quadrature leads to the overall uncertainty estimate of
$\delta\sigma^0_{\rm had} \approx 6$~pb.
\section{Summary}
\label{sc:summ}
In this work the bosonic two-loop electroweak corrections, $\OO(\alpha^2_{\rm bos})$, to $Z$ boson production and decay
parameters are presented for the first time. These corrections are comparable in size to the leading three-loop corrections of $\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^2)$,
$\OO(\alpha_\Pt\as^3)$, $\OO(\alpha^2_\Pt\as)$,
$\OO(\alpha_\Pt^3)$.
This is especially pronounced for $\Gamma_b$, see Tab.~\ref{tab:res1}, and for $\sigma_{had}^0$,
see Tab.~\ref{tab:res2}.
The bosonic corrections shift the value of $\Gamma_Z$ by 0.51 MeV when using $\MW$ as input and 0.34 MeV when using $G_\mu$ are input, which is
large from the point of view of future colliders.
The most ambitious FCC-ee project predicts an accuracy of
0.1 MeV. Similarly, the bosonic corrections
are important for $R_b$, see Tab.~\ref{tab:resr}. Due to the high accuracy of the numerical loop integrations,
the results obtained here are stable enough even in the context of potential future experimental precisions.
Updated theory error estimations are given, which are slightly reduced due to the newly available full two-loop corrections.
We expect that the numerical integration methods used here can be extended to compute the full three-loop corrections to
Z-pole EWPOs. For a more detailed discussion of future projections, see
Ref.~\cite{mini,poster}. However, this is very demanding and needs
more effort and
resources. Further, at this level of complexity independent cross-checks by different groups, using independent
calculations and approaches, are welcome.
It should be noted that the $\OO(\alpha^2_{\rm bos})$ correction for the total $Z$ decay width appears to be relatively large compared to previous estimates based on the knowledge of the lower order result $\OO(\alpha_{\rm bos})$.
A similar observation concerns the bosonic two-loop corrections to $A_b$.
This means that all estimations at this level of accuracy should be taken with a grain of salt. Therefore, explicit calculations are important even for contributions that were previously estimated to be subdominant.
At this point we should mention that we did not consider the theoretical efforts needed to unfold the large QED corrections from the
measured real cross sections in the $Z$ peak region and to extract
the EWPOs
studied here in detail. For LEP, this was based on tools such as the ZFITTER package
\cite{Bardin:1999yd,Arbuzov:2005ma,Akhundov:2013ons} and was discussed carefully $e.\,g.$ in
Refs.~\cite{Bardin:1997xq,Bardin:1999gt,ALEPH:2005ablast0}.
The correct unfolding framework for extracting $2\to 2$ observables at accuracies amounting to about 1/20 of the LEP era
certainly has to rely on the correct treatment of Laurent series for
the $Z$ line shape as is discussed $e.\,g.$ in \cite{Leike:1991pq,Riemann:1992gv,Riemann:2015wpn,QED-3loops}.
The 1-loop corrections to the $Z$ boson
parameters were determined in the 1980s \cite{Akhundov:1985fc}.
Today, 33 years later, while the present study finalizes the determination of the electroweak two-loop
corrections to the $Z$-boson
parameters, we are already faced with the need of more precision in the future.
\section*{Acknowledgments}
The work of \textit{I.D.}\ is supported by a research grant of Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD) and by
Deutsches Elektronensychrotron DESY.
The work of \textit{A.F.}\ is supported in part by the National Science Foundation under
grant PHY-1519175.
The work of \textit{J.G.} is supported in part by the Polish National Science Centre under
grant no.\ 2017/25/B/ST2/01987 and COST Action CA16201 PARTICLEFACE.
The work of \textit{T.R.}\ is supported in part by an
Alexander von Humboldt Polish Honorary Research Fellowship.
\textit{J.U.}\ received funding from the European Research Council (ERC) under the European Union's Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme under grant agreement no.\ 647356 (CutLoops). We would like to thank Peter Uwer and his group ``Phenomenology of Elementary Particle Physics beyond the Standard Model'' at Humboldt-Universit\"at zu Berlin for providing computer resources.
\bigskip
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 4,350 |
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8 kwietnia – Marian Anderson, amerykańska śpiewaczka (kontralt) (ur. 1897)
29 kwietnia – Mick Ronson, brytyjski gitarzysta rockowy znany ze współpracy z Davidem Bowiem i Bobem Dylanem (ur. 1946)
22 maja – Mieczysław Horszowski, polski pianista (ur. 1892)
27 maja – Andrzej Wąsowski, amerykański pianista pochodzenia polskiego (ur. 1919)
30 maja – Sun Ra, amerykański kompozytor jazzowy, pianista, poeta i filozof (ur. 1914)
5 czerwca – Conway Twitty, amerykański piosenkarz i autor piosenek (ur. 1933)
10 czerwca – Arleen Auger, amerykańska śpiewaczka (sopran) (ur. 1939)
28 czerwca – Boris Christow, bułgarski śpiewak operowy (ur. 1914)
9 lipca – Szymon Goldberg, amerykański skrzypek, dyrygent i pedagog muzyczny pochodzenia polsko-żydowskiego (ur. 1909)
19 lipca – Red Prysock, amerykański saksofonista (ur. 1926)
25 lipca – Wiesław Machan, polski kompozytor, aranżer, dyrygent, pianista (ur. 1909)
4 sierpnia – Kenny Drew, amerykański pianista jazzowy (ur. 1928)
5 sierpnia – Eugen Suchoň, słowacki kompozytor (ur. 1908)
10 sierpnia – Øystein Aarseth, norweski gitarzysta blackmetalowy znany z zespołu Mayhem (ur. 1968)
21 sierpnia – Tatiana Troyanos, amerykańska śpiewaczka operowa (mezzosopran) (ur. 1938)
27 sierpnia – Kiejstut Bacewicz, polski pianista kameralista, pedagog, kompozytor i organizator życia muzycznego (ur. 1904)
7 września – Bożena Brun-Barańska, polska śpiewaczka operowa i aktorka (ur. 1919)
11 września – Erich Leinsdorf, amerykański dyrygent pochodzenia austriackiego (ur. 1912)
22 września – Maurice Abravanel, amerykański dyrygent pochodzenia greckiego (ur. 1903)
4 października – Varetta Dillard, amerykańska piosenkarka (ur. 1933)
24 października – Jacek Labuda, polski śpiewak operetkowy (ur. 1947)
11 listopada – Ryszard Sewer-Słowiński, polski aktor i śpiewak (ur. 1932)
16 listopada – Lucia Popp, słowacka śpiewaczka operowa (sopran) (ur. 1939)
4 grudnia – Frank Zappa, amerykański kompozytor rockowy (ur. 1940)
12 grudnia – Joan Cross, angielska śpiewaczka operowa (sopran) (ur. 1900)
18 grudnia – Emanuel Amiran-Pugaczow, izraelski kompozytor i pedagog (ur. 1909)
Albumy
Muzyka poważna
Powstaje Concerto for the Left Hand Lukasa Fossa
Opera
Musicale
Film muzyczny
Nagrody
Konkurs Piosenki Eurowizji 1993
"In Your Eyes", Niamh Kavanagh
Grand Prix Jazz Melomani 1992, Łódź, Polska
Mercury Prize, Wielka Brytania: Suede – album Suede
Uwagi | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 7,219 |
namespace po = boost::program_options;
std::string progName;
std::string config;
po::variables_map vm_;
po::options_description desc_{"Allowed options"};
void showHelp(){
std::cout<<"usage: "<<progName<<std::endl;
std::cout<<desc_<<std::endl;
exit(0);
}
void parseCommandLine(int argc, char **argv){
progName = argv[0];
desc_.add_options()
("help,h", "produce help message")
("conf,c", po::value<std::string>(&config)->default_value("clusterconfig.json"), "address of susi instance");
po::store(po::parse_command_line(argc, argv, desc_), vm_);
po::notify(vm_);
}
int main(int argc, char *argv[]){
try{
parseCommandLine(argc,argv);
if(vm_.count("help")){
showHelp();
}
std::ifstream t(config);
std::string configStr((std::istreambuf_iterator<char>(t)),
std::istreambuf_iterator<char>());
BSON::Value config = BSON::Value::fromJSON(configStr);
SusiCluster cluster{config["addr"],static_cast<short>((BSON::int64)config["port"]),config["key"],config["cert"]};
if(config["nodes"].isArray()){
for(std::size_t nodeId=0;nodeId < config["nodes"].size(); nodeId++){
auto & node = config["nodes"][nodeId];
std::cout<<"current node: "<<node.toJSON()<<std::endl;
cluster.registerNode(node["id"],node["addr"],static_cast<short>((BSON::int64)config["port"]),node["key"],node["cert"]);
std::cout<<"registered node"<<std::endl;
if(node["forwardProcessors"].isArray()){
for(std::size_t i=0;i< node["forwardProcessors"].size();i++){
std::string & topic = node["forwardProcessors"][i];
cluster.forwardProcessorEvent(topic,node["id"]);
}
}
if(node["forwardConsumers"].isArray()){
for(std::size_t i=0;i< node["forwardConsumers"].size();i++){
std::string & topic = node["forwardConsumers"][i];
cluster.forwardConsumerEvent(topic,node["id"]);
}
}
if(node["registerConsumers"].isArray()){
for(std::size_t i=0;i< node["registerConsumers"].size();i++){
std::string & topic = node["registerConsumers"][i];
cluster.registerConsumer(topic,node["id"]);
}
}
if(node["registerProcessors"].isArray()){
for(std::size_t i=0;i< node["registerProcessors"].size();i++){
std::string & topic = node["registerProcessors"][i];
cluster.registerProcessor(topic,node["id"]);
}
}
}
}
cluster.join();
}catch(const std::exception & e){
std::cout << e.what() << std::endl;
showHelp();
}
return 0;
} | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 6,649 |
Волфганг Амброс (; 19. март 1952. у Бечу) је аустријски кантаутор и рок/поп певач. Један је од најзначајнијих савремених аустријских музичара и сматра се једним од оснивача Аустропопа.
Дискографија
Комплетна дискографија Волфганга Амброса може се видети на овој страници Википедије на немачком језику.
Књиге
Човек какав бих желео да останем: Мој живот између кривице и судбине (A Mensch möcht i bleib'n: Mein Leben zwischen Schuld und Schicksal, edition a, Wien . .).
Спољашње везе
Wolfgang Ambros' Website
Interview mit Wolfgang Ambros vom 1. April 2012.
Interview mit Wolfgang Ambros vom 10. Oktober 2014.
Рођени 1952.
Аустријанци
Бечлије
Аустријски музичари
Кантаутори | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 4,856 |
\section{Introduction}
The method of Very Long Baseline Interferometry (VLBI) first proposed
by \citet{r:mat65} allows us to derive the position of sources with
nanoradian precision (1 nrad $\approx$ 0.2~mas). The first catalogue of
source coordinates determined with VLBI contained 35~objects
\citep{r:first-cat}. Since then, hundreds of sources have been observed under
geodesy and astrometry VLBI observing programs at 8.6 and 2.3~GHz
(X and S bands) using the Mark3 recording system at the International VLBI
Service for Geodesy and Astrometry (IVS) network. Analysis of these
observations resulted in the ICRF catalogue of 608~sources \citep{r:icrf98}.
Later, over 6000 sources were observed in the framework of the VLBA Calibrator
Survey (VCS) program \citep{r:vcs1,r:vcs2,r:vcs3,r:vcs4,r:vcs5,r:vcs6}, the VLBA
regular geodesy RDV program \citep{r:rdv}, the VLBA Imaging and
Polarimetry Survey (VIPS) \citep{r:vips,r:astro_vips}, the VLBA Galactic plane
Survey (VGaPS) \citep{r:vgaps}, the on-going Australian Long Baseline Array
Calibrator Survey (LCS) \citep{r:lcs1}, and several other programs.
The number of extragalactic sources with positions determined from
analysis of observations under absolute astrometry or geodesy programs
reached 6455 by June 2011, and it continues to grow rapidly due
to analysis of new observations and an on-going campaign of in depth
re-analysis of old observations.
The catalogue of positions of all these compact extragalactic radio sources
determined with VLBI\footnote{Available at \web{http://astrogeo.org/rfc}.}
with accuracies in a range of 0.05--30~mas forms a dense grid on the sky
that can be used for many applications, such as differential astrometry,
phase-referencing VLBI observations of weak objects, space navigation,
Earth orientation parameter determination, and space geodesy.
To date, this position catalogue is the most precise astrometric catalogue.
However, this high accuracy of positions of listed objects can be exploited
{\it directly} only by applications that utilize the VLBI technique.
Applications that use different observational techniques can benefit from
the high accuracy of VLBI positions only {\it indirectly} by observing common
objects from the VLBI catalogue with instruments at other wavelengths.
For last three decades significant efforts were made for connecting
the VLBI position catalogue and existing optical catalogues made with
the use of ground instruments. An overview of the current status of
radio-optical connection and detailed analysis of the differences between
VLBI and optical source positions can be found in \citet{r:lfrq}.
According to them, the standard deviation of the differences between
the VLBI and optical catalogues is $\sim\!\!130$~mas. It was
shown by \citet{r:zah08} that when modern dedicated ground-based
observations are used, the differences are close to 30~mas.
This level of agreement between VLBI and optical positions roughly
corresponds to the position accuracy of common objects from ground optical
catalogues, typically at a level of 100~mas. The European Space Agency
space-born astrometry mission Gaia, scheduled to be launched in 2013,
according to \citet{r:gaia} promises to reach sub-mas accuracies
of determining positions of quasars of 16--20 magnitude that will rival
accuracies of absolute astrometry VLBI. Since position catalogues produced
with Gaia and VLBI will be completely independent, their mutual rotations,
zonal differences and possibly other systematic effects can be interpreted
as errors of one of the techniques after resolving the differences
due to a misalignment of centers of optic and radio images of quasars
and a frequency-dependent core-shift \citep{r:kov08,r:por09,r:sokol11}.
Investigation of systematic differences will be very important for the
assessment of the overall quality of Gaia results and, possibly, the errors
in the VLBI position catalogue.
This comparison will produce valuable results if 1)~it will be
limited to those common sources which VLBI positions are known with errors
smaller than several tenths of a milliarcsecond; 2)~the number of sources
will be large enough to derive meaningful statistics; and 3)~the sources
will be uniformly distributed over the sky. However, the number of quasars
that are a)~bright both in optical and radio wavelengths and therefore, can
be detected with both techniques (e.g. brighter than magnitude 18 as
suggested by \citet{r:mig03}) and b)~have a compact core, currently is
rather limited. Among 3946 radio sources with $\delta > -10\ifm{}^\circ\else${}^\circ$\fi$
observed with the VLBA in the absolute astronomy mode, 508 objects have
an association with a quasar or a BL~Lac object brighter than V~$18^m$
from the catalogue of \citet{r:vcv2010} within a $4''$ search radius.
It was realized in mid 2000s that the densification of the list of such
objects is desirable. A specific program for identifying new VLBI
sources in the northern hemisphere, suitable for aligning the VLBI and Gaia
coordinate systems, was launched in 2006 \citep{r:bou08} with the eventual
goal of deriving highly accurate position of sufficiently radio-bright
quasars from VLBI observations in the absolute astrometry mode. Since the
current VLBI position catalogue is complete to the correlated flux density
level of 200~mJy, the new candidate sources should necessarily be by a factor
of 2--4 weaker than that level. The original observing sample consisted
of 447 optically bright, relatively weak extragalactic radio sources with
declinations above $-10^{\circ}$. The detailed observing scheme of this
project is presented in \cite{r:bou08}. The first VLBI observations resulted
in the detection of 398 targets with the European VLBI Network (EVN)
\citep{r:bou10}, although no attempt to derive their positions of produce
images was made. VLBI observations of this sample in the absolute astrometry
mode promises to increase the number of optically bright radio sources with
precisely known positions by 80\%.
As a next step of implementing this program, a subset of 105 detected
sources was observed with the global VLBI network that comprises the VLBA and
EVN observing stations with the goal of revealing their morphology on
milliarcsecond scales from VLBI images \citep{r:bou11} for consecutive
screening the objects with structure that potentially may cause non-negligible
systematic position errors. I present here results of astrometric analysis
from this VLBI experiment. Observations and their analysis are described in
sections \ref{s:obs} and \ref{s:anal}. The position catalogue is presented
in \ref{s:cat}. Concluding remarks are given in section \ref{s:summ}.
\section{Observations}
\label{s:obs}
The observations used in this paper were carried out during a 48-hour
experiment GC030 on 7--9 March 2008 with a global VLBI array comprising
ten VLBA and 6 EVN stations ({\sc eflsberg}, {\sc hartrao},
{\sc medicina}, {\sc noto}, {\sc onsala60}, and {\sc dss63} for part
of the time), simultaneously at S and X bands. The data were recorded
at 512~Mbps. The schedule was prepared by ensuring a minimum of three
5 minute long scans of each target source, while minimizing the slewing time
from source to source. In total, 115 objects, including 105 target sources
and 10 strong calibrators were observed during a 48-hour observing session.
Three target objects were observed in 2 scans, 20 target objects were
observed in 3 scans, 43 target objects were observed in 4 scans,
26 objects were observed in 5 scans, 10 objects were observed in 6
scans, 2 objects were observed in 7 scans, and 1 object was observed
in 8 scans. Antennas spent 78\% time recording signal from target sources.
Although the overall goal of the observing program was absolute
astrometry, the design the GC030 experiment suffered several limitation and
was not favorable for determining sources coordinates with high accuracy.
First, the intermediate frequencies were selected to cover a continuous range
at both S and X-bands: 2.22699--2.29099~GHz and 8.37699--8.44099~GHz
respectively. There were two rationals behind selection that frequency setup
(P.~Charlot (2011), private communication). First, at the beginning of 2008,
the 512~Mbps mode was new. At that time, that setup was tested only for
a case of contiguously allocated intermediate frequencies (IFs).
It was not clear whether every non-VLBA station will be able to support
the wide-band mode. Since it happened in the past when a change in
frequency setup ruined experiments,
it was decided to stay on the safe side and make the schedule using
contiguously spread IFs. Second, it was known (for example, D.~Gordon,
private communication, 2010) that AIPS implementation of fringe fitting,
task FRING, does not produce correct group delays when the IFs are spread
over the wide band. As a workaround, all absolute astrometry/geodesy
experiments prior 2010 were processed using a two-step approach: first the
fringe fit was made using data from each IF individually, and then
group delays over entire band were computed using fringe phases from each
individual IF derived in the previous step. The drawback of that approach
is that a source should be detected at each IF individually, which raises
the detection limit by $\sqrt{N}$, where $N$ is the number of IFs at
each band (4 in our case). Since the target sources were expected to be
weak, it was important to avoid a degradation of the detection limit by
a factor of 2. Work for developing an alternative fringe fitting
procedure \citep{r:vgaps}, free from this drawback was underway in 2008,
when the experiment was scheduled, but not finished at that time.
Unfortunately, group delays determined with the contiguously frequency
setup are {\it one order of magnitude} less precise with respect to the
frequency allocation traditionally used for absolute astrometry work
with the VLBA.
The second limitation of the GC030 schedule for astrometry use
was a relatively rare observation of sources at low and high elevations for
better estimation of troposphere path delay in zenith direction. It was found
in the past that if to observe calibrator sources at low and high elevations
at each station every 1--2 hours, the reliability of estimates of the path
delay in the neutral atmosphere is significantly improved, and as a result,
systematic errors caused by mismodeling propagation effects are
reduced \citep{r:vcs3}.
The third limitation of the GC030 schedule was a small number of sources
observed in prior astrometry/geodesy programs at dual S/X bands:
only 19 objects. Observations of a large number of sources, typically
30--60 objects in a 24 hour experiment, overlapping with previous
observations helps to establish firmly the orientation of the array
and to link positions of new sources with positions of other objects.
Despite all these limitations, it was worth efforts to derive source
positions from such data since the a~priori positions of
these objects determined from Very Large Array (VLA)
observations \citep{r:first,r:nvss} were in the range of $0.03''$--$1''$.
\section{Data analysis}
\label{s:anal}
The data were correlated at the Socorro hardware VLBA correlator.
The correlator computed the spectrum of cross correlation and
autocorrelation functions with frequency setup of 0.25~MHz at
accumulation intervals of 1.048576~s long.
The procedure of further analysis is described in full details
in \citet{r:vgaps}. Here only a brief outline is given. At the first step,
the fringe amplitudes were corrected for the signal distortion in the sampler
and then calibrated according to measurements of system temperature and
elevation-dependent gain. Since the log files from VLBA sites for the second
half of the experiment were lost, no phase calibration was applied.
Then the group delay, phase delay rate, group delay rate, and fringe phase
were determined for all observations for each baseline at X and S bands
separately using the wide-band fringe fitting procedure. These estimates
maximize the amplitude of the sum of the cross-correlation spectrum
coherently averaged over
all accumulation periods of a scan and over all frequency channels in all IFs.
After the first run of fringe fitting, 12 observations at each baseline with
the strongest signal to noise ratios (SNR) were used to adjust the
station-based complex bandpass corrections, and the procedure of computing
group delays was repeated. This part of analysis is done with $\cal P\hspace{-0.067em}I\hspace{-0.067em}M\hspace{-0.067em}A$ \
software\footnote{Available at \web{http://astrogeo.org/pima}.}. Then the
results of fringe fitting were exported to the VTD/post-Solve VLBI analysis
software\footnote{Available at \web{http://astrogeo.org/vtd}.} for
interactive processing group delays with the SNR high enough to ensure
that the probability of false detection is less than 0.001.
This SNR threshold is $5.8$ for the GC030 experiment. Detailed description of
the method for evaluation of the detection threshold can be found in
\citep{r:vgaps}. Then, theoretical path delays were computed
according to the state-of-the art parametric model as well as their partial
derivatives, and small differences between group delays and theoretical
path delay were used for estimation of corrections to a parametric model
that describe the observations with least squares (LSQ). Coordinates
of target source, positions of all stations, except the reference one,
parameters of the spline that describes corrections to the a~priori path
delay in the neutral atmosphere in the zenith direction for all stations,
and parameters of another spline that describes the clock function
with the time span 1 hour were solved for in separate least square
solutions that used group delays at X and S bands individually.
Observations that deviated by more than
$3.5\sigma$ in the preliminary solution were identified and temporarily
eliminated, and additive corrections to a~priori weights were determined.
The most common reason for an observation to be marked as an outlier
is a misidentification of the main maximum of the two-dimensional
Fourier-transform of the cross-spectrum. Then the fringe fitting procedure
was repeated for observations marked as outliers. But this time
the group delay and phase delay rate were evaluated for these observations
in a narrow window of 4~ns wide centered around the predicted value
of group delay computed using parameters of the VLBI model adjusted in
the preliminary LSQ solution. New estimates of group delays for points
with the probabilities of false detection less than 0.1, which corresponds
to the SNR $> 4.6$ for the narrow fringe search window, were used in the
next step of the interactive analysis procedure. The observations marked
as outliers in the preliminary solution and detected in the narrow window
at the second round of the fringe fitting were tried again.
If the new estimate of the residual was within 3.5 formal uncertainties,
the observation was restored and used in further analysis.
Parameter estimation, elimination of remaining outliers and adjustments
of additive weight corrections were then repeated. In total, 16629 matching
pairs of X and S band group delays out of 22750 scheduled were used in the
solution. Each source was detected at both bands and had the number
of dual-band pairs in the range of 19--321.
The result of the interactive solution provided the clean dataset of
ionosphere-free linear combinations of X and S-band group delays with
updated weights. The dataset that was used for the final parameter estimation
utilized all dual-band S/X data acquired under absolute astrometry and space
geodesy programs from April 1980 through December 2010, including the data
from the GC030 experiment, in total 8 million observations. Thus,
the GC030 experiment was analyzed exactly the same way as over 5000 other
VLBI experiments, using the same analysis strategy that was used for
processing prior observations for ICRF, VCS, VGaPS, LCS, and K/Q survey
\citep{r:kq} catalogues. The estimated parameters are right ascensions and
declination of all sources, coordinates and velocities of all stations,
coefficients of B-spline expansion of non-linear motion for 17 stations,
coefficients of harmonic site position variations of 48 stations at 4
frequencies: annual, semi-annual, diurnal, semi-diurnal, and axis offsets
for 67 stations. Estimated variables also included Earth orientation
parameters for each observing session, parameters of clock function and
residual atmosphere path delays in the zenith direction modeled with
the linear B-spline with interval 60 and 20 minutes respectively.
All parameters were adjusted in a single LSQ run.
The system of LSQ equations has an incomplete rank and defines a family
of solutions. In order to pick a specific element from this family, I applied
the no-net rotation constraints on the positions of
212~sources marked as ``defining'' in the ICRF catalogue \citep{r:icrf98}
that required the positions of these sources in the new catalogue to have
no rotation with respect to their positions in the ICRF catalogue.
No-net rotation and no-net-translation constraints on site positions
and linear velocities were also applied. The specific choice of identifying
constraints was made to preserve the continuity of the new catalogue with
other VLBI solutions made during last 15 years.
The global solution sets the orientation of the array with respect to
an ensemble of $\sim\!\!\!5000$ extragalactic remote radio sources.
The orientation is defined by the continuous series of Earth orientation
parameters and parameters of the empirical model of site position
variations over 30 years evaluated together with source coordinates.
Common sources observed in the GC030 experiment as amplitude calibrators
provided a connection between the new catalogue and the old catalogue of
compact sources.
As a valuable by-product of GC030 observations, positions of {\sc dss63}
station were determined (see Table~\ref{t:dss63}). To my knowledge,
this is the only S/X experiment with participation of this station that
can be found in publicly accessible databases. Velocity of {\sc dss63}
was constrained to be the same as velocity of {\sc dss65} station that
is located in 1440 meters from {\sc dss63}.
Radio images of observed sources in both S and X bands were presented
in a graphical form in \citet{r:bou11}. In order to provide
a measure of source strengths at long and short baselines for predicting
the SNR in future observations, I made my own simplified amplitude analysis
and derived the median correlated flux densities at baseline projection
lengths shorter than 900~km and longer than 5000 km. This procedure is
described in details in \citet{r:lcs1}. It is outlined here briefly. First,
I computed the a~priori system equivalent flux density (SEFD) using system
temperatures and gain curves for each antenna. Fringe amplitudes for every
observation used in astrometric analysis, except those marked as outliers,
were converted to flux densities by multiplying them by the square root
of the product of the a~priori SEFDs of both stations of a baseline.
Then I adjusted multiplicative gain corrections from logarithms of ratios
of observed correlated flux densities of 10 amplitude calibrators to
their values predicted on the basis of publicly available brightness
distributions\footnote{Available at \web{http://astrogeo.org/vlbi\_images}}
using least squares. I applied these corrections to estimates of correlated
flux densities of observed sources and computed the median value at two
ranges of baseline projections. Comparison of estimates of median
correlated flux densities derived by this method with estimates of
correlated flux densities generated using images produced by a rigorous
self-calibration procedure for three 24~hour survey experiments VCS5
\citep{r:vcs5} showed that the accuracy of median correlated flux densities
estimated using the simplified method is at a level of 15\%.
These estimates of correlated flux densities are complementary to
source image statistics shown in \citet{r:bou11}, for instance, to their
total flux densities integrated from X- and S-band images.
\begin{table}[hb]
\caption{Position of {\sc dss63} station at the 2000.0 epoch determined from
the GC030 experiment. Its velocities listed in the right column
were constrained to be the same as velocities of station
{\sc dss65}.}
\label{t:dss63}
\renewcommand{\arraystretch}{1.2}
\begin{tabular}{l @{\quad} r @{\quad} r}
& Position (m) & Velocity (mm/yr) \\
\hline
X & $ 4849092.429 \pm 0.025 $ & $ -1.63 \pm 0.23 $ \\
Y & $ -3601804.438 \pm 0.013 $ & $ 18.49 \pm 0.09 $ \\
Z & $ 4115109.146 \pm 0.024 $ & $ 10.62 \pm 0.24 $ \\
\end{tabular}
\end{table}
\section{The catalogue}
\label{s:cat}
\begin{table*}[t]
\caption{First 12 rows of the OBRS--1 source position catalogue.}
\label{t:cat}
\begin{tabular}{ l l r r r r r r r r r r @{\enskip} r}
\hline
\nntab{c}{IAU name} &
\nntab{c}{Source coordinates} &
\nnntab{c}{Position errors} &
&
\nntab{c}{$F_{corr}$ S-band} &
\nntab{c}{$F_{corr}$ X-band} &
Flag \\
B1950 &
J2000 &
\ntab{c}{$ \alpha $ } &
\ntab{c}{$ \delta $ } &
$ \sigma_\alpha $ &
$ \sigma_ \delta $ &
Corr &
\#pnt &
short &
unres &
short &
unres &
\\
& &
\ntab{l}{~hr~mn~sec} &
\ntab{l}{~~~~$^{\circ}$~~~~$^\prime$~~~~~$^{\prime\prime}$} &
\ntab{c}{mas} & \ntab{c}{mas} & & &
\ntab{c}{Jy} & \ntab{c}{Jy} &
\ntab{c}{Jy} & \ntab{c}{Jy} & \\
\hline
0003$+$123 & J0006$+$1235 & 00 06 23.056086 & $+$12 35 53.09833 & 0.26 & 0.42 & $ 0.107$ & 198 & 0.137 & 0.071 & 0.138 & 0.083 & X \\
0049$+$003 & J0052$+$0035 & 00 52 05.568998 & $+$00 35 38.14614 & 0.89 & 3.16 & $-0.631$ & 32 & 0.031 & 0.024 & 0.062 & 0.061 & \\
0107$-$025 & J0110$-$0219 & 01 10 13.160493 & $-$02 19 52.84055 & 0.65 & 2.26 & $-0.476$ & 98 & 0.074 & 0.069 & 0.061 & 0.058 & \\
0109$+$200 & J0112$+$2020 & 01 12 10.190819 & $+$20 20 21.76438 & 0.31 & 0.67 & $-0.305$ & 170 & 0.095 & 0.070 & 0.125 & 0.087 & \\
0130$-$083 & J0132$-$0804 & 01 32 41.126050 & $-$08 04 04.83517 & 1.38 & 1.57 & $-0.029$ & 64 & 0.104 & 0.083 & 0.065 & 0.058 & \\
0145$+$210 & J0147$+$2115 & 01 47 53.822855 & $+$21 15 39.72637 & 0.40 & 1.15 & $-0.413$ & 127 & 0.295 & 0.210 & 0.107 & 0.053 & \\
0150$+$015 & J0152$+$0147 & 01 52 39.610907 & $+$01 47 17.38264 & 0.86 & 2.75 & $-0.576$ & 70 & 0.046 & 0.047 & 0.048 & 0.042 & \\
0210$+$515 & J0214$+$5144 & 02 14 17.934429 & $+$51 44 51.94772 & 0.39 & 0.36 & $-0.064$ & 401 & 0.092 & 0.076 & 0.059 & 0.046 & X \\
0446$+$074 & J0449$+$0729 & 04 49 21.170617 & $+$07 29 10.69568 & 0.63 & 1.31 & $-0.147$ & 80 & 0.043 & 0.036 & 0.092 & 0.074 & \\
0502$+$041 & J0505$+$0415 & 05 05 34.769151 & $+$04 15 54.57316 & 2.02 & 5.40 & $-0.381$ & 41 & 0.036 & 0.051 & 0.032 & 0.036 & \\
0519$-$074 & J0522$-$0725 & 05 22 23.196279 & $-$07 25 13.47580 & 4.96 & 7.17 & $ 0.088$ & 19 & 0.043 & 0.043 & 0.053 & 0.038 & \\
0651$+$428 & J0654$+$4247 & 06 54 43.525947 & $+$42 47 58.73588 & 0.48 & 0.64 & $ 0.494$ & 168 & 0.098 & 0.101 & 0.075 & 0.077 & \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\tablecomments{Table~\ref{t:cat} is presented in its entirety
in the electronic edition of the Astronomical Journal.
A portion is shown here for guidance regarding
its form and contents.
}
\end{table*}
I have determined positions of 105 sources observed in GC030 experiment.
They are listed in Table~\ref{t:cat}. Although positions of all 5336
astrometric sources were adjusted in the LSQ solution that included the
OBRS--1 sources, only coordinates of the 105 target sources observed during
GC030 experiment are presented in the table. The 1st and 2nd columns give
the IVS source name (B1950 notation) and IAU name (J2000 notation).
The 3rd and 4th columns give source coordinates at the equinox on
the J2000.0 epoch. Columns 5 and 6 give formal source position uncertainties
in right ascension and declination in mas (without $\cos\delta$ factor),
and column 7 gives the correlation coefficient between the errors in right
ascension and declination. The number of group delays used for position
determination is listed in column 8. Columns 9 and 10 provide the median
value of the correlated flux density in Jansky at S-band at baseline
projection lengths shorter than 900~km and at baseline projection lengths
longer than 5000~km. The latter estimate serves as a measure of the
correlated flux density of the unresolved component of a source.
Columns 11 and 12 provide the median of the correlated flux density at
X-band at baselines shorter than 900~km and longer than 5000~km. The last
column contains a cross-reference flag: V if a sources was observed in
VIPS campaign, X if it was observed at X/S bands in other absolute
astrometry campaign, and VX if it was observed in both.
Uncertainties in sources position that were observed only in the GC030
experiment range from 0.3~mas (\object{1345+735})
to 7.2~mas (\object{0519-074}) with the median 1.1~mas. The distribution
of the semi-major axes of position error ellipses is presented in
Figure~\ref{f:obrs1_hist}.
\begin{figure}[tbh]
\includegraphics[width=0.48\textwidth,clip]{obrs1_hist.eps}
\caption{The histogram of the semi-major axes of position
error ellipses among 105 target sources in the OBRS--1
catalogue.
\label{f:obrs1_hist}
}
\end{figure}
\section{Error analysis}
Among 105 target sources, 26 objects were observed in VIPS C-band
(5~GHz) program and 9 objects were observed in dual-frequency S/X VLBA
experiments under absolute astrometry programs. For comparison
purposes, I made a trial solution that used exactly the same
setup as the main solution, but excluded 9 common objects from the
GC030 experiment. The results of the comparison presented
in Table~\ref{t:diff} shows that, except for
declination of \object{2043+749}, the differences are within formal
uncertainties of the OBRS--1 catalogue. The formal uncertainties of
source positions are computed from standard deviations of group delay
estimates using the law of error propagation. Since the selection of
intermediate frequencies was unfavorable for a precise determination of
group delays and the sources were relatively weak, the thermal noise
dominates the error budget.
Realistic uncertainties of parameter adjustments can be evaluated
only by exploiting some redundancy in the data or by using additional
information. We do not have enough redundancy to evaluate rigorously the
level of systematic errors in the GC030 campaign. Comparison of positions
of 9~common sources indicates that systematic errors, if exist, do not
exceed 1~mas. Although only 10 atmosphere calibrators were included in
the schedule, 3--5 times less than in dedicated absolute astrometry observing
experiments, they were observed rather intensively. We can indirectly
estimate the level of systematic errors caused by the sparseness of the
distribution of calibrator sources by comparing the source distribution
in experiment GC030 with that in the prior VLBA Calibrator Survey program
VCS1 \citep{r:vcs1}. The azimuthal-elevation distribution of sources observed
in that campaign for a central VLBA antenna (Figure~3b in \citet{r:vcs1}) was
concentrated in a narrow band at the sky for 95\% of the sources, and
very few atmospheric calibrators outside that band were used. The reliability
of estimation of atmosphere path delays in zenith direction was significantly
compromised, and as a result, the formal uncertainties from the LSQ solution
had to be inflated by adding in quadrature the error floor
of 0.4~mas.
The VCS1 campaign can be considered as an extreme case of the
effect of the non-uniform distribution of observed sources. Both calibrator
sources and targets in GC030 were distributed more uniformly than in the VCS1
campaign. Analysis of estimates of residual atmosphere path delays does
not show abnormalities. I surmise tentatively that systematic
errors of the OBRS--1 catalogue are probably do not exceed 0.4~mas, which
is insignificant with respect to its random errors. I presented formal
uncertainties from the LSQ solution ``as is'', leaving investigation of
systematic errors in depth in the future when more observations in this
mode will be collected.
\begin{table*}[ht]
\caption{Differences between estimates of coordinates of 9 common target
sources determined using only GC030 observations and estimates from
other X/S VLBA absolute astrometry experiments.}
\label{t:diff}
\begin{tabular}{ l l r r r r r r r r}
\hline
\nntab{c}{Source name} & \nntab{c}{Position difference} &
\nntab{c}{XS source position} & \nnntab{c}{X/S position uncertainty} &
\phantom{$\bigl(\bigr)$} \\
B1950-name & J2000-name & $ \Delta \alpha \cos \delta $ &
\ntab{c}{$ \Delta\delta $} & Right ascension & Declination &
$ \sigma(\alpha)$ & $ \sigma(\delta)$ & Corr & \# Obs \\
& & \ntab{c}{mas} & \ntab{c}{mas} & \ntab{l}{~hr~mn~sec} &
\ntab{l}{~~~~$^{\circ}$~~~~$^\prime$~~~~~$^{\prime\prime}$} &
\ntab{c}{mas} & \ntab{c}{mas} & & \\
\hline
0003$+$123 & J0006$+$1235 & $ -0.4 \pm 0.6 $ & $ 0.0 \pm 0.8 $ & 00 06 23.05607 & +12 35 53.0983 & 0.3 & 0.5 & 0.124 & 62 \\
0210$+$515 & J0214$+$5144 & $ -1.3 \pm 0.6 $ & $ -0.1 \pm 0.8 $ & 02 14 17.93433 & +51 44 51.9475 & 0.8 & 0.5 & 0.296 & 99 \\
0708$+$742 & J0714$+$7408 & $ -0.3 \pm 0.4 $ & $ -0.2 \pm 0.4 $ & 07 14 36.12502 & +74 08 10.1440 & 0.6 & 0.2 & 0.085 & 88 \\
1721$+$343 & J1723$+$3417 & $ 0.3 \pm 0.6 $ & $ 0.3 \pm 1.1 $ & 17 23 20.79594 & +34 17 57.9652 & 0.2 & 0.4 & -0.432 & 76 \\
1759$+$756 & J1757$+$7539 & $ 0.8 \pm 0.8 $ & $ 2.8 \pm 1.6 $ & 17 57 46.35883 & +75 39 16.1800 & 1.3 & 0.4 & 0.375 & 276 \\
2043$+$749 & J2042$+$7508 & $ -0.6 \pm 0.6 $ & $ -3.7 \pm 1.2 $ & 20 42 37.30776 & +75 08 02.4415 & 1.4 & 1.1 & 0.211 & 45 \\
2111$+$801 & J2109$+$8021 & $ 0.6 \pm 1.7 $ & $ -0.6 \pm 2.2 $ & 21 09 19.16511 & +80 21 11.2264 & 9.8 & 2.2 & -0.032 & 13 \\
2316$+$238 & J2318$+$2404 & $ 0.3 \pm 0.3 $ & $ 0.1 \pm 0.7 $ & 23 18 33.96785 & +24 04 39.7496 & 0.3 & 0.4 & 0.050 & 72 \\
2322$+$396 & J2325$+$3957 & $ 0.3 \pm 0.4 $ & $ -0.5 \pm 0.8 $ & 23 25 17.86983 & +39 57 36.5084 & 0.2 & 0.2 & -0.274 & 118 \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{table*}
\section{Discussion}
In the course of development of radio astrometry for last 40 years,
we learned that in order to derive precise source positions using the method
of absolute astrometry, a VLBI experiment should 1)~have intermediate
frequencies spread as wide as possible over the band(s); 2)~observe every
1--2~hours blocks of 3--5 sources with at least one source at
elevations $20\ifm{}^\circ\else${}^\circ$\fi$ above the horizon and one source at elevations $55\ifm{}^\circ\else${}^\circ$\fi$
above the horizon; 3)~collect enough bits for detection target sources
at long baselines.
Unfortunately, the selection of intermediate frequencies in the GC030
experiment did not satisfy the first condition. The choice of intermediary
frequencies is not very important for producing source images and observers
often record a continuous bandwidth. But this choice is critical for absolute
astrometry applications, since precision of group delay is reciprocal to the
variance of the frequencies in the band. The choice is especially important
for astrometry of weak sources, since unlike to observations of bright
sources when systematic errors dominate the error budget, the position
accuracy of weak sources is determined by the uncertainties of group delays
caused by the thermal noise. The frequency setup spread over 494~MHz used
in VLBA geodesy/astrometry RDV program \citep{r:rdv} had the uncertainties
of group delay by a factor of 11.1 smaller than in the GC030 experiment at
a given signal to noise ratio (SNR). The VLBA hardware allows to spread the
IFs over 1000~MHz that brings uncertainties of group delay down even further
by a factor of~2 \citep{r:wide-memo11}.
It should be stressed that there is no necessity to limit the spread of
intermediate frequencies for image experiments. One of the most extensive
dedicated imaging program, the VLBI Image and Polarization Survey (VIPS)
\citep{r:vips} used 4 IFs spread over 494~MHz in order to improve the
$uv$ coverage and to allow for rotation measure determinations \citep{r:tay05}.
Analysis of both VIPS and RDV observations provided excellent source
maps \citep{r:vips,r:rdv_astro,r:pus08}. Maps from absolute astrometry
observations typically have dynamic range 1:100--1:1000 (see \citet{r:vcs6}
and references therein). These maps allowed \citet{r:cha07} to determine
source structure indexes and make conclusions about suitability of sources
for precise astrometry.
The approach proposed by \citet{r:bou08} to run 3 observing campaigns
for an absolute astrometry program, first for detection, second for producing
source maps, third for deriving source positions deviates sharply from
the strategy used for last 40 years for determining positions of 6000 sources,
which used one campaign per program.
Our analysis of GC030 experiment shows that running 2 separate observing
campaigns for imaging and astrometry, which doubles requested observing time,
is not the best choice. Spreading the intermediate frequencies over 500~MHz
would reduce random errors of position estimates by a factor of 11, i.e. the
median position error would be 0.1~mas, without compromising imaging results.
With such precise group delays, position accuracy would be limited by
systematic errors. More intensive observations of troposphere calibrators
for mitigation systematic errors would require approximately 5--8\% additional
observing time according to \citet{r:vgaps}. That means that the goal of
the project could be reached by using 2 runs instead of 3, which
requires one half of requested resources.
Including {\sc eflsberg} in the array is beneficial, because this
station improves the baseline sensitivity at X-band by a factor of 4,
which is important for detecting weak sources. The benefit of using other
European stations and especially a station in South Africa which has almost
no mutual visibility with both American and European stations is less obvious.
In order to access the impact of other stations on the source position
estimates, I made a trial solution that excluded {\sc medicina},
{\sc hartrao}, {\sc noto}, {\sc onsala60}, and {\sc dss63} from GC030.
Comparison of position differences showed that they are within formal
uncertainties. An average increase of uncertainties of the trial solution
using the data from the restricted array was 20\% for right ascensions and
30\% for declinations. The median increase was 28\% and 42\% respectively.
Removing EVN stations from the array would, of course, degrade the quality
of images, but as analysis of other VLBA experiment showed, for instance
K/Q survey \citep{r:kq}, not to the level that would undermine their
usability for the goals of this specific project.
These are important lessons that we learned from analysis of
these observations.
\section{Summary}
\label{s:summ}
Analysis of the first dual-band S/X VLBA experiment of the campaign for
observing optically bright extragalactic radio sources allowed us to
determine positions of 105 target sources. Despite using the frequency setup
unfavorable for absolute astrometry, the position uncertainties ranged
from 0.3 to 7~mas with the median value of 1.1~mas. The sources were
relatively weak: the median correlated flux density at baselines longer
than 5000~km ranged from 25 to 190~mJy with the median value around 60~mJy
at both bands, which is a factor of 2 weaker than in the VLBA Calibrator
surveys. However, recording at 512~Mbps with integration length of 300~s
was sufficient to detect 73\% of the observations, including those
at long baselines.
A position accuracy of 1~mas is sufficient for using these
sources as phase calibrators, but not sufficient for drawing meaningful
conclusions from comparison of Gaia and VLBI positions. All the sources
will have to be re-observed with the wide-band frequency setup in order
to reach 0.1~mas level of accuracy.
In 2010--2011, the remaining 293 sources were observed
at the VLBA + EVN. These observations will help us to further extend
the position catalogue of optically bright radio sources.
\acknowledgements
It is my pleasure to thank G\`{e}raldine Bourda and Patric Charlot
for fruitful discussions. The National Radio Astronomy Observatory is
a facility of the National Science Foundation operated under cooperative
agreement by Associated Universities, Inc.
{\it Facilities:} \facility{VLBA (project code GC030)}.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 4,537 |
Q: Simple method of enlarging thumbnails on mouse over in a Web page My project has pages with many image thumbnails on them. The dimensions are 150x150. We want the site to popup a full size image upon hovering over each thumbnail. I would like to know the easiest way to accomplish this, whether it's using HTML, or JavaScript, or CSS, as well as the basic steps to start playing with it and getting it going.
I am looking for a simple solution keeping in mind that my skill set is some basic JavaScript and HTML, and I am unfamiliar with how CSS works.
A: Try removing the width and height attributes on mouseover, and restoring them on mouseout.
$("img").mouseover(function() {
this.setAttribute("data-width", this.width);
this.setAttribute("data-height", this.height);
this.removeAttribute("width");
this.removeAttribute("height");
});
$("img").mouseout(function() {
this.setAttribute("width", this.getAttribute("data-width"));
this.setAttribute("height", this.getAttribute("data-height"));
});
<script src="https://ajax.googleapis.com/ajax/libs/jquery/2.1.1/jquery.min.js"></script>
<img height="25" width="25" src="https://www.gravatar.com/avatar/a5563b966d383529a65612e6590f957f?s=128&d=identicon&r=PG">
A couple caveats:
*
*You don't need jQuery - but I used it here to avoid having to deal with the differences in event models between browsers
*You probably don't want this to run for every image. In that case, replace the img with a class, like .hoverable
A more compact version, using more jQuery functions:
$("img").hover(function() {
$(this).attr({
'data-width': this.width,
'data-height': this.height
}).removeAttr('width').removeAttr('height');
}, function() {
$(this).attr({
width: $(this).attr('data-width'),
height: $(this).attr('data-height')
});
});
<script src="https://ajax.googleapis.com/ajax/libs/jquery/2.1.1/jquery.min.js"></script>
<img height="25" width="25" src="https://www.gravatar.com/avatar/a5563b966d383529a65612e6590f957f?s=128&d=identicon&r=PG">
A: I would look into using a library like lightbox (http://lokeshdhakar.com/projects/lightbox2/)
or jquery zoom (http://www.jacklmoore.com/zoom/)
| {
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} | 4,181 |
{"url":"https:\/\/holooly.com\/solutions-v20\/determining-estimated-s-n-diagrams-for-nonferrous-materials-problem-create-an-estimated-s-n-diagram-for-an-aluminum-bar-and-define-its-equations-what-is-the-corrected-fatigue-strength-at-2e7-cycles\/","text":"## Textbooks & Solution Manuals\n\nFind the Source, Textbook, Solution Manual that you are looking for in 1 click.\n\n## Tip our Team\n\nOur Website is free to use.\nTo help us grow, you can support our team with a Small Tip.\n\n## Holooly Tables\n\nAll the data tables that you may search for.\n\n## Holooly Help Desk\n\nNeed Help? We got you covered.\n\n## Holooly Arabia\n\nFor Arabic Users, find a teacher\/tutor in your City or country in the Middle East.\n\nProducts\n\n## Textbooks & Solution Manuals\n\nFind the Source, Textbook, Solution Manual that you are looking for in 1 click.\n\n## Holooly Arabia\n\nFor Arabic Users, find a teacher\/tutor in your City or country in the Middle East.\n\n## Holooly Help Desk\n\nNeed Help? We got you covered.\n\n## Q. 6.2\n\nDetermining Estimated S-N Diagrams for Nonferrous Materials\n\nProblem \u00a0\u00a0 Create an estimated $S-N$ diagram for an aluminum bar and define its equations. What is the corrected fatigue strength at $2E7$ cycles?\n\nGiven \u00a0\u00a0 The $S_{ut}$ for this 6061-T6 aluminum has been tested at 45 000 psi. The forged bar is 1.5 in round. The maximum operating temperature is 300\u00b0F. The loading is fully reversed torsion.\n\nAssumptions A reliability factor of 99.0% will be used. The uncorrected fatigue strength will be taken at $5E8$ cycles.\n\n## Verified Solution\n\n1\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Since no fatigue-strength information is given, we will estimate $S_{f^{\\prime}}$ based on the ultimate strength using equation 6.5c (p. 330).\n\n$\\text {aluminums :} \\left\\{\\begin{array}{lll} S_{f_{@ 5 E 8}} \\cong 0.4 S_{u t} & \\text { for } S_{u t}<48 kpsi (330 MPa ) \\\\ S_{f_{@ 5 E 8}} \\cong 19 kpsi (130 MPa ) & \\text { for } S_{u t} \\geq 48 kpsi (330 MPa ) \\end{array}\\right\\}$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (6.5c)\n\n$\\begin{array}{l} S_{f^{\\prime}} \\cong 0.4 S_{u t} \\quad \\text { for } S_{u t}<48 ksi \\\\ S_{f^{\\prime}} \\cong 0.4(45000)=18000 psi \\end{array}$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (a)\n\nThis value is at $N = 5E8$ cycles. There is no knee in an aluminum $S-N$ curve.\n\n$\\begin{array}{ll} \\text { bending: } & C_{\\text {load }}=1 \\\\ \\text { axial loading: } & C_{\\text {load }}=0.70 \\end{array}$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (6.7a)\n\n$C_{\\text {load }} = 1.0$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (b)\n\nbecause the applied torsional stress will be converted to an equivalent von Mises normal stress for comparison to the $S-N$ strength.\n\n3\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The part size is greater than the test specimen and it is round, so the size factor can be estimated with equation 6.7b (p. 331), noting that this relationship is based on steel data:\n\n$\\text {for} d \\leq 0.3 \\text {in} (8 mm) : \\quad C_{\\text {size }}=1 \\\\ \\text {for} 0.3 \\text {in} \\lt d \\leq 10 \\text {in} : \\quad C_{\\text {size }}=0.869 d^{-0.097} \\\\ \\text {for} 8 mm \\lt d \\leq 250 mm : \\quad C_{\\text {size }}=1.189 d^{-0.097}$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (6.7b)\n\n$C_{\\text {size }}=0.869\\left(d_{\\text {equiv }}\\right)^{-0.097}=0.869(1.5)^{-0.097}=0.835$\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0 (c)\n\n4\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The surface factor is found from equation 6.7e (p. 333) using the data in Table 6-3 (p. 333) for the specified forged finish, again with the caveat that these relationships were developed for steels and may be less accurate for aluminum.\n\n$C_{\\text {surf }} \\equiv A\\left(S_{\\text {ut }}\\right)^b \\quad \\text { if } C_{\\text {surf }}>1.0 \\text {, set } C_{\\text {surf }}=1.0$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (6.7e)\n\n$C_{\\text {surf }}=A S_{u t}^b=39.9(45)^{-0.995}=0.904$\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0 (d)\n\n5\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Equation 6.7f (p. 335) is only for steel so we will assume:\n\n$\\text {for} T \\leq 450^\\circ C (840^\\circ F) : \\quad C_{\\text {temp }}=1\\\\ \\text {for} 450^\\circ C \\lt T \\leq 550^\\circ C : \\quad C_{\\text {temp }}=1-0.0058(T-450)\\\\ \\text {for} 840^\\circ F \\lt T\\leq 1020^\\circ F : C_{\\text {temp }}=1-0.0032(T-840)$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (6.7f)\n\n$C_{\\text {temp }}=1$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (e)\n\n6\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The reliability factor is taken from Table 6-4 (p. 335) for the desired 99.0% and is\n\n$C_{\\text {reliab }}=0.814$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (f)\n\n7\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The corrected fatigue strength $S_{f}$ at $N = 5E8$ can now be calculated from equation 6.6 (p. 330):\n\n$\\begin{array}{l} S_e=C_{\\text {load }} C_{\\text {size }} C_{\\text {surf }} C_{\\text {temp }} C_{\\text {reliab }} S_{e^{\\prime}} \\\\ S_f=C_{\\text {load }} C_{\\text {size }} C_{\\text {surf }} C_{\\text {temp }} C_{\\text {reliab }} S_f^{\\prime} \\end{array}$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (6.6)\n\n\\begin{aligned} S_f &=C_{\\text {load }} C_{\\text {size }} C_{\\text {surf }} C_{\\text {temp }} C_{\\text {reliab }} S_{f^{\\prime}} \\\\ &=1.0(0.835)(0.904)(1.0)(0.814)(18000)=11063 psi \\end{aligned}\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (g)\n\n8\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 To create the $S-N$ diagram, we also need a number for the estimated strength $S_{m}$ at 10\u00b3 cycles based on equation 6.9 (p. 337). Note that the bending value is used for torsion.\n\n$\\text {bending :} \\quad \\quad S_m=0.9 S_{u t} \\\\ \\text {axial loading :} \\quad \\quad S_m=0.75 S_{u t}$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (6.9)\n\n$S_m=0.90 S_{u t}=0.90(45000)=40500 psi$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (h)\n\n9\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The coefficient and exponent of the corrected $S-N$ line and its equation are found using equations 6.10a through 6.10c (p. 338). The value of $z$ is taken from Table 6-5 (p. 338) for $S_{f}$ at $5E8$ cycles.\n\n$S(N)=a N^b$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (6.10a)\n\n\\begin{aligned} b &=\\frac{1}{z} \\log \\left\\lgroup\\frac{S_m}{S_e}\\right\\rgroup \\quad \\text { where } \\quad z=\\log N_1-\\log N_2 \\\\ \\log (a) &=\\log \\left(S_m\\right)-b \\log \\left(N_1\\right)=\\log \\left(S_m\\right)-3 b \\end{aligned}\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (6.10c)\n\n$\\begin{array}{c} b=-\\frac{1}{5.699} \\log \\left\\lgroup\\frac{S_m}{S_f}\\right\\rgroup=-\\frac{1}{5.699} \\log \\left\\lgroup\\frac{40500}{11063}\\right\\rgroup=-0.0989 \\\\ \\log (a)=\\log \\left(S_m\\right)-3 b=\\log [40500]-3(-0.0989): \\quad a=80193 \\end{array}$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (i)\n\n10\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The fatigue strength at the desired life of $N = 2E7$ cycles can now be found from the equation for the corrected $S-N$ line:\n\n$S(N)=a N^b=80193 N^{-0.0989}=80193(2 e 7)^{-0.0989}=15209 psi$\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (j)\n\n$S(N)$ is larger than $S_{f}$ because it is at a shorter life than the published fatigue strength.\n\n11\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Note the order of operations. We first found an uncorrected fatigue strength $S_{f^{\\prime}}$ at some \u201cstandard\u201d cycle life ($N = 5E8$), then corrected it for the appropriate factors from equations 6.7 (pp. 330\u2013335). Only then did we create equation 6.10a (p. 338) for the $S-N$ line so that it passes through the corrected $S_{f}$ at $N = 5E8$. If we had\ncreated equation 6.10a using the uncorrected $S_{f^{\\prime}}$, solved it for the desired cycle life ($N = 2E7$), and then applied the correction factors, we would get a different and incorrect result. Because these are exponential functions, superposition does not hold.\n\n12\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The files EX06-02 are on the CD-ROM.\n\n Table 6-3\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Coefficients for Surface-Factor Equation 6.7e\u00a0\u00a0 Source: Shigley and Mischke, Mechanical Engineering Design, 5th ed., McGrawHill, New York, 1989, p. 283 with permission For $S_{ut}$ in MPa use For $S_{ut}$ in kpsi (not psi) use Surface Finish A b A b Ground 1.58 \u20130.085 1.34 \u20130.085 Machined or cold-rolled 4.51 \u20130.265 2.7 \u20130.265 Hot-rolled 57.7 \u20130.718 14.4 \u20130.718 As-forged 272 \u20130.995 39.9 \u20130.995\n\n Table 6-4 Reliability Factors for $S_{d} = 0.08 \\mu$ Reliability % $C_{reliab}$ 50 1.000 90 0.897 95 0.868 99 0.814 99.9 0.753 99.99 0.702 99.999 0.659 99.9999 0.620\n\n Table 6-5 z-factors for Eq. 6-10c $N_{2}$ $z$ 1.0E6 \u20133.000 5.0E6 \u20133.699 1.0E7 \u20134.000 5.0E7 \u20134.699 1.0E8 \u20135.000 5.0E8 \u20135.699 1.0E9 \u20136.000 5.0E9 \u20136.699","date":"2023-02-04 09:49:59","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 52, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.8514896631240845, \"perplexity\": 5257.064781670969}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2023-06\/segments\/1674764500095.4\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20230204075436-20230204105436-00315.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
\section{Introduction}
\subsection{Position of the problem}
Modal analysis has been a useful tool in wave physics to understand the behaviour of complex systems and to numerically compute the response to an excitation.
For a bounded, lossless system, the operator $\Delta^{-1}$ associated with the wave equation with Dirichlet or Neumann boundary conditions is compact and self-adjoint when studied in the right functional spaces. Hence it can be diagonalised and a complete basis of eigenmodes with real eigenfrequencies can be exhibited.
The response of the system to an excitation can then be computed by summing the response of each mode to the excitation.
However, when the system exhibits loss (by absorption or radiation), the operator cannot be diagonalised with the classical spectral theorem and the eigenfrequencies have a negative imaginary part. Using sophisticated micro-local analysis and building on the Lax-Phillips scattering theory \cite{lax1964scattering}, several authors have obtained \emph{resonance expansions} in various cases.
We refer to~\cite{ramm1982mathematical,zworski1999resonances} for a general presentation of resonance expansions and to the recent book \cite{dyatlov2019mathematical} for the state-of-the-art. These expansions rely on \emph{high-frequency estimates} of the resolvent and, to the best of our knowledge, rigorous resonance expansions for the transmission problem in unbounded domains have so far only been obtained for the local scalar wave equation~\cite{popov1999resonances,popov1999distribution} with non-negative coefficients until the recent progress of~\cite{cassier2017spectral,cassier2017mathematical}, which deals with \emph{non-locality} in time. One should also note that the spectral analysis used in these papers is far from elementary and hardly accessible to the non-specialist of the subject.
Nevertheless, in the physics community modal analysis is heavily used in numerical nano-photonics (see the review paper~\cite{lalanneReview} and references therein) to study the interaction of light with resonant structures such as \emph{nanoparticles} and \emph{metamaterials}, which are described by the \emph{non-local} Maxwell's equations~\cite{binkowski19}. In practice, modes (or generalised eigenvectors) are computed by solving, in the frequency domain, the source-free Maxwell's equations satisfying the outgoing radiation condition~\cite{Zolla:18}. Several practical and theoretical issues naturally arise with this approach. Fields oscillating at a complex frequency with negative imaginary part solving the radiation condition diverge exponentially in space (Lamb's so-called \emph{exponential catastrophe}~\cite{sirenko2007modeling}), causing physical interpretations to be complicated and numerical computations in large domains to be problematic without renormalisation techniques~\cite{stout2019eigenstate}. Generalised modes are not an orthogonal family, rendering energy considerations difficult. The density of the linear span of the family of modes has not been shown, raising questions about the possibility to represent any electromagnetic field as a sum of modes.
In this article, we study the electromagnetic field scattered by a strictly convex metallic nanoparticle in a \emph{low-frequency regime}, which is the one relevant for applications as it roughly corresponds to the visible/infra-red frequency range.
We show how the study of the \emph{Electric Field Integral Equation} inside the particle can lead to an approximated pole expansion of the resolvent for a particular \emph{low frequency} perturbative regime where ratio of the size of the particle over the wavelength of the excitation field is small but not zero.
The analysis is based on the spectral theory of the \emph{Neumann-Poincar\'e operator} and the classic perturbation theory from Kato.
\subsection{Main contributions}
This paper is a follow up of \cite{baldassari2021modal} where the case of scalar waves was studied.
The starting point is the \emph{Electric Field Integral Equation} (or Lippman-Schwinger equation)
\begin{align*}
\left(I - \gamma^{-1}(\omega)\mathcal{T}^{\omega}\right)\mathbf{E} =\mathbf{E}^\text{in} \qquad \text{ in } D,
\end{align*}
where $\mathcal{T}^\omega$ is a singular integral operator and $\gamma$ is a non-linear function of $\omega$ that depends on the permittivity model for the scatterer $D$.
Building on the previous spectral analysis of $\mathcal{T}$ \cite{costabel2012essential} and classic results on the compact symmetrisable \emph{Neumann-Poincar\'e operator}, we exhibit a complete modal basis for the static ($\omega=0$) transmission problem (Theorem~\ref{theo:staticmodal}). We show that, under the assumption that the particle is strictly convex, the excitation coefficients of the eigenfunctions exhibit superpolynomial decay with the order of the mode, and therefore the field can be well approximated by a finite number of modes.
Using elementary perturbative analysis, we then show in Proposition~\ref{prop:modalinside} that the resolvent for the dynamic problem ($\omega\not=0$) can be approximated by a perturbed resolvent of a finite-dimensional operator (the truncated static operator).
Next, using Rouch\'e's theorem, we prove the existence of poles for this approximated resolvent and give a \emph{resonance-like} expansion for the electric field (Theorem~\ref{theo:mainexpansion}) inside the particle. From this expansion we construct the so-called \emph{quasi-normal modes} found in the physics literature.
Finally, using elementary complex analysis tools, we give an expansion for the \emph{low-frequency part} of the electromagnetic field in the time domain in Theorem~\ref{theo:resonanceexpansion}. By doing so, we show that in the time domain causality ensures that the electromagnetic field does not diverge exponentially in space. Similar results were obtained in~\cite{colom2018modal} for a non-dispersive dielectric spherical scatterer in any frequency range.
\section{Maxwell's equations for a metallic resonator}
\subsection{Problem geometry}
We are interested in the scattering problem of an incident spherical wave on a plasmonic nanoparticle. The homogeneous medium is characterised by the electric permittivity $\varepsilon_m$ and the magnetic permeability $\mu_m$. Let $D$ be a smooth bounded domain in $\mathbb{R}^3$, of class $C^\infty$, characterised by electric permittivity $\varepsilon_c$ and magnetic permeability $\mu_c$. We assume the particle to be non-magnetic, i.e., $\mu=\mu_c = \mu_m$ in $\mathbb{R}^3$. We define the wavenumbers $k_c=\omega\sqrt{\varepsilon_c\mu_c}$ and $k_m=\omega\sqrt{\varepsilon_m\mu_m}$. Let $\varepsilon=\varepsilon_c \chi(D)+\varepsilon_m \chi(\mathbb{R}^3 \setminus \bar{D})$, where $\chi$ denotes the characteristic function. We denote by $c_0$ the speed of light in vacuum, $c_0=1/\sqrt{\varepsilon_0\mu_0}$, and by $c$ the speed of light in the medium, $c=1/\sqrt{\varepsilon_m\mu_m}$. Let $D=z+\delta B$, where $B$ is the reference domain and contains the origin and $D$ is located at $z\in\mathbb{R}^3$ and has a characteristic size $\delta$ small compared to the operating wavelength $\delta k_m\ll 1$. Let $\nu$ be the normal vector. Throughout this paper, we assume that $\varepsilon_m$ and $\mu_m$ are real and positive. We also assume that $\Im{\varepsilon_c} \leq 0$.
Hereafter we use the Drude model~\cite{ordal83} to express the electric permittivity of the particle:
\begin{equation}\label{eq:drude}
\varepsilon_c(\omega)=\varepsilon_0\left(1-\frac{\omega_p^2}{\omega^2+i\omega\mathrm{T}^{-1}}\right),
\end{equation}
where the positive constants $\omega_p$ and $\mathrm{T}$ are the plasma frequency and the collision frequency or damping factor, respectively. We write $\varepsilon_m=\sqrt{n}\varepsilon_0$ where $n$ is the refractive index of the medium. The use of this model is absolutely non-restrictive and one could use other models for the permittivity of metals \cite{johnson1972optical}. The Drude model makes for easier analytical expressions in section \ref{sec:statanddyn} but the results would still be valid with another physical model.
The results of subsection \ref{sec:sumtruncation}, which are central to this work and are used in all the subsequent sections are valid under the following condition:
\begin{cond}
The domain $D\subset \mathbb{R}^3$ has to be strictly convex.
\end{cond}
\subsection{Formulation}
For a given incident wave $(\mathbf{E}^{\text{in}}, \mathbf{H}^{\text{in}})$ solution to Maxwell's equations
\begin{equation*}
\left \{
\begin{array}{ll}
\nabla\times{\mathbf{E}^{\text{in}}} = i\omega\mu_m{\mathbf{H}^{\text{in}}} \quad &\mbox{in } \mathbb{R}^3,\\
\noalign{\smallskip}
\nabla\times{\mathbf{H}^{\text{in}}} = -i\omega\varepsilon_m {\mathbf{E}^{\text{in}}} -i\dfrac{1}{\omega \mu_m} \mathbf{p} \delta_s\quad &\mbox{in
} \mathbb{R}^3,
\end{array}
\right .
\end{equation*}
where the source at $s$ has a dipole moment $\mathbf{p}\in\mathbb{R} ^3$, let $(\mathbf{E},\mathbf{H})$ be the solution to the following Maxwell's equations:
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:maxwell} \left\{
\begin{array}{ll}
\nabla \times \mathbf{E} = i \omega \mu \mathbf{H} & \mbox{in} \quad \mathbb{R}^3\setminus \dr D, \\
\nabla \times \mathbf{H}= - i \omega \varepsilon \mathbf{E} & \mbox{in} \quad \mathbb{R}^3\setminus \dr D, \\
{[}{\boldsymbol{\nu}} \times \mathbf{E}]= [{ \boldsymbol{\nu}} \times \mathbf{H}] = 0 & \mbox{on} \quad \dr D,
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation} subject to the Silver-M\"{u}ller radiation condition:
$$\lim_{|x|\rightarrow\infty} |x| (\sqrt{\mu_m} (\mathbf{H}- \mathbf{H}^{\text{in}}) \times\hat{x}-\sqrt{\varepsilon_m} (\mathbf{E}-\mathbf{E}^{\text{in}}))=0,$$
where $\hat{x} = x/|x|$. Here, $[{\boldsymbol{\nu}} \times{\mathbf{E}}]$ and $[{\boldsymbol{\nu}} \times{\mathbf{H}}]$ denote the jump of ${\boldsymbol{\nu}} \times{\mathbf{E}}$
and ${\boldsymbol{\nu}} \times{\mathbf{H}}$ along $\dr D$, namely,
\begin{equation*}
[\boldsymbol{\nu}\times{\mathbf{E}}]=(\boldsymbol{\nu}\times \mathbf{E})\bigr|_+ -(\boldsymbol{\nu} \times \mathbf{E})\bigr|_-,\quad [\boldsymbol{\nu}\times{\mathbf{H}}]=(\boldsymbol{\nu}\times \mathbf{H})\bigr|_+ -(\boldsymbol{\nu}\times \mathbf{H})\bigr|_-.
\end{equation*}
We introduce the Sobolev spaces
\begin{align*}
H(\mathrm{curl}, D)&=\{\mathbf{v} \in L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3),\, \mathrm{curl}\, \mathbf{v} \in L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)\}, \\
H_{\mathrm{loc}}(\mathrm{curl}, \mathbb{R}^3\setminus \overline{D})&=\{\mathbf{v} \in L_{\mathrm{loc}}^2(\mathbb{R}^3\setminus \overline{D}),\, \mathrm{curl}\, \mathbf{v} \in L_{\mathrm{loc}}^2(\mathbb{R}^3\setminus \overline{D})\}.
\end{align*}
\begin{proposition} If $\Im\left[\varepsilon_c\right]\neq 0$, then problem (\ref{eq:maxwell}) is well-posed.
Moreover, if we denote by $(\mathbf{E},\mathbf{H})$ its unique solution, then $(\mathbf{E},\mathbf{H})\big\vert_D \in H(\mathrm{curl}, D)$ and $(\mathbf{E},\mathbf{H})\big\vert_{\mathbb{R}^3\setminus D} \in H_{\mathrm{loc}}(\mathrm{curl},\mathbb{R}^3\setminus \overline{D})$.
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof}
The well-posedness is addressed in~\cite{torres1998maxwell,costabel2012essential,ammari2017mathematicalscalar}.
\end{proof}
\subsection{Volume integral equation for the electric field}\label{sec:VIE}
We now recall the well-known Lippmann-Schwinger equation~\cite{ammari03} satisfied by the electric field for a non-magnetic particle:
\begin{equation} \label{eq:lippmann}
\mathbf{E}(x)= \mathbf{E}^{\text{in}}(x)+\frac{\varepsilon_m-\varepsilon_c}{\varepsilon_m}\left(\frac{\omega}{c}\right)^2\int_D \mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\omega}{c}}(x,y) \mathbf{E}(y)\mathrm{d} y, \qquad x \in \mathbb{R}^3,
\end{equation}
where $\mathbf{\Gamma}^\frac{\omega}{c}$, the dyadic Green's function, is defined in Appendix \ref{app:dyadic}.
Consequently, it suffices to derive an approximation for the electric field $\mathbf{E}$ inside $D$ and insert it in the right-hand side of~\eqref{eq:lippmann} to obtain an expression for $\mathbf{E}$ for all points outside.
Using the dyadic Green's function, one can express the incident field as
\begin{equation}
\mathbf{E}^{\text{in}}(x)= \mathbf{\Gamma}^\frac{\omega}{c} (x,s) \mathbf{p}, \qquad x \in \mathbb{R}^3.
\end{equation}
\begin{definition}
We denote the contrast $\gamma$ by
\begin{equation*} \label{eq:def_l}
\gamma(\omega)= \frac{\varepsilon_m}{\varepsilon_m-\varepsilon_c(\omega)}.
\end{equation*}
\end{definition}
Restricting equation~\eqref{eq:lippmann} to $D$ yields the following integral representation.
\begin{proposition} \label{prop:LSequation}
The electric field inside the particle satisfies the volume integral equation:
\begin{align}\label{eq:fieldinside}
\left(\gamma(\omega) I- \mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega}{c}}_D\right) \mathbf{E} = \gamma(\omega) \mathbf{E}^{\text{\emph{in}}} \qquad \text{ in } D,
\end{align} where $\mathcal{T}_D^\frac{\omega}{c} : L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)\rightarrow L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)$ is a singular integral operator of the Calder\'on-Zygmund type, defined in Appendix \ref{de:defTk}.
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof} See~\cite[Chapter 9]{colton2012inverse} or~\cite{costabel2010volume}.
\end{proof}
Note that the operator $\mathcal{T}_D^{\frac{\omega}{c}}$ is neither compact nor self-adjoint on $L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)$ so diagonalising $\mathcal{T}_D^{\frac{\omega}{c}}$ directly to find a modal expansion for $\mathbf{E}$ is not possible.
However, when $\omega=0$ (in the \emph{static regime}), the operator $\mathcal{T}_D^0$ has nice spectral properties.
\section{The electrostatic approximation}\label{sec:static}
\subsection{Rescaling of the problem}\label{sec:rescale}
To study the behaviour of the electromagnetic field when the particle becomes small with respect to the wavelength, it is convenient to write the integral equation directly on the reference, unit-size domain $B=(D-z)/\delta$, so that the size of the domain is fixed and only one asymptotic parameter remains, $\omega\delta c^{-1}$, which is the ratio of the particle size over the incoming electromagnetic field wavelength.
We write, for $x\in D$, $x=\phi(\tilde{x})$ with $\tilde{x}\in B$ and $\phi:\, \tilde{x}\mapsto \delta\tilde{x}+z$ and perform the change of variable in the singular integral equation~\eqref{eq:fieldinside} (see \cite[p. 41]{mikhlin2014multidimensional} or \cite{seeley1959singular}). For any function $f$ in $D$ we denote by $\widetilde{f}=f\circ \phi$ the corresponding function in $B$. Equation~\eqref{eq:fieldinside} becomes:
\begin{align}\label{eq:rescaled}
\left(\gamma(\omega) I - \mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta} {c}}_B\right) \widetilde{\mathbf{E}} = \gamma(\omega) \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in} \qquad \text{ in } B.
\end{align}
The goal of this section is to study the relationship between the solution $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}$ of~\eqref{eq:rescaled} and the solution $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^0$ of the electrostatic problem
\begin{align}\label{eq:fieldinsidestatic}
\left(\gamma(\omega) I - \mathcal{T}^{0}_B\right) \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^0 = \gamma(\omega) \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in} \qquad \text{ in } B.
\end{align}
\subsection{Modal decomposition in the static regime}
The goal of this section is to establish Theorem~\ref{theo:staticmodal}. We start by recalling the orthogonal decomposition:
\begin{lemma}\label{lem:orthogdecomp}
We have
\begin{equation*}
L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3) = \nabla H^1_0(B) \oplus \mathbf{H}_0(\text{\emph{div} } 0,B) \oplus \mathbf{W}(B),
\end{equation*}
where $\mathbf{H}_0(\text{\emph{div} } 0,B) $ is the space of divergence-free $L^2$ vector fields with vanishing boundary trace, and $\mathbf{W}(B)$ is the space of gradients of harmonic $H^1$-functions. We denote by $P_{\nabla H^1_0}$, $P_{\mathbf{H}_0}$ and $P_\mathbf{W}$ the orthogonal projections for the usual $L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)$ scalar product on $\nabla H^1_0(B)$, $\mathbf{H}_0(\text{\emph{div} } 0,B)$ and $\mathbf{W}(B)$ respectively.
\end{lemma}
We start with the following result from~\cite{costabel2012essential}:
\begin{proposition}\label{prop:decompT0}
$\mathcal{T}_B^0$ is a bounded self-adjoint map on $L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)$ with $ \nabla H^1_0(B)$, $\mathbf{H}_0(\text{\emph{div} } 0,B)$ and $\mathbf{W}(B)$ as invariant subspaces. On $\nabla H^1_0(\Omega)$, $\mathcal{T}_B^0[\mathbf{e}]=\mathbf{e}$, on $\mathbf{H}_0(\text{\emph{div} } 0,B)$, $\mathcal{T}_B^0[\mathbf{e}]=0$ and on $\mathbf{W}(B)$: $$\boldsymbol{\nu}\cdot \mathcal{T}_B^0[\mathbf{e}]= \left(\frac{1}{2}I - \mathcal{K}_B^*\right)[\mathbf{e}\cdot \boldsymbol{\nu}] \quad \text{ on } \partial B , $$ where $\mathcal{K}_B^*$ is the Neumann-Poincar\'e operator defined in Section \ref{sec:app_def}.
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof}
The proof can be found in~\cite{friedman1984spectral, costabel2012essential}.
\end{proof}
\begin{corollary}\label{cor:linkk*}
\noindent Let $\gamma \not=1$. Let $\mathbf{e}\not\equiv 0$ be such that
\begin{align*}
\gamma \mathbf{e} - \mathcal{T}_B^0[\mathbf{e}]= 0 \quad \text{ in } B.
\end{align*}
Then,
\begin{align*}
&\mathbf{e}\in \mathbf{W}(B),\\
&\nabla \cdot \mathbf{e} = 0 &\text{ in } B, \\
&\gamma \mathbf{e} = \nabla \mathcal{S}_B[\mathbf{e} \cdot \boldsymbol{\nu}]&\text{ in } B , \\
&\gamma \mathbf{e} \cdot \boldsymbol{\nu} = \left(\frac{1}{2}I - \mathcal{K}_B^*\right)[\mathbf{e}\cdot \boldsymbol{\nu}] &\text{ on } \partial B,
\end{align*}
where $\mathcal{S}_B$ is the single-layer potential defined in Section \ref{sec:app_def}.
\end{corollary}
\begin{remark}It has been shown in~\cite{ammari2016surface,ammari2017mathematicalscalar} that the plasmonic resonances are linked to the eigenvalues of the Neumann-Poincar\'e operator. Corollary~\ref{cor:linkk*} shows that the volume integral approach and the surface integral approach are consistent with one another.
\end{remark}
\begin{remark}Note that our definition of the Green's function for the Helmholtz equation has an additional minus sign compared to the one given in \cite{costabel2012essential}, hence there are some disparities in the formulae.
\end{remark}
We now recall a few classical results on the Neumann-Poincar\'e operator:
\begin{proposition}If $\partial B$ has $\mathcal{C}^{1,\alpha}$ regularity for $\alpha>0$ then $\mathcal{K}_B^*$ is a compact operator.
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof}See~\cite[Chapter 2]{ammari2013mathematical}.
\end{proof}
\begin{proposition}[Plemelj symmetrisation principle] \label{prop:symmetrisation}Let $\mathcal{H}^*(\partial B)$ be the Hilbert space $H^{-1/2}(\partial B)$ equipped with the following inner product:
\begin{align*}
\left\langle u, v\right\rangle_{\mathcal{H}^*}= -\left\langle u, \mathcal{S}_B[v] \right\rangle_{-1/2,1/2}.
\end{align*}
Then $\mathcal{K}_B^*$ is a self-adjoint operator on $\mathcal{H}^*(\partial B)$.
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof} This is a direct consequence of Lemmas~\ref{lem:calderon} and~\ref{lem:unitary}.
\end{proof}
\begin{theorem}[Diagonalisation of $\mathcal{K}_B^*$]
$\mathcal{K}_B^*$ has a discrete set of real eigenvalues $(\lambda_n)_{n\in \mathbb{N}}$ with associated eigenvectors $(\phi_n)_{n\in \mathbb{N}}$ and
\begin{align*}
\mathcal{K}_B^*=\sum_{n=0}^\infty \lambda_n \left\langle \phi_n,\cdot \right\rangle_{\mathcal{H}^*(\partial B)} \phi_n,
\end{align*}
with $\lambda_n \in~]-1/2,1/2]$, $\lambda_0=1/2$ and $|\lambda_n| \rightarrow 0$ as $n \rightarrow +\infty$.
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof}See~\cite[Chapter 2]{ammari2013mathematical}.
\end{proof}
We can now establish the spectral decomposition for $\mathcal{T}_B^0$ on $\mathbf{W}(B)$:
\begin{proposition}[Spectral decomposition of $\mathcal{T}_B^0$]\label{prop:eigenbasis} The set of eigenvalues $(\gamma_n)_{n\in \mathbb{N}}$ of $\mathcal{T}^0_B\big\vert_\mathbf{W}$ is discrete, and the associated eigenvectors $(\mathbf{e}_n)_{n\in \mathbb{N}}$ form an orthonormal basis of $\mathbf{W}(B)$. Hence we have:
\begin{align*}
\mathcal{T}_B^0\big\vert_\mathbf{W} = \sum_{n=0}^\infty \gamma_n \langle \mathbf{e}_n, \cdot \rangle_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)} \mathbf{e}_n,
\end{align*}
and $\gamma_n\in~]0,1].$
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof}
The eigenvector basis of $\mathbf{W}(B)$ for $\mathcal{T}_B^0$ can be constructed from the basis $(\phi_n)_{n\in \mathbb{N}}$ of $H^{-1/2}(\partial B)$ by setting $\mathbf{e}_n=(\gamma_n)^{-1}\nabla \mathcal{S}_B[\phi_n]$ and $\gamma_n=1/2-\lambda_n$, as seen in Corollary~\ref{cor:linkk*}.
\end{proof}
\begin{proposition}\label{lem:decompR0} If we denote by $\mathcal{R}^0_B$ the resolvent of $\mathcal{T}^0_B$ on $L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)$ then \begin{align*}
\mathcal{R}^0_B(\gamma)=\frac{1}{\gamma -1} P_{\nabla H^1_0} + \frac{1}{\gamma} P_{\mathbf{H}_0} + \sum_{n=0}^\infty \frac{\left\langle \cdot , \mathbf{e}_n \right\rangle_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)}}{\gamma-\gamma_n} \mathbf{e}_n.
\end{align*}
The essential spectrum of $\mathcal{T}^0_B$ is $\sigma_{ess}=\{0,\frac{1}{2},1\}$. $0$ and $1$ are isolated eigenvalues of infinite multiplicity, while $\frac{1}{2}$ is an accumulation point.
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof} This is a direct consequence of Propositions~\ref{prop:decompT0} and~\ref{prop:eigenbasis}.
\end{proof}
\begin{remark}[Scale invariance of $\mathcal{T}_B^0$]\label{rem:scaleinvariance}
The operator $\mathcal{T}_B^0$ is invariant under scaling. If one sets $x=\delta \tilde{x}+z$ with $\tilde{x}\in B$ and $\phi(x) = \widetilde{\phi}(\tilde{x})$ for any $\widetilde{\phi} \in L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)$ then
\begin{align*}
\mathcal{T}^0_{\delta B}[\phi](x) = \mathcal{T}^0_B[\widetilde{\phi}](\widetilde{x}).
\end{align*}
To keep the notations simple, we will denote by $\mathbf{e}_n$ the eigenvectors of $\mathcal{T}^0_B$ in $\mathbf{W}(B)$ as well as the eigenvectors of $\mathcal{T}^0_D$ in $\mathbf{W}(D)$.
\end{remark}
\begin{theorem}[Modal decomposition in the static regime]\label{theo:staticmodal}
\begin{align}\label{eq:staticmodalinside}
\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^0 = \sum_{n=0}^\infty \frac{\gamma(\omega)}{\gamma(\omega) - \gamma_n} \left\langle \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}}, \mathbf{e}_n\right\rangle_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)} \mathbf{e}_n \qquad \text{ in } B.
\end{align}
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof} Theorem~\ref{theo:staticmodal} can be deduced as a direct consequence of Proposition~\ref{prop:eigenbasis} and equation~\eqref{eq:fieldinsidestatic}.
\end{proof}
\subsection{Sum truncation for strictly convex domains}\label{sec:sumtruncation}
In this section we wish to apply perturbation theory tools to express the solutions of~\eqref{eq:rescaled} in terms of the eigenvectors of $\mathcal{T}^0_B$ that appear in the spectral decomposition of the limiting problem in Theorem~\ref{theo:staticmodal}, and to replace $\gamma_n$ by a perturbed value $\gamma_n(\omega\delta c^{-1})$.
Classical perturbation theory will give us a Taylor expansion for $\gamma_n(\omega\delta c^{-1})$ in $\omega\delta c^{-1}$ for any $n\in \mathbb{N}$ but the remainders and validity range of these expansions will depend on the index $n$ of the eigenvalue. In order to get a meaningful expansion of the scattered field we need to consider a finite number of modes.
Using recent results on the principal symbol of the \emph{Neumann-Poincar\'e operator} \cite{miyanishi2018weyl,ando2020surface}, we were able to prove in \cite{baldassari2021modal} the following result:
\begin{proposition} \label{prop:polyndecay}For $B$, a strictly convex domain in $\mathbb{R}^3$ with $C^\infty$-smooth boundary, $(\phi_n)_{n \in \mathbb{N}}$ the orthonormal eigenfamily of $\mathcal{K}_B^*$ in $\mathcal{H}^*(\partial B)$, and $V^\text{\emph{in}}\in H^N(\partial B)$ for some $N \in \mathbb{N}^*$ we have :\begin{equation*}
\left\langle V^\text{\emph{in}}, \phi_n\right\rangle_{\mathcal{H}^*(\partial B)}=o(n^{-N/4}) \qquad \text{~as~} n\rightarrow +\infty.
\end{equation*}
\end{proposition}
\begin{corollary}\label{cor:truncate_vector}
Let $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}} \in \mathbf{W}(B)\cap H^{N+1/2}(B,\mathbb{R}^3)$. Then:
\begin{equation*}
\left\langle \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}}, \mathbf{e}_n\right\rangle_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)} = o(n^{-N/4}) \qquad \text{~as~} n\rightarrow +\infty.
\end{equation*}
\end{corollary}
\begin{proof}
We start by writing that
\begin{align*}
\left\langle \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}, \mathbf{e}_n\right\rangle_{L^2( B,\mathbb{R}^3)}&= \left\langle\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in} , (\gamma_n)^{-1}\nabla\mathcal{S}_B[\mathbf{e}_n\cdot \nu] \right\rangle_{L^2( B,\mathbb{R}^3)}\\&= (\gamma_n)^{-1}\left\langle \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}\cdot\nu, \mathcal{S}_B\left[ \mathbf{e}_n\cdot\nu\right] \right\rangle_{L^2(\partial B)}\\
&=-(\gamma_n)^{-1} \left\langle \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}\cdot\nu, \mathbf{e}_n\cdot\nu\right\rangle_{\mathcal{H}^*(\partial B)}.
\end{align*}
Since by construction of the eigenbasis of $\mathcal{T}_B^0$, $(\mathbf{e}_n\cdot\nu)_{n\in\mathbb{N}}$ is the orthogonal family (in the sense of $\mathcal{H}^*(\partial B)$) of eigenvectors of $\mathcal{K}_B^*$, and by hypothesis $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}\cdot\nu\in H^{N}(\partial B)$ we can apply Proposition~\ref{prop:polyndecay} and get the result.
\end{proof}
The immediate consequence of Corollary~\ref{cor:truncate_vector} is that even with a finite number of modes we get a very accurate approximation of the static electric field:
\begin{corollary}\label{cor:modalapproxincidentfield}For any $N \in \mathbb{N}^*$
\begin{align*}
\left\Vert\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^0- \sum_{n=0}^{N_0} \frac{\gamma(\omega)}{\gamma(\omega) - \gamma_n} \left\langle \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}}, \mathbf{e}_n\right\rangle_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)} \mathbf{e}_n \right\Vert \leq C_N\left( \frac{N_0^{-N}}{\inf_{n>N_0} \vert\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n \vert} \right)\qquad \text{as } N_0\rightarrow +\infty,
\end{align*} where $C_N$ is a constant depending on $N$.
\end{corollary}
\begin{remark}Since the eigenvalues $\gamma_n$ accumulate around $\frac{1}{2}$ as $\frac{1}{2} \pm n^{-1/2}$ \cite{ando2020spectral} the term $\inf_{n>N_0} \vert\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n \vert$ is bounded away from zero if $\gamma(\omega)$ is bounded away from $\frac{1}{2}$. In practice, metals have high absorption in the optical frequencies, and $\Im \, \varepsilon_c(\omega)$ is of order one, while the surrounding medium usually has low absorption. So in practical situations, $\Im\, \gamma(\omega)$ is of order one and the term $\inf_{n>N_0}\vert\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n \vert$ is of order one and can be ignored.
\end{remark}
\section{Dynamic regime}\label{sec:dynamic}
In this section we consider a regime where $\omega \delta c^{-1}$ is small but not zero. Our objective is to solve \eqref{eq:rescaled} to obtain an approximation of the electric field in the particle in this low-frequency regime.
\subsection{Preliminary results}
\begin{definition}We denote by $\mathcal{R}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B(\gamma)$ the resolvent of $\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}$.
\end{definition}
\begin{lemma}\label{lem:perturbation1}The following holds:
\begin{align*}
\left\Vert \mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B - \mathcal{T}^0_B\right\Vert_{\mathcal{L}(L^2)} \leq C_B \frac{\delta^2\omega^2}{c^2},
\end{align*}
where $C_B$ is a constant depending only on $B$. Moreover, the perturbation $\mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B - \mathcal{T}^0_B$ is a compact operator in $L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)$. The essential spectrum of $\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}$ is the same as $\mathcal{T}^0_B$, $\sigma_{ess}\left(\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right)= \{0,\frac{1}{2}, 1\}$. The rest of the spectrum of $\mathcal{T}_B^{{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}}$ is a discrete bounded countable set of eigenvalues.
\end{lemma}
\begin{proof}
We start by writing the asymptotic development of $\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}$. Let $\mathbf{f}\in L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)$ and $x\in \mathbb{R}^3$. Then
\begin{align*}
\mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B [\mathbf{f}](x) =&-\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^2 \int_B \Gamma^{{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}}(x,y) \mathbf{f}(y)\mathrm{d} y - \nabla\int_B \nabla_x \Gamma^{{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}}(x,y) \cdot \mathbf{f}(y) \mathrm{d} y\\
= & \left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^2 \int_B \frac{\sum_k \left(i \frac{\omega\delta}{c}\vert x-y\vert\right)^k}{ k! 4\pi \vert x-y\vert} \mathbf{f}(y)\mathrm{d} y + \nabla\int_B \nabla_x \frac{\sum_k \left(i \frac{\omega\delta}{c}\vert x-y\vert\right)^k}{ k! 4\pi \vert x-y\vert} \cdot \mathbf{f}(y) \mathrm{d} y\
\\
=& \mathcal{T}_B^0[\mathbf{f}](x) + \left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^2 \mathcal{T}_B^{(2)}[\mathbf{f}](x) + i \left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^3 \mathcal{T}_B^{(3)}[\mathbf{f}](x) + \mathcal{O}\left(\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^4\left\Vert \mathbf{f}\right\Vert \right),
\end{align*}
with
\begin{align}\label{eq:defT2}
\mathcal{T}_B^{(2)}[\mathbf{f}]= \frac{1}{8\pi}\int_B\left(\mathbf{I}- \frac{(x-y)(x-y)^\top}{\vert x-y\vert^2} \right)\frac{\mathbf{f}(y)}{\vert x - y\vert} \mathrm{d} y.
\end{align}
Note that $\mathcal{T}_B^{(2)}$ is a compact self-adjoint operator on $L^{2}(B,\mathbb{R}^3)$ and $\mathcal{T}_B^{(3)}$ is a compact operator.
\end{proof}
Since $\mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B - \mathcal{T}^0_B$ is not a self-adjoint perturbation of $\mathcal{T}_B^0$ we only know that the spectrum of $\mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B$ is upper semi-continuous with respect to the parameter $\omega\delta c^{-1}$. Having an explicit bound on the location of all the eigenvalues of $\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}$ requires some extra work.
When considering a single (or a finite number) of eigenvalues, it is possible to have an explicit asymptotic formula for the perturbed eigenvalues when the perturbation parameter $\omega\delta c^{-1}$ lies in a complex neighbourhood of the origin:
\begin{lemma}\label{lem:perturbationtheory}Consider the eigenvector $\mathbf{e}_n\in \mathbf{W}(B)$ associated with a simple isolated eigenvalue $\gamma_n$. Denote by $d_n$ the spectral isolation distance of $\gamma_n$, \emph{i.e.} the distance $d(\gamma_n, \sigma(\mathcal{T}_B^0)\setminus\{\gamma_n\})$. Then for $$\eta:= \left\Vert \mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B - \mathcal{T}^0_B\right\Vert_{\mathcal{L}(L^2)} \leq d_n,$$ there exists only one eigenvalue $\gamma_{n}(\frac{\omega\delta}{c})$ of $\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}$ in the strip \begin{align*}
\left[\gamma_n - \eta , \gamma_n +\eta \right]+ i\mathbb{R}.
\end{align*}
Moreover \begin{align*}
\gamma_{n}\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)= \gamma_n + \left\langle \left(\mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B - \mathcal{T}^0_B \right)[\mathbf{e}_{n}],\mathbf{e}_{n}\right\rangle_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)}+\mathcal{O}(\delta^3\omega^3 c^{-3}),
\end{align*} and an associated eigenvector can be written as
\begin{align*}
\mathbf{e}_n\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)= \mathbf{e}_n + \sum_{k\neq n} \frac{\left\langle \left(\mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B - \mathcal{T}^0_B \right)[\mathbf{e}_{n}],\mathbf{e}_{k}\right\rangle_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)}}{\gamma_n-\gamma_k} \mathbf{e}_k +\mathcal{O}(\delta^3\omega^3 c^{-3}).
\end{align*}
\end{lemma}
\begin{proof}To apply perturbative theory results, we note that $\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}$ is a bounded perturbation of the self-adjoint operator $\mathcal{T}^0_B$ (Lemma~\ref{lem:perturbation1}).
The result is a consequence of \cite[Theorem 2.12]{cuenin2016non}, with $a= \left\Vert \mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B - \mathcal{T}^0_B\right\Vert_{\mathcal{L}(L^2)}$ and $b=0$.
The formulae for the perturbed eigenvalues and eigenvectors are classical and can be found in Kato's book \cite[Chapter 8, section 2.3]{kato2013perturbation} or Reed $\&$ Simon \cite[Chapter XII]{reed1978methods}.
\end{proof}
Even though we can not derive a perturbation formula that is uniformly valid for all eigenvalues, we can obtain some information about the eigenvalues' location using the method developed in \cite{ammari2020superresolution}.
\begin{lemma} \label{lem:controlresolv}
$\mathcal{A}_I^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}= \left(\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}} -\left(\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right)^*\right)/(2i)$, the imaginary Hermitian component of $\mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}$, is a Hilbert-Schmidt operator and we have the following resolvent estimate:
\begin{align*}
\left\Vert\mathcal{R}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B(\gamma)\right\Vert \leq \frac{\sqrt{2}}{d\left(\gamma,\sigma\left(\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right)\right)} \exp{\left({\frac{g_I^2\left(\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right)}{d\left(\gamma,\sigma\left(\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right)\right)^2}}\right)},
\end{align*}
where $$g_I\left(\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right)=\left[\left\Vert \mathcal{A}_I^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right\Vert_{HS}^2 -\sum_n\left( \Im \gamma_n\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right) \right)^2 \right]^{\frac{1}{2}},$$
and $\Vert \cdot\Vert_{HS}$ denotes the Hilbert-Schmidt norm.
Moreover, let $\gamma_n\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)$ be an eigenvalue of $\mathcal{T}_B^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}$ with $\omega\delta c^{-1}\in \mathbb{R}$. Then, when $\delta \omega c^{-1}\rightarrow 0$, \begin{align*}
\left\vert \Im \gamma_n\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)\right\vert \leq \widetilde{C}_B \left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^3
\end{align*} where $\widetilde{C}_B$ \emph{does not depend} on $n$.
\end{lemma}
\begin{proof} The first part of the result is proved in \cite[Appendix B.1]{ammari2020superresolution}, as well as the resolvent estimate which is a direct consequence of \cite[Theorem 7.7.1 p.106]{gil2003operator}. To prove the estimate on the imaginary part of the eigenvalues, recall that (see the proof of Lemma~\ref{lem:perturbation1})
\begin{align*}
\mathcal{T}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}_B = \mathcal{T}_B^0 + \left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^2 \mathcal{T}_B^{(2)}+ i \left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^3 \mathcal{T}_B^{(3)}+ \mathcal{O}\left(\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^4 \right),
\end{align*} with $\mathcal{T}_B^{(2)}$ being a compact self-adjoint operator. Therefore
\begin{align*}
\left\Vert\mathcal{A}_I^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right\Vert \sim \left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^3 \left\Vert \mathcal{T}_B^{(3)}\right\Vert.
\end{align*}
Since $\left\Vert\mathcal{A}_I^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right\Vert^2= \rho\left( \mathcal{A}_I^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}} \left(\mathcal{A}_I^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right)^*\right)$, we immediately get that
\begin{align*}
\sup_{n\in\mathbb{N}}\left[ \Im \gamma_n\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right) \right]^2 \leq & \left\Vert\mathcal{A}_I^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}\right\Vert^2\\
\leq & \left[\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^3 \left\Vert \mathcal{T}_B^{(3)}\right\Vert\right]^2.
\end{align*}
\end{proof}
\begin{lemma}[Isolation distance]\begin{align*}
d_n\sim n^{-1/2} \quad \text{as } n\rightarrow +\infty.
\end{align*}
\end{lemma}
\begin{proof}The proof is a direct consequence of $\lambda_n \sim n^{-1/2}$ as $n\rightarrow +\infty$ \cite{miyanishi2020eigenvalues} and $\gamma_n=1/2-\lambda_n$. We then have $\gamma_n - \gamma_{n+1} \sim\pm n^{-1/2}$.
\end{proof}
\begin{lemma}\label{lem:resolvW} Let $\mathbf{F}\in \mathbf{W}(B) \cap \mathcal{C}^\infty(\overline{B}, \mathbb{R}^3)$.
For any $N\in\mathbb{N}$, there exists a complex neighbourhood $\mathcal{V}(N)\ni 0$ such that for $\omega\delta c^{-1}\in \mathcal{V}(N)$ and $k\in\mathbb{N}$:
\begin{align*}
\mathcal{R}_B^{ \frac{\omega\delta}{c}} (\gamma)[\mathbf{F}] = \sum_{n=0}^N \frac{\left\langle \mathbf{F},\mathbf{e}_n\right\rangle_{L^2\left(B,\mathbb{R}^3\right)}}{\gamma-\gamma_n\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)} \mathbf{e}_n + \mathcal{O}\left( \left\Vert\mathcal{R}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}(\gamma)\right\Vert\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^2\right) + \mathcal{O}\left( \left\Vert\mathcal{R}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}(\gamma)\right\Vert\epsilon_N(\mathbf{F})\right),
\end{align*} with $\epsilon_N(\mathbf{F})=\mathcal{O}(N^{-k})$.
\end{lemma}
\begin{proof}Since $\mathbf{F}\in \mathbf{W}(B) \cap \mathcal{C}^\infty(\overline{B}, \mathbb{R}^3)$, we have a superpolynomial decay of the coefficients $\left\langle \mathbf{F},\mathbf{e}_n\right\rangle_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)}$ by Lemma~\ref{cor:truncate_vector}, \emph{i.e.} for a fixed $\mathbf{F}$, $\epsilon_N(\mathbf{F}):=\left\Vert \left(I - \sum_{n=0}^N\mathcal{P}_n^{0}\right)[\mathbf{F}]\right\Vert = \mathcal{O}(N^{-k})$ for any $k\in\mathbb{N}$ where $\mathcal{P}_n^{0}$ is the Riesz projection onto $\mathbf{e}_n$.
For a fixed $N$ the perturbation formula is uniformly valid for all eigenvalues $\gamma_n$ with $n<N$ for a perturbation parameter satisfying $\vert \omega^2 \delta^2 c^{-2}\vert< d_N \sim N^{-1/2}$.
If we define $\mathcal{V}_N(\mathbf{F}):= \left\{z\in \mathbb{C},\, \vert z \vert < d_N\right\}$ then, for $\omega^2 \delta^2 c^{-2} \in \mathcal{V}_N(\mathbf{F})$ and using the continuity of $\mathcal{R}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}(\gamma)$, it follows that
\begin{align*}
\mathcal{R}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}(\gamma) [\mathbf{F}] = \mathcal{R}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}(\gamma)\left[\sum_{n=1}^N \mathcal{P}^{0}_n[\mathbf{F}]\right] +\mathcal{O}\left(\left\Vert\mathcal{R}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}(\gamma)\right\Vert \left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^2\right).
\end{align*}
\end{proof}
Contrarily to the static case, $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}$ does not belong to $\mathbf{W}(B)$. However, $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}$ can be approximated by elements of $\mathbf{W}(B)$:
\begin{lemma}\label{lem:projection} We have $\left(I - P_\mathbf{W}\right)\left[\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}}\right]\in \mathbf{H}_0(\text{\emph{div} } 0,B)$ and \begin{align*}
\left\Vert \left(I - P_\mathbf{W}\right)\left[\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}}\right]\right\Vert_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)} = \mathcal{O}\left(\left(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}\right)^2 \right).
\end{align*}
\end{lemma}
\begin{proof}
The fact that $\left(I - P_\mathbf{W}\right)\left[\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}\right]\in \mathbf{H}_0(\text{div}\, 0,B)$ can be deduced from the fact that $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}$ is a solution of Maxwell's equation in an homogeneous medium and therefore is a divergence-free vector field. The projection of $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}$ on $\nabla H^1_0(B)$ is the gradient of harmonic function with zero Dirichlet trace on $\partial B$ and is zero.
Write $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}(\tilde{x})=\mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}(\tilde{x},\tilde{y})\mathbf{p}$.
Since $\tilde{x}\mapsto \mathbf{\Gamma}^{0}(\tilde{x},\tilde{y}) \in \mathbf{W}(B)$ and $\left\vert \mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\omega\delta}{c}}(\tilde{x},\tilde{y}) - \mathbf{\Gamma}^{0}(\tilde{x},\tilde{y}) \right\vert \leq C \omega^2\delta^2 c^{-2}$ we get the result.
\end{proof}
\subsection{Modal approximation}
We now state the main result.
\begin{proposition}\label{prop:modalinside}
There exists a sequence with superpolynomial decay $\left(\epsilon_N(\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}})\right)_{N\in\mathbb{N}}$ depending only on $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}}$ and $B$, and a sequence of open complex neighbourhood of the origin $\mathcal{V}(N)\ni 0$ such that for $\omega\delta c^{-1}\in \mathcal{V}(N)\cap\mathbb{R}$ the electric field solution of~\eqref{eq:rescaled} satisfies:
\begin{align}\label{eq:modalinside}
\widetilde{\mathbf{E}} = \sum_{n=0}^{N} \frac{\left\langle \widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}}, \mathbf{e}_n\right\rangle_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)} }{\gamma(\omega) - \gamma_n(\frac{\omega\delta}{c}) }\mathbf{e}_n + \mathcal{O}\left(\frac{\left(\omega\delta c^{-1}\right)^2}{f\left(\left\vert \Im \gamma(\omega) - \widetilde{C }_B\left(\omega\delta c^{-1}\right)^3\right\vert\right)}\right) +\mathcal{O}\left(\frac{\epsilon_N(\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}})}{f\left(\left\vert \Im \gamma(\omega) - \widetilde{C }_B\left(\omega\delta c^{-1}\right)^3\right\vert\right)}\right),
\end{align} in $B$ and $f(x):=x e^{x^{-2}}$.
\end{proposition}
\begin{remark} The first error term is due to the error of approximating the incoming field by a function of $\mathbf{W}(B)$ while the second error term is due to the fact that we approximate the projection of $\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}}$ in $\mathbf{W}(B)$ by a finite number of modes. The spectral perturbative theory is only valid when the perturbation is smaller than the isolation distance of the last eigenvalue $\gamma_N$ to the rest of the spectrum. Therefore $\mathcal{V}(N)$ becomes increasingly smaller as $N\rightarrow \infty$. In practice though, $\epsilon_N(\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{\emph{in}})$ decays very quickly so only a few modes are necessary to describe the field, and $\mathcal{V}(N)$ is large enough for applications.
\end{remark}
\begin{proof}
We start by decomposing the incoming electric field
\begin{align*}
\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}= P_\mathbf{W} \left[\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in} \right] + \left(I - P_\mathbf{W}\right)\left[\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}\right].
\end{align*}
Using Lemma~\ref{lem:projection} we have $\left(I - P_\mathbf{W}\right)\left[\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}\right]\in \mathbf{H}_0(\text{div}\, 0,B)$ and \begin{align*}
\left\Vert P_{\mathbf{H}_0}\left[\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}\right]\right\Vert_{L^2(B,\mathbb{R}^3)} = \mathcal{O}\left(\delta^2 \omega^2 c^{-2}\right).
\end{align*}
Then we can apply Lemma~\ref{lem:resolvW} to the function $\mathbf{F} = P_\mathbf{W}\left[\widetilde{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in} \right]$ and get the result using the resolvent estimate of Lemma~\ref{lem:controlresolv}.
\end{proof}
It is clear from expression~\eqref{eq:modalinside} that the resolvent has poles in the complex plane at the roots of the equation $\gamma(\omega)=\gamma_n(\omega\delta c^{-1})$.
Before we can study the electric field in the time domain, we need to determine the poles' locations.
In the next section we study the roots of the equations:
\begin{align*}
\gamma(\omega)=&~\gamma_n \qquad &\text{(static \ regime),}\\
\gamma(\omega)=&~\gamma_n(\omega\delta c^{-1})\qquad &\text{(dynamic \ regime)}.
\end{align*}
\begin{remark}[Equivalent method with boundary integral operators]\label{rem:equivalentscalar} Corollary~\ref{cor:linkk*} shows that there is a strong link between the surface integral operator and the volume integral operator. A similar type of modal expansion can be obtained using layer potential operators. The layer potential operators describing the scattering problem act on $L^2_T(\partial D)$ the space of vector fields in $L^2$ that are tangential to the particle. The vectorial equivalent of the Neumann-Poincar\'e operator that appears cannot be symmetrised as easily as $\mathcal{K}^*_D$ in the scalar case. One has to perform a Helmholtz type decomposition on the $L^2_T(\partial D)$ vector fields, and the symmetrisation is only valid on one of the subspaces, see~\cite[section 4]{ammari2016surface} for more details. The computation of the perturbed spectrum can be carried out as in~\cite{ammari2016plasmaxwell}. Nevertheless, they are quite technical, making the result more difficult to interpret.
\end{remark}
\begin{remark}[About the sum truncation]\label{rem:sumtruncation}
In some cases, it is possible to perform the perturbative analysis for the whole spectrum at once. In \cite[chapter 5, section 4, subsection 5]{kato2013perturbation} there are some results regarding the completeness of eigenprojections for non-symmetric $T$-bounded perturbations of a self-adjoint operator. Nevertheless they are valid for a self-adjoint operator with a compact resolvent and rely on the eigenvalues going to infinity with isolation distance going to infinity. This is not applicable in our case as we have an accumulation point at $\frac{1}{2}$ and an isolation distance vanishing. We can also not apply the result to $L:=\left(\frac{1}{2}I- \mathcal{T}\right)^{-1}$ because it does not have a compact resolvent.
There are some more recent results regarding the perturbation of the spectrum when the isolation distance vanishes~\cite{barone2016remark} but they apply to symmetric perturbations $T_V=T+V$ of a self-adjoint operator $T$. Moreover, an exponential decay of the scalar product of the quantities $\left\langle V e_n, e_m\right\rangle$ is required, with respect to $m$ and $n$, where $(e_n)_{n\in\mathbb{N}}$ are the eigenvectors of the unperturbed operator.
\end{remark}
\section{Static and dynamic plasmonic resonances}\label{sec:statanddyn}
From the static modal expansion~\eqref{eq:staticmodalinside} and the dynamic modal approximation~\eqref{eq:modalinside} it is clear that we can define two types of resonances.
\begin{definition}
We say that $\Omega\in \mathbb{C}$ is a \emph{static} resonance if $\gamma(\Omega)\in \sigma\left(\mathcal{T}^0_D\right)$.
We say that $\Omega\in \mathbb{C}$ is a \emph{dynamic} resonance if $\gamma(\Omega)\in \sigma\left(\mathcal{T}_D^{\frac{\Omega}{c}}\right)$.
\end{definition}
In what follows we use the lower-case character $\omega$ for real frequencies and the upper-case character $\Omega$ for complex frequencies.
\subsection{Static plasmonic resonances}
\begin{proposition}\label{prop:QS_res_max}
Assuming $\varepsilon_m\in \mathbb{R}^+$ and using the Drude model~\eqref{eq:drude} the static plasmonic resonances have an explicit formula: $\Omega_n=\Omega'_n+i\Omega''_n$ such that for $n\geq1 $,
\begin{align*}
\Omega'_n&= \pm\sqrt{\dfrac{\omega_p^2}{1-\dfrac{\gamma_n-1}{\gamma_n}\dfrac{\varepsilon_m}{\varepsilon_0}}-\frac{1}{4 \mathrm{T}^2} }, \\
\Omega''_n& =-\frac{1}{2\mathrm{T}}.
\end{align*}
The static plasmonic resonances all lie in the lower part of the complex plane and their real parts are bounded.
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof}
Let $\gamma_n\in \sigma(\mathcal{T}_D^0)$:
\begin{align*}
\frac{\varepsilon_m}{\varepsilon_m-\varepsilon_c(\omega)}=\gamma_n &\Leftrightarrow \varepsilon_c(\omega)=\varepsilon_m\left(1-\frac{1}{\gamma_n}\right) \\
& \Leftrightarrow \frac{\omega_p^2}{\omega^2+i\omega \mathrm{T}^{-1}} = 1-\frac{\gamma_n-1}{\gamma_n}\frac{\varepsilon_m}{\varepsilon_0}\\
&\Leftrightarrow \Omega'^2 -\Omega''^2 +2i\Omega' \Omega'' +i \Omega' \mathrm{T}^{-1} - \Omega'' \mathrm{T}^{-1} = \dfrac{\omega_p^2}{1-\dfrac{\gamma_n-1}{\gamma_n}\dfrac{\varepsilon_m}{\varepsilon_0}},
\end{align*}
which gives the result.
\end{proof}
\subsection{Dynamic plasmonic resonances}
Finding the frequencies $\Omega$ at which a dynamic plasmonic resonance can occur is the non-linear eigenvalue problem of
\begin{align}\label{eq:nonlinearEV}
\text{finding}\ \Omega \ \text{s.t.} \ \gamma(\Omega)\in\sigma\left(\mathcal{T}_D^{\frac{\Omega}{c}}\right).
\end{align}
There are several difficulties associated with this problem. First, when $\delta$ is fixed, there might not be a solution to this problem. Then, even if there is one, we do not know a priori that the solution will correspond to a \emph{low-frequency regime} where our previous perturbative computations can be used.
Assuming without loss of generality, that $\varepsilon_m=\varepsilon_0$, and that $\varepsilon_c$ is given by the Drude model~\eqref{eq:drude}, we show the following result:
\begin{proposition}\label{prop:existanceresonances} For a fixed static eigenvalue $\gamma_n$ we can find $\delta_{max}(n)$ such that if $0<\delta<\delta_{max}(n)$ then there exists a \emph{low-frequency} solution of the non-linear eigenvalue problem, \emph{i.e.}
\begin{align*}
\forall 0<\delta<\delta_{max}(n) \quad \exists\ \Omega_n(\delta)\ \mathrm{such\ that\ } \gamma(\Omega_n(\delta))=\gamma_n(\delta\Omega_n(\delta) c^{-1}) \ \mathrm{ and\ } \delta\omega_n(\delta) c^{-1} \ll 1.
\end{align*}
\end{proposition}
In what follows, we use the lighter notation $\gamma_n(\Omega_n(\delta))$ instead of $
\gamma_n\left(\delta\Omega_n(\delta) c^{-1}\right)$.
\begin{proof}
This is a consequence of Rouch\'e's theorem.
Consider $f(\omega)=\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n$ and $g(\omega)= \gamma_n- \gamma_n(\omega)$.
Then, we know by Rouch\'e's theorem that if there is a subset $K\subset\mathbb{C}$ such that $\vert g(z)\vert <\vert f(z)\vert$ on $\partial K$ then $f$ and $f+g$ have the same number of zeros in $K$.
Using Proposition~\ref{prop:QS_res_max} we know that there is a neighbourhood $K\ni 0$ of $\Omega_n$ such that $f$ only has one zero in $K$.
Using Lemma~\ref{lem:perturbationtheory} we know that there is a complex neighbourhood of the origin $\mathcal{V}(n)$ such that if $\omega\delta c^{-1}\in \mathcal{V}(n)$ then $g(\omega) \sim -\alpha_n \left(\omega\delta c^{-1}\right)^2$ where $\alpha_n = \left\langle \mathcal{T}^{(2)}_B[\mathbf{e}_n],\mathbf{e}_n\right\rangle$. Now, we have
\begin{align*}
\gamma'(\omega) = \frac{\left(2\omega+i T^{-1}\right) }{\omega_p^2}\neq 0 \quad \text{if} \ \omega\neq -\frac{i T^{-1}}{2}.
\end{align*}
Since $g$ converges uniformly to $0$ in $K$ as $\delta\rightarrow 0$ we can find a $\delta_{max}(n)$ such that the hypotheses of Rouch\'e's theorem hold.
\end{proof}
\begin{remark} The consequence of Proposition~\ref{prop:existanceresonances} is that the poles of the finite dimensional approximation of the resolvent all lie in a bounded region of the lower-half complex plane.
\end{remark}
\subsection{Low-frequency plasmonic resonance expansion}\label{subsec:modalexpansion}
We can now give an approximation of the scattered electric field as a pole expansion:
\begin{theorem}\label{theo:mainexpansion}
For a given $\mathbf{E}^\text{\emph{in}}$ there exists $N$ (depending on $\mathbf{E}^\text{\emph{in}}$), $\delta_{max}(N)$ such that for all $\delta<\delta_{max}(N)$, there exists $\omega_{max}=\mathcal{O}\left(c \delta^{-1}\right)$ such that for all $\omega\in\mathbb{R}$ satisfying $\vert \omega\vert<\omega_{max}$ the following holds:
\begin{align*}
\mathbf{E} =& \sum_{n=0}^N \frac{\gamma(\omega)}{\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n\left( \Omega_n(\delta) \right)}\left\langle \mathbf{E}^{\text{\emph{in}}}, \mathbf{e}_n \right\rangle_{L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)} \mathbf{e}_n + \epsilon_{int}\left(N,\frac{\omega\delta }{c}, \Im(\gamma)\right) \text{ in } D,
\end{align*} and
\begin{multline*}
\mathbf{E}(x)-\mathbf{E}^{\text{\emph{in}}}(x)= \sum_{n=0}^N \frac{1}{\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n\left( \Omega_n(\delta)\right)} \left\langle \mathbf{E}^{\text{\emph{in}}},\mathbf{e}_n \right\rangle_{L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)} \left(\frac{\omega}{c}\right)^2 \int_D \mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\omega}{c}}(x,y)\mathbf{e}_n(y) \mathrm{d} y \\ + \epsilon_{ext}\left(N,\frac{\omega\delta }{c}, \Im(\gamma)\right) \text{ in } \mathbb{R}^3\setminus \overline{D},
\end{multline*}
where $(\mathbf{e}_n)_{n\in\mathbb{N}}$ is an orthonormal basis of $\mathbf{W}(D)$ for the usual $L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)$ scalar product, and $\gamma_n( \Omega_n(\delta))$ are the eigenvalues of $\mathcal{T}_D^{\frac{\omega}{c}}$ at the dynamic plasmonic resonant frequency $\omega= \Omega_n(\delta)$ on $\mathbf{W}$ associated with the eigenvectors $\mathbf{e}_n$.
The interior error terms behave as :
\begin{align*}
\epsilon_{int}\left(N,\frac{\omega\delta }{c}, \Im(\gamma)\right) = \mathcal{O}\left(\frac{\left(\omega\delta c^{-1}\right)^2}{f\left(\left\vert \Im \gamma(\omega) - \widetilde{C }_B\left(\omega\delta c^{-1}\right)^3\right\vert\right)}\right) +\mathcal{O}\left(\frac{\epsilon_N(\mathbf{E}^\emph{\text{in}})}{f\left(\left\vert \Im \gamma(\omega) - \widetilde{C }_B\left(\omega\delta c^{-1}\right)^3\right\vert\right)}\right),
\end{align*} where $f(x):=x e^{x^{-2}}$ and $\epsilon_N(\mathbf{E}^\text{\emph{in}})$ has superpolynomial decay. The exterior error terms are the convolutions by the Green's function on $D$ of the interior error terms and behave as:
\begin{align*}
\epsilon_{ext}\left(N,\frac{ \omega\delta}{c}, \Im(\gamma)\right) = \mathcal{O}\left(\frac{\omega^2\delta^2}{c^2}\, \epsilon_{int}\left(N,\frac{\omega\delta }{c}, \Im(\gamma)\right) \right).
\end{align*}
\end{theorem}
\begin{remark}\label{rem:defQNM}
One can see that the function $\omega \mapsto \mathbf{E}(\omega)$ is meromorphic and has simple poles at $\omega = \Omega_n(\delta)$. One can define the so-called \emph{quasi-normal modes} from the physics literature as the excitation independent part of the residue of $\mathbf{E}^{\text{\emph{sca}}}$ at each pole:
\begin{align}
\mathbf{E}_n(x) = \left\{\begin{aligned}\mathbf{e}_n(x), \qquad & x\in D ,\\
\left(\frac{\Omega_n(\delta)}{c}\right)^2 \int_D \mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\Omega_n(\delta)}{c}}(x,y)\mathbf{e}_n(y) \mathrm{d} y, \qquad & x\in \mathbb{R}^3\setminus \overline{D}.
\end{aligned}\right.
\end{align}
Since $\Omega_n(\delta)$ has a negative imaginary part the quasi-normal modes do not belong to $L^2$ and diverge exponentially as $\vert x \vert \rightarrow \infty$.
\end{remark}
\begin{remark} Even though it might be possible, with some extra work, to perform the perturbative spectral analysis without truncating the series (see Remark~\ref{rem:sumtruncation}), studying the excitation coefficients' decay sheds light on the numerical method convergence rate. Indeed, in practice, one has to use a finite number of modes to numerically approximate the electric field. Our result shows that the truncation is valid, and that the number of modes to consider depends on the regularity of the source, hence the convergence is not uniform. For example, a source with high spatial oscillations, like a dipole source placed near the particle, will require a large number of modes to obtain an accurate approximation of the electric field. This has been observed numerically, but not justified. Our result shows that the so-called \emph{quasi-normal modes expansion}'s pertinence as a numerical method depends on the type of source used.
\end{remark}
We now give the proof of Theorem~\ref{theo:mainexpansion}:
\begin{proof}
The theorem is a direct consequence of Propositions~\ref{prop:modalinside} and~\ref{prop:existanceresonances}. First, we rescale the problem as in section \ref{sec:rescale} to get a problem on $B$ with frequency parameter $\omega\delta c^{-1}$. The next step consists in fixing the incident field as well as the number $N$ of modes to consider in the decomposition (see section \ref{sec:sumtruncation} for more details on the decay of the modal coefficients). In turn the number $N$ fixes the smallest isolation distance of the static operator $\mathcal{T}_B^{0}$ eigenvalues and therefore the maximum size $\eta_{max}$ of the parameter $\omega\delta c^{-1}$ that can be chosen. Then, we compute the dynamic plasmonic resonances (Proposition~\ref{prop:existanceresonances}). The maximum size $\delta_{max}$ is fixed a posteriori such that for each $n\leq N$ the quantity $\delta_{max} \Omega_n(\delta_{max}) c^{-1} <\eta_{max}$ and that our theory is self-consistent. Then, for any $\delta < \delta_{max}$ the expansion is valid for all $\omega\in \mathbb{R}$ such that $\vert \omega \delta c^{-1}\vert <\eta_{max}$. Therefore setting $\omega_{max} = \eta_{max}\, c \delta^{-1}$ we get a valid expansion in $B$. Going back to the original unscaled problem we get the result. The expansion outside the particle is just the continuation of the field by the Lippman-Schwinger equation.
\end{proof}
\begin{remark} As pointed out in Remark~\ref{rem:equivalentscalar}, there is an equivalent method to obtain a similar type of expansion for the scalar wave equation. In \cite{baldassari2021modal}, simulations are performed to demonstrate the numerical pertinence of such methods.
\end{remark}
In the next section we show that, in the time domain, the scattered field can be written as a resonance expansion without any divergence problems.
\section{Time domain approximation}\label{sec:temporal}
\subsection{Main result and alternative formulations}
Given a wideband signal $f:t \mapsto f(t) \in C_0^{\infty}([0,C_1])$, for $C_1>0$, we want to express the time domain response of the electric field to an oscillating dipole placed at a source point $s$. We assume that most of the energy of the excitation is concentrated in the low frequencies (i.e., in frequencies corresponding to wavelengths that are much larger than the particle, such that the response of the particle can be studied via the perturbed quasi-static theory).
This means that for a fixed $\delta$ we can pick $\eta \ll 1$ and $\rho$ such that
\begin{align*}
\int_{\mathbb{R} \setminus[-\rho,\rho]} \vert \widehat{f}(\omega) \vert^2 \mathrm{d} \omega \leq \eta, \\
\frac{\rho \delta}{c} \leq 1,
\end{align*}
where $\widehat{f}:\omega\mapsto \widehat{f}(\omega)$ is the Fourier transform of $f$.
The goal of this section is to establish a resonance-type expansion for the low-frequency part of the scattered electric field in the time domain, based on the modal approximation established in Theorem~\ref{theo:mainexpansion}.
Introduce, for $\rho>0$, the truncated inverse Fourier transform of the scattered field $\mathbf{E}^{\text{sca}}$ given by
\begin{equation*}
P_\rho\left[\mathbf{E}^\text{sca}\right](x,t)=\int_{-\rho}^{\rho} \mathbf{E}^{\text{sca}}(x,\omega) e^{-i\omega t} \mathrm{d}\omega.
\end{equation*}
Recall that $z$ is the centre of the resonator and $\delta$ its radius. Let us define $$t_0^\pm(s,x):=\frac{1}{c}\left(|s-z|+|x-z|\pm 2\delta\right),$$
the time it takes to the signal to reach first the scatterer and then observation point $x$. The term $\pm 2 \delta/c$ accounts for the maximal timespan spent inside the particle.
Since the source point $s$ of the incoming field is fixed and, using Theorem~\ref{theo:mainexpansion} we know that there exist $N$ (depending on $\mathbf{E}^\text{in}$) and $\delta_{max}(N)$ such that for all particle of size $\delta<\delta_{max}(N)$ and $\vert \omega\vert<\omega_{max}(\delta)$ we can approximate the scattered field by a finite sum:
\begin{align*}
\widehat{\mathbf{E}}(\cdot,\omega) =& \sum_{n=0}^N \frac{\gamma(\omega)}{\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n\left( \Omega_n(\delta) \right)}\left\langle \widehat{\mathbf{E}}^{\text{in}}, \mathbf{e}_n \right\rangle_{L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)} \mathbf{e}_n + \epsilon_{int}\left(N,\frac{\delta \omega}{c}, \Im(\gamma)\right) \text{ in } D,
\end{align*} where $\widehat{\mathbf{E}}^\text{in}$ is the Fourier transform of $\mathbf{E}^\text{in}$.
The next theorem gives the time domain formulation of the finite sum:
\begin{theorem}\label{theo:resonanceexpansion}
Let $M\in \mathbb{N}^*$. For a particle of size $\delta\leq \delta_{max}$, assume the field has the following form inside the particle in the frequency domain:
\begin{align*}
\widehat{\mathbf{E}}(x,\omega)= \sum_{n=0}^N \frac{\gamma(\omega)}{\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n\left( \Omega_n(\delta) \right)}\left\langle \widehat{\mathbf{E}}^{\text{\emph{in}}}, \mathbf{e}_n \right\rangle_{L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)} \mathbf{e}_n.
\end{align*} Then, in the time domain, the truncated inverse Fourier transform has the following form, for $x\in\mathbb{R}^3\setminus \overline{D}$:
\begin{equation}
P_\rho\left[\mathbf{E}^\text{\emph{sca}}\right](x,t)=
\begin{dcases}
\mathcal{O}\left(\left(\omega_{max}(\delta)\right)^{-M}\right), &\mbox{ } t\leq t_0^-, \\
2\pi i\sum_{n=1}^NC_{\Omega_n(\delta)} \left\langle\widehat{\mathbf{E}}^{\text{\emph{in}}}\left(\Omega_n(\delta)\right), \mathbf{e}_n \right\rangle_{L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)}\mathbf{E}_n (x)e^{-i\Omega_n(\delta) t}+\mathcal{O}\left(\frac{1}{t}\left(\omega_{max}(\delta)\right)^{-M}\right), &\mbox{ }t\geq t_0^+,
\end{dcases}
\end{equation}
with $\Omega_n(\delta)$ being the plasmonic resonant frequencies of the particle given by Proposition~\ref{prop:existanceresonances} and $\omega_{max}(\delta)=\mathcal{O}(c \delta^{-1})$ given by Theorem~\ref{theo:mainexpansion},
\begin{align*}
C_{\Omega_n(\delta)}= \text{Res} \left( \frac{\gamma(\omega)}{\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n(\Omega_n(\delta))},\ \Omega_n(\delta) \right),
\end{align*} and $\mathbf{E}_n$ the generalised (diverging) eigenvectors, the so-called \emph{quasi normal modes} defined in Remark~\ref{rem:defQNM}.
\end{theorem}
\begin{remark}
The resonant frequencies $\Omega_n(\delta)$ have negative imaginary parts, so Theorem~\ref{theo:resonanceexpansion} expresses the scattered field as the sum of decaying oscillating fields. The imaginary part of $\Omega_n(\delta)$ accounts for absorption losses in the particle as well as radiative losses.
\end{remark}
\begin{remark} Even though Theorem~\ref{theo:resonanceexpansion} resembles a resonance expansion similar to the ones found in classical scattering theory, it is not one. It is an approximation of the electric field by a finite number of modes. The number of modes depends on the source and is only valid when the particle is small enough (the maximum size depending on the number of modes). Our resolvent estimates are not uniform with respect to the right-hand side of our equation: They only converge pointwise. Theorem~\ref{theo:resonanceexpansion} provides a good heuristic justification for the methods used in the physics community in a certain regime. However it shows that these modal approximations do not converge uniformly with respect to the source and it seems that getting explicit a priori error estimates will be difficult.
\end{remark}
\begin{remark}[About the remainder $\omega_{max}(\delta)$]
Since for a particle of finite size $\delta$ our expansion only holds for a range of frequencies $\vert \omega\vert \leq \omega_{max}(\delta)$, we cannot compute the full inverse Fourier transform and we have a remainder that depends on the maximum frequency that we can use. Since that maximum frequency $\omega_{max}(\delta)$ behaves as $c\delta^{-1}$ we can see that the remainder gets arbitrarily small for small particles. For a completely point-like particle one would get a zero remainder.
\end{remark}
\begin{remark} If we had access to the full inverse Fourier transform of the field, of course, since the inverse Fourier transform of a function which is analytic in the upper-half plane is \emph{causal} we would find that in the case $t\leq \left(|s-z|+|x-z|-2\delta\right)/c$, $\mathbf{E}^\text{\emph{sca}}(x,t)= 0$. Nevertheless, our method only works for a truncated \emph{low-frequency} estimate of the scattered field, hence the \emph{arbitrarily small} remainder.
\end{remark}
\begin{theorem}[Alternative formulation with non-diverging quantities]\label{theo:alternativenondiverging}
Under the same assumptions as Theorem~\ref{theo:resonanceexpansion}, the scattered field has the following form in the time domain for $x\in\mathbb{R}^3\setminus \overline{D}$:
\begin{equation*}
P_\rho\left[\mathbf{E}^\text{sca}\right](x,t)=
\begin{dcases}
\mathcal{O}\left(\left(\omega_{max}(\delta)\right)^{-M}\right), &\mbox{ } t\leq t_0^-, \\
2\pi i\sum_{n=1}^N C_{\Omega_n(\delta)} \left\langle\widehat{\mathbf{E}}^{\mathrm{in}}\left( \Omega_n(\delta) \right), \mathbf{e}_n \right\rangle_{L^2(D,\mathbb{R}^3)}\widetilde{\mathbf{e}}_n (x)e^{-i\Omega_n(\delta) (t-c^{-1}\vert x-z\vert )}\\ \qquad \qquad \qquad \qquad \qquad \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad +\mathcal{O}\left(\frac{1}{t}\left(\omega_{max}(\delta)\right)^{-M}\right), &\mbox{ }t\geq t_0^+,
\end{dcases}
\end{equation*} where
\begin{align*}
\widetilde{\mathbf{e}}_n = \mathbf{E}_n e^{-i\frac{\Omega_n(\delta)}{c} \vert x-z\vert }.
\end{align*}
\end{theorem}
\begin{remark}[About the numerical efficiency] One of the main goals of the development of the quasi-normal mode theory in nano-photonics is to compute quickly the scattered field in the time domain in numerical simulations. The idea is that the quasi-normal modes are excitation independent and therefore, once they are pre-computed, one can calculate the scattered field for different source locations very efficiently (by computing a series of scalar products between the source and the modes), compared to the costly time domain finite difference method, which has to be re-done completely if the excitation field is changed.
Theorem~\ref{theo:resonanceexpansion} expresses the scattered field in the time domain as a sum of time decaying exponential times some generalised eigenmodes. Theorem~\ref{theo:alternativenondiverging} says exactly the same thing except that if we make use of the causality, we can express the scattered field as a sum of time decaying exponential functions times a pre-computable, non-diverging quantity. The quantities $\widetilde{\mathbf{e}}_n$ are not exactly modes as they do not satisfy Maxwell's equations at frequency $\Omega_n(\delta)$ but they are non-diverging, and they are the quantity that appears \emph{in fine} when computing the residues in practice.
\end{remark}
\subsection{Proof of Theorem~\ref{theo:resonanceexpansion}}
Before we start the proof we need the following lemma:
\begin{lemma}
The incident field has the following form in the time domain:
\begin{align*}
\mathbf{E}^\text{\emph{in}}(x,t)&=\int_{\mathbb{R}} \mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\omega}{c}}(x,s)\mathbf{p} \widehat{f}(\omega)e^{-i\omega t} \mathrm{d}\omega\\
&=\frac{f(t-|x-s|/c)}{4\pi|x-s|}\mathbf{p}+c^2\mathbf{D}_x^2\frac{f''(t-|x-s|/c)}{4\pi|x-s|} \mathbf{p}.
\end{align*}
\end{lemma}
\begin{proof}
See Appendix \ref{app:timedomain}.
\end{proof}
As well as
\begin{lemma} \label{lem:A} \begin{align*}
\mathbf{\Gamma}^\frac{\omega}{c}(x,z)= - e^{i\frac{\omega}{c}\vert x-z\vert} \frac{\mathbf{A}(x,z,\omega/c)}{4\pi \vert x-z\vert},
\end{align*} where $\mathbf{A}$ is given in Appendix \ref{app:dyadic}, and behaves like a polynomial in $\omega$.
\end{lemma}
We are now ready to prove Theorem~\ref{theo:resonanceexpansion}:
\begin{proof}
We start by studying the time domain response of a single mode to a causal excitation at the source point $s$. Therefore, according to Theorem~\ref{theo:mainexpansion} we need to compute the contribution $\Xi_n$ of each mode $\mathbf{e}_n$, that is,
\begin{multline*}
\int_{-\rho}^{\rho}\Xi_n(x,\omega) e^{-i\omega t}\mathrm{d} \omega \\ :=\int_{-\rho}^\rho\left[\frac{1}{\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n(\Omega_n(\delta))} \left\langle \mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\omega}{c}}(\cdot ,s)\mathbf{p} \widehat{f}(\omega),\mathbf{e}_n \right\rangle_{L^2} \left(\frac{\omega}{c}\right)^2 \int_D \mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\omega}{c}}(x,y)\mathbf{e}_n(y) \mathrm{d} y \right] e^{-i\omega t}\mathrm{d} \omega.
\end{multline*}
One can then write:
\begin{multline*}
\left\langle \mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\omega}{c}}(\cdot ,s)\mathbf{p} \widehat{f}(\omega),\mathbf{e}_n \right\rangle_{L^2} \left(\frac{\omega}{c}\right)^2 \int_D \mathbf{\Gamma}^{\frac{\omega}{c}}(x,y)\mathbf{e}_n(y) \mathrm{d} y= \\ \left(\frac{\omega}{c}\right)^2 \widehat{f}(\omega) \int_{D\times D} e^{i \frac{\omega}{c} \left( \vert x-y\vert + \vert s-v\vert \right)} \frac{\mathbf{A}(x,y,\omega/c)\mathbf{e}_n(y)}{4\pi \vert x-y\vert} \mathbf{e}_n(v)\cdot \frac{\mathbf{A}(s,v,\omega/c) \mathbf{p}}{4\pi \vert s-v\vert} \mathrm{d} v \mathrm{d} y.
\end{multline*}
Now we want to apply the residue theorem to get an asymptotic expansion in the time domain. Note that:
\begin{equation*}
\int_{-\rho}^{\rho} \Xi_n(x,\omega) e^{-i\omega t} \mathrm{d}\omega= \oint_{\mathcal{C}^{\pm}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t}\mathrm{d}\Omega -\int_{\mathcal{C}_\rho^{\pm}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t} \mathrm{d}\Omega,
\end{equation*}
where the integration contour $\mathcal{C}_\rho^{\pm}$ is a semicircular arc of radius $\rho$ in the upper (+) or lower (-) half-plane, and $\mathcal{C}^{\pm}$ is the closed contour $\mathcal{C}^{\pm}=\mathcal{C}_\rho^{\pm}\cup[-\rho,\rho]$.
The integral on the closed contour is the main contribution to the scattered field by the mode $\mathbf{e}_n$ and can be computed using the residue theorem to get, for $\rho\geq \Re[\Omega_n(\delta)]$,
\begin{align*}
\oint_{\mathcal{C}^{+}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t} \mathrm{d}\Omega&=0,\\
\oint_{\mathcal{C}^{-}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t} \mathrm{d}\Omega&=2\pi i\text{Res}\left( \Xi_n(x,\Omega)e^{-i\Omega t},\Omega_n(\delta)\right).
\end{align*}
Since $\Omega_n(\delta)$ is a simple pole of $\omega \mapsto \dfrac{\gamma(\omega)}{\gamma(\omega)-\gamma_n(\Omega_n(\delta))}$ we can write:
\begin{align*}
\oint_{\mathcal{C}^{-}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t} \mathrm{d}\Omega&=2\pi i\text{Res}\left(\Xi_n(x,\Omega),\Omega_n(\delta)\right)e^{-i\Omega_n(\delta)t}.
\end{align*}
To compute the integrals on the semi-circle, we introduce:
\begin{equation*}
\mathbf{B}_n(y,v,\Omega)=\frac{\Omega^2}{\gamma(\Omega)-\gamma_n(\Omega_n(\delta))}\frac{\mathbf{A}(x,y,\Omega/c)\mathbf{e}_n(y) \mathbf{e}_n(v)\cdot\mathbf{A}(s,v,\Omega/c)\mathbf{p}}{16c^2\pi^2|x-y||s-v|} \qquad (y,v) \in D^2.
\end{equation*}
Note that $\mathbf{B}_n(\cdot,\cdot,\Omega)$ behaves like a polynomial in $\Omega$ when $\vert \Omega\vert \rightarrow \infty$.
Given the regularity of the input signal $f \in C_0^{\infty}([0,C_1])$, the Paley-Wiener theorem~\cite[p.161]{Yosida1995FA} ensures decay properties of its Fourier transform at infinity. For all $M\in\mathbb{N}^*$ there exists a positive constant $C_M$ such that for all $\Omega \in \mathbb{C}$
\begin{equation*}
|\widehat{f}(\Omega)|\leq C_M (1+|\Omega|)^{-M}e^{C_1 |\Im{(\Omega)}|}.
\end{equation*}
We now re-write the integrals on the semi-circle
\begin{align*}
\int_{\mathcal{C}_\rho^{\pm}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t} \mathrm{d}\Omega=\int_{\mathcal{C}_\rho^{\pm}}\widehat{f}(\Omega) \int_{D\times D} \mathbf{B}_n(y,v,\Omega) e^{i \Omega \left(\frac{\vert x-y\vert + \vert s-v\vert}{c} -t\right)}\mathrm{d} v\mathrm{d} y \mathrm{d} \Omega.
\end{align*}
Two cases arise:
\paragraph{Case 1:}
For $0<t<t_0^-$ , i.e., when the signal emitted at $s$ has not reached the observation point $x$, we choose the upper-half integration contour $\mathcal{C}^+$. Transforming into polar coordinates, $\Omega=\rho e^{i\theta}$ for $\theta \in [0,\pi]$, we get:
\begin{align*}
\left\vert e^{i \Omega \left(\frac{\vert x-y\vert + \vert s-v\vert}{c} -t\right)}\right\vert \leq e^{-(t_0^--t)\Im(\Omega)} \qquad \forall (y,v)\in D^2,
\end{align*}
and
\begin{align*}
\left|\int_{\mathcal{C}_\rho^{+}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t} \mathrm{d}\Omega\right| & \leq \int_0^\pi\rho \left| \widehat{f} \left(\rho e^{i\theta}\right)\right|e^{-\rho (t_0^--t)\sin{\theta}}\int_{D\times D}\left\vert \mathbf{B}_n\left(y,v,\rho e^{i\theta}\right)\right \vert\mathrm{d} v \mathrm{d} y \mathrm{d}\theta,\\
&\leq \rho C_M(1+\rho)^{-M}\delta^6 \max_{\theta\in [0,\pi]}{\left\Vert \mathbf{B}_n\left(\cdot, \cdot, \rho e^{i\theta}\right) \right\Vert_{L^{\infty}(D\times D)}} \pi \frac{1-e^{\rho[C_1-(t^-_0-t)]}}{\rho(t^-_0-t-C_1)},
\end{align*}
where we used that for $\theta \in [0,\pi/2]$, we have $\sin{\theta} \geq 2\theta/\pi \geq 0$ and $-\cos{\theta}\leq-1+2\theta/\pi$. The usual way to go forward from here is to take the limit $\rho \rightarrow \infty$, and get that the limit of the integral on the semi-circle is zero. However, we work in the quasi-static approximation here, and our modal expansion is not uniformly valid for all frequencies. So we have to work with a fixed maximum frequency $\rho$. However, the maximum frequency $\rho$ depends on the size of the particle via the hypothesis $\rho \leq \omega_{max}(\delta) $. Since $M$ can be taken arbitrarily large and that $\mathbf{B}_n$ behaves like a polynomial in $\rho$ \emph{whose degree does not depend on $n$}, we get that, uniformly in $n\in [1,N]$:
\begin{align*}
\left|\int_{\mathcal{C}_\rho^{+}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t} \mathrm{d}\Omega\right| = \mathcal{O}\left(\frac{1}{t_0^- -t-C_1}\delta^6\left( \omega_{max}(\delta)\right)^{-M}\right).
\end{align*}
Of course if one has to consider the full inverse Fourier transform of the scattered electromagnetic field, by causality, one should expect the limit to be zero. However, one would need high-frequency estimates of the electromagnetic field, as well as a modal decomposition that is uniformly valid for all frequencies.
Since our modal expansion is only valid for a limited range of frequencies we get an error bound that is arbitrarily small if the particle is arbitrarily small, but not rigorously zero.
\paragraph{Case 2:}
For $t>t_0^+$ , we choose the lower-half integration contour $\mathcal{C}^-$. Transforming into polar coordinates, $\Omega=\rho e^{i\theta}$ for $\theta \in [\pi,2\pi]$, we get
\begin{align*}
\left\vert e^{i \Omega \left(\frac{\vert x-y\vert + \vert s-v\vert}{c} -t\right)}\right\vert \leq e^{ (t-t_0^+) \Im (\Omega)} \qquad \forall (y,v)\in D^2,
\end{align*}
and
\begin{align*}
\left|\int_{\mathcal{C}_\rho^{-}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t} \mathrm{d}\Omega\right| & \leq \int_\pi^{2\pi} \rho\left|f(\rho e^{i\theta})\right|e^{\rho (t-t_0^+)\sin{\theta}}\int_{D\times D}\left\vert \mathbf{B}_n\left(y,v,\rho e^{i\theta}\right) \right\vert\mathrm{d} v \mathrm{d} y \mathrm{d}\theta,\\
&\leq \rho C_M(1+\rho)^{-M} \delta^6 \max_{\theta\in [0,\pi]}{\left\Vert \mathbf{B}_n\left(\cdot, \cdot, \rho e^{i\theta}\right) \right\Vert_{L^{\infty}(D\times D)}}\pi \frac{1-e^{\rho( C_1-(t-t_0^+))}}{\rho( C_1-(t-t_0^+))},-.
\end{align*}
Exactly as in Case $1$, we cannot take the limit $\rho \rightarrow \infty$. However, the maximum frequency $\rho$ depends on the size of the particle via the hypothesis $\rho \leq \omega_{max}(\delta) $. Since $\omega_{max}(\delta) \rightarrow \infty$ $(\delta \rightarrow 0)$, using the fact that $M$ can be taken arbitrarily large and that $\mathbf{B}_n$ behaves like a polynomial in $\rho$ \emph{whose degree does not depend on $n$}, we get that, uniformly in $n\in [1,N]$:
\begin{align*}
\left|\int_{\mathcal{C}_\rho^{-}} \Xi_n(x,\Omega) e^{-i\Omega t} \mathrm{d}\Omega\right| = \mathcal{O}\left(\frac{1}{t} \delta^6\left( \omega_{max}(\delta)\right)^{-M}\right).
\end{align*}
The result of Theorem~\ref{theo:resonanceexpansion} is obtained by summing the contribution of all the modes.
\end{proof}
\section{Concluding remarks}
In this paper, we have shown through the spectral analysis of singular integral operators of the Calder\'on-Zygmund type, that the electromagnetic field scattered by a small particle constituted of dispersive media could be approximated in an orthogonal basis inside the particle in the electrostatic regime ($\omega=0$). Through a perturbative analysis of the integral operator on well-chosen finite-dimensional subspaces of $L^2$ we were able to derive an accurate approximation of the electric field in the \emph{low-frequency} regime. The analysis of plasmonic resonances as a non-linear eigenvalue problem of a perturbed operator gives us a \emph{resonance-like} approximation for the electric field : the field is approached by a meromorphic function of the frequency whose poles are all located in a bounded region of the lower-half complex plane.
We have shown that the so-called \emph{quasi-normal modes} that appear in the physics literature~\cite{lalanneReview} can be defined from this expansion but this concept is not the only way for deriving a modal decomposition~\cite{durufle2019non}.
We have then given an approximate resonance expansion in the time domain for the low-frequency part of the scattered electromagnetic field, as a sum of complex exponential (decaying in time) fields, using only results from surface integral operator theory. We have also shown that there is no divergence problem at infinity once we are in the time domain, and have introduced excitation independent, non divergent quantities that could be used for numerical computations.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 6,309 |
Q: How to get an exact audio channel layout info by ffmpeg? How to get a audio channel layout info by ffmpeg?
For example,if audio is 5.1 then I want to get info following like
FL+FR+FC+LFE+BL+BR
A: A roundabout method is to use ffprobe to get the numerical channel layout:
$ ffprobe -v error -show_entries stream=channel_layout -of csv=p=0 input.wav
5.1
Then refer to ffmpeg -layouts:
$ ffmpeg -v error -layouts | awk '/5.1 /{print $2}'
FL+FR+FC+LFE+BL+BR
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 1,760 |
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"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 9,006 |
### Embedding SEO-friendly links
Use our small [`<Link>` package](https://github.com/faceyspacey/redux-first-router-link) to ensure that an actual anchor is embedded for SEO benefits:
`yarn install redux-first-router-link`
If SEO is not required, navigation can of course be done entirely through actions as in the `<button>` example below.
```js
// App.js
import Link from 'redux-first-router-link'
const App = ({ page, changeUser }) => {
const Component = components[page]
return (
<div>
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<Component />
</div>
)
}
const mapStateToProps = ({ page }) => ({ page })
const mapDispatchToProps = dispatch => ({
changeUser: id => dispatch({ type: 'USER', payload: { id } })
})
export default connect(mapStateToProps, mapDispatchToProps)(App)
```
The **recommended approach** is to use the `<Link to={action}>` method because it keeps the URL scheme separate from the components. URLs can then be changed by just editing `routesMap.js`.
### Styling active links
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```js
<NavLink to={{homeAction}} activeStyle={{ color: 'red' }}>Home</NavLink>
```
```js
<NavLink to={{homeAction}} activeClassName="my-active-link-css-class">Home</NavLink>
```
Examples using a CSS-in-JS approach such as [`emotion`](https://emotion.sh/):
```js
import styled from 'react-emotion'
const StyledNavLink = styled(NavLink)`
&.my-active-link-class {
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}
`;
{/* Default activeClassName "active" overridden only for demonstration purposes */}
<StyledNavLink to={{homeAction}} activeClassName="my-active-link-class">Home</StyledNavLink>
```
or
```js
import { css } from 'react-emotion'
const activeLinkStyle = css`
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`;
<NavLink to={{homeAction}} activeClassName={activeLinkStyle}>Home</NavLink>
```
Documentation and more examples can be found in the [GitHub repo](https://github.com/faceyspacey/redux-first-router-link).
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 1,825 |
YourHall.co.uk
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YourHall.co.uk was funded by St. Edmundsbury Borough Council initially and was developed by Community Action Suffolk in partnership | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 2,922 |
\section{Introduction}
This paper is written in the context of symmetric spectra \cite{Hovey_Shipley_Smith, Schwede_book_project}, and more generally, modules over a commutative ring spectrum ${ \mathcal{R} }$; see \cite{EKMM} for another approach to a well-behaved category of spectra. We consider any algebraic structure in the closed symmetric monoidal category $({ \mathsf{Mod}_{ \mathcal{R} } },\wedge,{ \mathcal{R} })$ of ${ \mathcal{R} }$-modules that can be described as algebras over a reduced operad ${ \mathcal{O} }$; that is, ${ \mathcal{O} }[0]=*$ is the trivial ${ \mathcal{R} }$-module and hence ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras are non-unital (see, for instance, \cite{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality, Harper_Hess}).
Topological Quillen homology, or ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology for short, is the precise ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra analog of ordinary homology for spaces and is weakly equivalent to the stabilization of ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras; see, for instance, \cite{Basterra, Basterra_Mandell, Harper_Hess, Lawson}. The ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion of an ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $X$, denoted $X^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }$, is supposed to be the ``part of the ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra that ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology sees'' (\cite{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality, Harper_bar_constructions, Harper_Zhang}). Analogous to Bousfield-Kan's $\mathbb{Z}$-completion \cite{Bousfield_Kan} of a space, $X_{ \mathsf{TQ} }^\wedge$ is the homotopy limit of the cosimplicial resolution built by iterating the unit map of the monad associated to the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology adjunction. We review these constructions in Section \ref{sec:Background_on_TQ}, but to keep this paper appropriately concise, we freely use the notation in \cite{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality}.
Suppose we start with a fibration sequence $F\rightarrow E\rightarrow B$ of ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras and consider the associated commutative diagram of the form
\begin{align}
\label{eq:fibration_sequence_diagram}
\xymatrix{
F\ar[d]^{(*)}\ar[r] &
E\ar[d]\ar[r] &
B\ar[d]\\
F^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }\ar[r] &
E^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }\ar[r] &
B^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }
}
\end{align}
in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$. The aim of this short paper is to establish sufficient conditions on $E\rightarrow B$ such that the bottom row is also a fibration sequence. In other words, we are interested in establishing a ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion analog of the Bousfield-Kan ``fibration lemma'' \cite[II.2.2]{Bousfield_Kan}, under appropriate additional conditions on $E\rightarrow B$. If we are in the special situation where $E,B$ are ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-complete (i.e., their coaugmentation maps in \eqref{eq:fibration_sequence_diagram} are weak equivalences), then this amounts to verifying that $(*)$ is a weak equivalence. The following theorem is our main result.
\begin{thm}[${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion fibration theorem]
\label{MainTheorem1}
Let $E\rightarrow B$ be a fibration of ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras with fiber $F$. If $E,B$ are $0$-connected, then the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion map $F{ \ \simeq \ } F^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }$ is a weak equivalence; furthermore, the natural map from $F$ to its ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion tower is a pro-$\pi_*$ isomorphism.
\end{thm}
This idea generalizes. Suppose we instead start with a fibration $\function{p}{X}{Y}$ that fits into a left-hand pullback square of the form
\begin{align}
\xymatrix{
A \ar[r] \ar[d] & X \ar[d]^{p}\\
B \ar[r] & Y
}\quad\quad\quad
\xymatrix{
A^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} } \ar[r] \ar[d] & X^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} } \ar[d]\\
B^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} } \ar[r] & Y^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }
}
\end{align}
in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$. We would like to establish sufficient conditions on the pullback data $B\rightarrow Y\leftarrow X$ such that the right-hand square of the indicated form is also a homotopy pullback diagram. Similar to above, if $B,X,Y$ are ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-complete, then this amounts to verifying that the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion map $A{ \ \simeq \ } A^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }$ is a weak equivalence. The following theorem is a generalization of our main result.
\begin{thm}[${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion homotopy pullback theorem]
\label{MainTheorem2}
Consider any pullback square of the form
\begin{align}
\label{eq:pullback_diagram_generic}
\xymatrix{
A \ar[r] \ar[d] & X \ar[d]^{p}\\
B \ar[r] & Y
}
\end{align}
in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$, where $p$ is a fibration. If $B,X,Y$ are $0$-connected, then the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion map $A \simeq A_{ \mathsf{TQ} }^\wedge$ is a weak equivalence; furthermore, the natural map from $A$ to its ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion tower is a pro-$\pi_*$ isomorphism.
\end{thm}
\begin{rem}
It is probably worth pointing out that our strategy of attack works with ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras replaced by pointed simplicial sets. In more detail: Consider any pullback diagram of the form \eqref{eq:pullback_diagram_generic} in pointed simplicial sets, where $p$ is a fibration, and assume that $A$ is connected. If $B,X,Y$ are 1-connected, then the Bousfield-Kan ${ \mathbb{Z} }$-completion map $A \simeq A_{ \mathbb{Z} }^\wedge$ is a weak equivalence; furthermore, the natural map from $A$ to its ${ \mathbb{Z} }$-completion tower is a pro-$\pi_*$ isomorphism. This provides a new proof of the result in Bousfield-Kan (see, for instance \cite[III.5.3]{Bousfield_Kan}) that such $A$ are ${ \mathbb{Z} }$-complete.
\end{rem}
For technical reasons explained in Remark \ref{rem:reason_for_assumption}, we make the following assumption; for instance, it allows for an iterable point-set model of ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology and hence an associated point-set model for the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-resolution of a cofibrant ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra. Note that to say an operad ${ \mathcal{O} }$ is $n$-connected means that, for each $r \geq 0$, its constituent ${ \mathcal{O} }[r]$ is $n$-connected.
\begin{assumption}\label{assumption}
Throughout this paper, ${ \mathcal{O} }$ denotes a reduced operad in the closed symmetric monoidal category $({ \mathsf{Mod}_{ \mathcal{R} } },\wedge,{ \mathcal{R} })$ of ${ \mathcal{R} }$-modules (see, for instance, \cite{Hovey_Shipley_Smith, Schwede_book_project, Shipley_commutative_ring_spectra}). We assume that ${ \mathcal{O} },{ \mathcal{R} }$ are $(-1)$-connected, and that ${ \mathcal{O} }$ satisfies the following cofibrancy condition: Consider the unit map $I\rightarrow{ \mathcal{O} }$; we assume that $I[r]\rightarrow{ \mathcal{O} }[r]$ is a flat stable cofibration (\cite[7.7]{Harper_Hess}) between flat stable cofibrant objects in ${ \mathsf{Mod}_{ \mathcal{R} } }$ for each $r \geq 0$. This is exactly the cofibrancy condition appearing in \cite[2.1]{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality}. Unless stated otherwise, we work in the positive flat stable model structure \cite{Harper_Hess} on ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$.
\end{assumption}
\noindent
{\bf Relationship to previous work.} Ching-Harper prove in \cite{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality} that all $0$-connected ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras are ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-complete. However, it was known that this class does not represent all ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-complete ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras; for instance, one can show that any ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra in the image of $U$ (see Section \ref{sec:Background_on_TQ}) is ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-complete, by an extra codegeneracy argument. We conjecture that any ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra with a principally refined Postnikov tower is ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-complete, which would mirror the analogous result for $\mathbb{Z}$-completion of spaces. This paper is a first step in that direction.\\
\noindent
{\bf Acknowledgments.} The author wishes to thank John E. Harper for his support and advice, Yu Zhang for many helpful conversations, and Jake Blomquist, Duncan Clark, and Sarah Klanderman for useful discussions. The author would also like to thank an anonymous referee for helpful comments on improving the exposition and clarity of the paper. The author was supported in part by National Science Foundation grant DMS-1547357 and the Simons Foundation: Collaboration Grants for Mathematicians \#638247.
\section{Outline of the main argument}
We will now outline the proof of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1}. It suffices to consider the case of a fibration $E\rightarrow B$ in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$ between cofibrant objects (otherwise, cofibrantly replace). The first step is (i) to build the associated cosimplicial resolutions of $E,B$ with respect to ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology by iterating the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-Hurewicz map ${ \mathrm{id} }\rightarrow UQ$ (see Section \ref{sec:Background_on_TQ}) and (ii) to construct the coaugmented cosimplicial diagram $F\rightarrow \tilde{F}$ that is built by taking (functorial) homotopy fibers vertically, followed by objectwise (functorial) cofibrant replacements. In this way, we obtain a commutative diagram of the form
\begin{align}
\label{eq:levelwise_fiber_sequences}
\xymatrix{
F \ar[d] \ar[r] &
\tilde{F}^0 \ar[d] \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] &
\tilde{F}^1 \ar[d] \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r] &
\tilde{F}^2 \cdots \ar@<-2ex>[d]\\
E \ar[d] \ar[r] &
(UQ)E \ar[d] \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] &
(UQ)^2 E \ar[d] \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r] &
(UQ)^3E \cdots \ar@<-2ex>[d]\\
B \ar[r] &
(UQ)B \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] &
(UQ)^2B \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r]&
(UQ)^3B \cdots
}
\end{align}
in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$, where the vertical columns are homotopy fibration sequences. Replacing if needed, we may also assume that $\tilde{F}$ is a Reedy fibrant cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra.
\begin{rem}
For ease of notational purposes, we usually suppress the codegeneracy maps in $\Delta$-shaped diagrams appearing throughout this paper.
\end{rem}
Applying $\holim_\Delta$ (see \cite[Section 8]{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality}) to the maps of $\Delta$-shaped diagrams in \eqref{eq:levelwise_fiber_sequences}, where we regard the left-hand vertical column as maps of constant $\Delta$-shaped diagrams, gives a commutative diagram in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$ of the form
\begin{align*}
\xymatrix{
F\ar[r]\ar[d] & E\ar[r]\ar[d]^-{\simeq} & B\ar[d]^-{\simeq}\\
\holim_\Delta\tilde{F}\ar[r] &
E^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }\ar[r] &
B^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }
}
\end{align*}
where each row is a homotopy fibration sequence. The indicated maps are weak equivalences by \cite[1.6]{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality} since $E,B$ are assumed to be 0-connected. It follows that the left-hand map $F \to \holim_\Delta\tilde{F}$ is a weak equivalence as well.
The next step is to get the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion of $F$ into the picture; the basic idea is to prove that $F \to \holim_\Delta\tilde{F}$ is weakly equivalent to the natural coaugmentation $F\rightarrow F^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }$. Our strategy of attack is to objectwise resolve, with respect to ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology, the upper horizontal diagram $F\rightarrow\tilde{F}$
\begin{align}
\label{eq:resolution_of_F_diagram}
\xymatrix{
\overset{\raisebox{0.5ex}{\vdots}}{(UQ)^3 F} \ar[r]^-{(\#)} & \overset{\raisebox{0.5ex}{\vdots}}{(UQ)^3\tilde{F}^0} \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] & \overset{\raisebox{0.5ex}{\vdots}}{(UQ)^3\tilde{F}^1} \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r] & \overset{\raisebox{0.5ex}{\vdots}}{(UQ)^3\tilde{F}^2} \cdots\\
(UQ)^2 F \ar@<1ex>[u] \ar[u] \ar@<-1ex>[u] \ar[r]^-{(\#)} & (UQ)^2\tilde{F}^0 \ar@<1ex>[u] \ar[u] \ar@<-1ex>[u] \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] & (UQ)^2\tilde{F}^1 \ar@<1ex>[u] \ar[u] \ar@<-1ex>[u] \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r] & (UQ)^2\tilde{F}^2 \ar@<2.5ex>[u] \ar@<1.5ex>[u] \ar@<0.5ex>[u] \cdots\\
(UQ)F \ar@<0.5ex>[u] \ar@<-0.5ex>[u] \ar[r]^-{(\#)} &
(UQ)\tilde{F}^0 \ar@<0.5ex>[u] \ar@<-0.5ex>[u] \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] &
(UQ)\tilde{F}^1\ar@<0.5ex>[u] \ar@<-0.5ex>[u] \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r] &
(UQ)\tilde{F}^2\ar@<2ex>[u] \ar@<1ex>[u] \cdots\\
F \ar[u]^-{(*)'} \ar[r]^-{(\#)} & \tilde{F}^0 \ar[u]_-{(**)} \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] &
\tilde{F}^1 \ar[u]_-{(**)} \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r]& \tilde{F}^2 \ar@<1.5ex>[u]_-{(**)} \cdots
}
\end{align}
in \eqref{eq:levelwise_fiber_sequences}, and show that the maps $(\#)$ and $(**)$ induce weak equivalences after applying $\holim_\Delta$ (Propositions \ref{prop:horizontal_direction} and \ref{prop:vertical_direction}). Once this has been accomplished, we obtain a commutative diagram of the form
\begin{align}
\xymatrix{
\holim_\Delta(UQ)^{\bullet+1}F \ar[r]^-\simeq & \holim_{\Delta\times\Delta}(UQ)^{\bullet+1}\tilde{F}\\
F \ar[u]^-{(*)'} \ar[r]^\simeq & \holim_\Delta\tilde{F} \ar[u]^-\simeq
}
\end{align}
and conclude that the natural coagumentation map $F \simeq F_{ \mathsf{TQ} }^\wedge \simeq \holim_\Delta(UQ)^{\bullet+1}F$ is a weak equivalence. This proves the first part of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1}.
The second part of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1} requires additional work. In order to precisely formulate this stronger result, we introduce the following two definitions.
\begin{defn}
A map of towers of ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras $\sett{X_s}_s \to \sett{Y_s}_s$ is a \emph{pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphism} if the induced map
\[
\sett{\pi_nX_s}_s \to \sett{\pi_nY_s}_s
\]
of (abelian) groups towers is a pro-isomorphism for each $n \in \mathbb{Z}$. (Throughout this paper, we assume all homotopy groups are derived \cite{Schwede_homotopy_groups, Schwede_book_project}.)
\end{defn}
\begin{rem}\label{rem:pro_pi_iso_implies_weak_equivalence}
Given a pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphism as above, it follows from the associated $\lim^1$ short exact sequence that the induced map $\holim_sX_s \simeq \holim_sY_s$ is a weak equivalence; see, for instance, \cite[Section 8]{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality}.
\end{rem}
\begin{defn}
Define $\mathsf{Tot}$ as the right derived functor of $\Tot$ in $({ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } })^\Delta$ equipped with the Reedy model structure. In other words, given a cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $X$, we define $\mathsf{Tot}(X)$ to be $\Tot(RX)$ where $RX$ is the (functorial) Reedy fibrant replacement of $X$ in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }^\Delta$.
\end{defn}
Stated precisely, the second part of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1} asserts that the map of towers
\begin{align*}
\sett{F}_s \overset{(*)'}{\longrightarrow} \sett{\mathsf{Tot}_s(UQ)^{\bullet+1}F}_s
\end{align*}
is a pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphism. To show that this assertion is true, note that the proofs of Propositions \ref{prop:horizontal_direction} and \ref{prop:vertical_direction} imply that the tower maps
\[
\sett{(UQ)^kF}_s \to \sett{\mathsf{Tot}_s(UQ)^k\tilde{F}}_s \text { and } \sett{\tilde{F}^n}_s \to \sett{\mathsf{Tot}_s(UQ)^{\bullet+1}\tilde{F}^n}_s
\]
are actually pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphisms for each $k, n \geq 0$. Now consider the commutative diagram of towers of the form
\begin{align}
\xymatrix{
\sett{\mathsf{Tot}_s(UQ)^{\bullet+1}}_s \ar[r] & \sett{\mathsf{Tot}_s\mathsf{Tot}_s(UQ)^{\bullet+1}\tilde{F}}_s\\
\sett{F}_s \ar[u]^-{(*)'} \ar[r] & \sett{\mathsf{Tot}_s\tilde{F}}_s \ar[u]
}
\end{align}
It follows from the tower lemma below that the horizontal and right-hand vertical maps are pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphisms, and hence the map $(*)'$ is as well.
\begin{prop}[Tower lemma for ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras]\label{prop:tower_lemma}
Suppose we are given a map from the Reedy fibrant cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $X$ to a tower of Reedy fibrant cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras $\sett{Y_s}_s$
\begin{align*}
\xymatrix{
X^0 \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] \ar[d] & X^1 \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r] \ar[d] & X^2 \ar@<-2ex>[d] \cdots\\
\sett{Y^0_s}_s \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] & \sett{Y^1_s}_s \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r] & \sett{Y^2_s}_s \cdots
}
\end{align*}
If $\sett{X^k}_s \to \sett{Y^k_s}_s$ induces a pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomoprhism for each fixed $k$, then
\[
\sett{\Tot_nX}_s \to \sett{\Tot_nY_s}_s
\]
induces a pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorhpism for each fixed $n$.
\end{prop}
\begin{proof}
In the context of spaces, this is proven in \cite[1.4]{Dwyer_exotic_convergence} and the same argument remains valid in our setting.
\end{proof}
\section{Background on ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology and ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion}\label{sec:Background_on_TQ}
The purpose of this section is to briefly recall the definition of ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology and its associated completion construction. For a more thorough introduction, useful references include \cite{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality}, \cite{Harper_bar_constructions}, and \cite{Harper_Hess}.
\begin{defn}
Given an operad ${ \mathcal{O} }$, its \emph{1-truncation $\tau_1{ \mathcal{O} }$} is the operad defined by
\begin{align*}(\tau_1{ \mathcal{O} })[r] :=
\begin{cases}
{ \mathcal{O} }[r],& \text{for } r \leq 1,\\
\hfill \ast,& \text{otherwise}
\end{cases}
\end{align*}
\end{defn}
The canonical map of operads ${ \mathcal{O} } \to \tau_1{ \mathcal{O} }$ induces the following change of operads adjunction, with left adjoint on top.
\begin{align}\label{eq:barq_baru}
\xymatrix{
{ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } } \ar@<0.5ex>^-{\bar{Q}}[r] & { \mathsf{Alg} }_{\tau_1{ \mathcal{O} }} \ { \cong } \ { \mathsf{Mod} }_{{ \mathcal{O} }[1]} \ar@<0.5ex>^-{\bar{U}}[l]
}
\end{align}
Here, $\bar{Q}(X):= \tau_1{ \mathcal{O} }\circ_{ \mathcal{O} }(X)$ and $\bar{U}$ is the forgetful functor. It is proven in \cite{Harper_symmetric_spectra} and \cite{Harper_Hess} that this is, in fact, a Quillen adjunction.
\begin{defn}
Let $X$ be an ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra. The \emph{${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology} of $X$ is the ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra ${ \mathsf{TQ} }(X):= \mathsf{R}\bar{U}\left(\mathsf{L}\bar{Q}(X)\right)$, where $\mathsf{L}$ and $\mathsf{R}$ indicate the appropriate derived functors.
\end{defn}
We would then like to form a cosimplicial (or Godement) resolution of the form
\begin{align}\label{eq:tq_resolution}
\xymatrix{
X \ar[r] & ({ \mathsf{TQ} }) X \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] & ({ \mathsf{TQ} })^2X \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r] & ({ \mathsf{TQ} })^3X \cdots
}
\end{align}
Although ${ \mathsf{TQ} }(X) \simeq \bar{U}\bar{Q}(X)$ if $X$ is cofibrant, the forgetful functor $\bar{U}$ need not send cofibrant objects in ${ \mathsf{Alg} }_{\tau_1{ \mathcal{O} }}$ to cofibrant objects in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$. Consequently, there is no guarantee that $({ \mathsf{TQ} })^nX \simeq (\bar{U}\bar{Q})^nX$ for $n \geq 2$. The canonical cosimplicial resolution associated to \eqref{eq:barq_baru} is therefore unlikely to be of the form $\eqref{eq:tq_resolution}$.
Because of this difficulty, an additional maneuver is required to construct an iterable point-set model for ${ \mathsf{TQ} }(X)$. We follow \cite[3.16]{Harper_Hess} to produce a rigidified version of \eqref{eq:tq_resolution}. First, factor the operad map ${ \mathcal{O} } \to \tau_1{ \mathcal{O} }$ as
\begin{align*}
{ \mathcal{O} } \to J \to \tau_1{ \mathcal{O} }
\end{align*}
a cofibration followed by a weak equivalence. This induces (Quillen) adjunctions
\begin{align}\label{eq:O_J_tau_adjunctions}
\xymatrix{
{ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } } \ar^-{Q}@<.5ex>[r] & { \Alg_J } \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar^-{U}@<0.5ex>[l] & { \mathsf{Alg} }_{\tau_1{ \mathcal{O} }} \ar@<0.5ex>[l]
}
\end{align}
where $Q(X) := J\circ_{ \mathcal{O} }(X)$ and $U$ is the forgetful functor.
\begin{rem}
The adjunction on the right is, in fact, a Quillen equivalence (see \cite[7.21]{Harper_Hess}) and we therefore think of ${ \Alg_J }$ as a ``fattened up'' version of ${ \mathsf{Alg} }_{\tau_1{ \mathcal{O} }}$. Furthermore, it follows that ${ \mathsf{TQ} }(X) \simeq UQ(X)$ if $X$ is a cofibrant ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra.
\end{rem}
The advantage of \eqref{eq:O_J_tau_adjunctions} is that the forgetful functor $U$ sends cofibrant objects in ${ \Alg_J }$ to cofibrant objects in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$ (see \cite[5.49]{Harper_Hess}). For a cofibrant ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $X$, we therefore have weak equivalences of the form $({ \mathsf{TQ} })^nX \simeq (UQ)^nX$ for all $n \geq 1$. Hence, the canonical resolution
\begin{align}
\xymatrix{
X \ar[r] & (UQ)^{\bullet+1}X \colon (UQ)X \ar@<0.5ex>[r] \ar@<-0.5ex>[r] & (UQ)^2X \ar@<1ex>[r] \ar[r] \ar@<-1ex>[r] & (UQ)^3X \cdots
}
\end{align}
is of the desired form \eqref{eq:tq_resolution}.
\begin{defn}
Let $X$ be an ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra. The \emph{${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion of $X$} is the ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $X_{ \mathsf{TQ} }^\wedge := \holim_\Delta(UQ)^{\bullet+1}(X^c)$, where $X^c$ denotes the functorial cofibrant replacement of $X$ in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$.
\end{defn}
\begin{rem}\label{rem:reason_for_assumption}
We are now in a better position to explain the reasons for Assumption \ref{assumption}, which are as follows. The connectivity assumption on ${ \mathcal{O} }$ and $\mathcal{R}$ guarantees the results of \cite{Ching_Harper} used below are applicable, while the cofibrancy condition on ${ \mathcal{O} }$ ensures \cite[5.49]{Harper_Hess} that the forgetful functor ${ \Alg_J } \to { \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$ preserves cofibrant objects.
\end{rem}
\section{Analysis of the horizontal direction}\label{sec:horizontal_direction}
The purpose of this section is to analyze the maps $(\#)$ and, in particular, to prove Proposition \ref{prop:horizontal_direction}. The basic idea is to, first, establish uniform cartesian estimates on the canonical coface cubes (see Section \ref{sec:appendix}) associated to the coaugmented cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $F \to \tilde{F}$. This is the content of Proposition \ref{prop:uniform_cartesian_estimates_for_F} and is accomplished by analyzing the corresponding coface cubes of $E \to (UQ)^{\bullet+1}E$ and $B \to (UQ)^{\bullet+1}B$. We next show, in Proposition \ref{prop:UQ_preserves_id_cartesian}, that objectwise application of the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology spectrum functor preserves this cartesian estimate. Proposition \ref{prop:horizontal_direction} then follows inductively.
Our analysis in this section will involve a number of concepts from cubical homotopy theory. We provide an overview of the relevant details in Section \ref{sec:appendix}.
\begin{defn}\label{def:coface_cubes}
Let $\mathcal{E}_{n+1}$ be the coface $(n+1)$-cube associated to the coaugmented cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $E \to (UQ)^{\bullet+1}E$ and define $\mathcal{B}_{n+1}$ similarly. Let $\tilde{\mathcal{F}}_{n+1}$ be the coface $(n+1)$-cube associated to the coaugmented cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $F \to \tilde{F}$.
\end{defn}
The following proposition gives the uniform cartesian estimates on $\mathcal{E}_{n+1}$ and $\mathcal{B}_{n+1}$ (by setting $k = 0$) that we will ultimately use to analyze $\tilde{\mathcal{F}}_{n+1}$. It is proven in \cite[7.1]{Blomquist_iterated_delooping}; a special case is dealt with also in \cite{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality}. The proposition is a spectral algebra analogue of Dundas's \cite[2.6]{Dundas_relative_K_theory} higher Hurewicz theorem.
\begin{prop}[Higher ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-Hurewicz theorem]\label{Higher_TQ_Hurewicz_Theorem}
Let $k\geq 0$ and ${ \mathcal{X} }$ be a $W$-cube in ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras that is objectwise cofibrant. If ${ \mathcal{X} }$ is $({ \mathrm{id} } + 1)(k + 1)$-cartesian, then so is ${ \mathcal{X} }\rightarrow UQ{ \mathcal{X} }$.
\end{prop}
The uniform cartesian estimates given by Proposition \ref{Higher_TQ_Hurewicz_Theorem} applied to $\mathcal{E}_{n+1}, \mathcal{B}_{n+1}$ imply a (slightly weaker) uniform cartesian estimate on $\tilde{\mathcal{F}}_{n+1}$.
\begin{prop}
\label{prop:uniform_cartesian_estimates_for_F}
Let $n\geq -1$. The coface $(n+1)$-cube $\tilde{\mathcal{F}}_{n+1}$ associated to $F\rightarrow\tilde{F}$ is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian.
\end{prop}
\begin{proof}
It follows from \ref{Higher_TQ_Hurewicz_Theorem} that both $\mathcal{E}_{n+1}$ and $\mathcal{B}_{n+1}$ are $(n+2)$-cartesian and so \cite[3.8]{Ching_Harper} the cube $\mathcal{E}_{n+1} \to \mathcal{B}_{n+1}$ is $(n+1)$-cartesian. This means that the iterated homotopy fiber \cite[2.6]{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality} of $\mathcal{E}_{n+1} \to \mathcal{B}_{n+1}$ is $n$-connected. Since this is weakly equivalent to the iterated homotopy fiber of $\tilde{\mathcal{F}}_{n+1}$, we conclude that $\tilde{\mathcal{F}}_{n+1}$ is $(n+1)$-cartesian. Repeating this argument on all subcubes completes the proof.
\end{proof}
The following two short lemmas are used in the proof of Proposition \ref{prop:UQ_preserves_id_cartesian}, which states that levelwise application of the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology functor preserves this cartesian estimate on $\tilde{\mathcal{F}}_{n+1}$.
\begin{lem}\label{lem:U_preserves_cartesian}
Let $k \in \mathbb{Z}$ and let $\mathcal{Y}$ be a $W$-cube in $J$-algebras. If $\mathcal{Y}$ is $k$-cartesian, then so is $U\mathcal{Y}$.
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
This is because $U$ is a right Quillen functor and preserves connectivity of all maps, since this connectivity is calculated in the underlying category ${ \mathsf{Mod}_{ \mathcal{R} } }$.
\end{proof}
\begin{lem}\label{lem:Q_preserves_cocartesian}
Let $k \geq -1$ and let $\mathcal{X}$ be an objectwise cofibrant $W$-cube in ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras. If $\mathcal{X}$ is $k$-cocartesian, then so is $Q\mathcal{X}$.
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
If $\abs{W} = 0$ or 1, note that an ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra (resp. a map between ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras) is $k$-cartesian if and only if it is $k$-connected. The result now follows from \cite[1.9(b)]{Harper_Hess} and the observation that if $X$ is cofibrant, then ${ \mathsf{TQ} }(X) \simeq UQ(X)$. To show, more generally, that $Q\mathcal{X}$ is $k$-cocartesian, let $\mathcal{P}_1W$ be the poset of subsets $V \subsetneqq W$. By assumption, $\hocolim_{\mathcal{P}_1W}\mathcal{X} \to \mathcal{X}_W$ is a $k$-connected map of cofibrant objects, so $\hocolim_{\mathcal{P}_1W}Q\mathcal{X} \simeq Q\hocolim_{\mathcal{P}_1W}X \to Q\mathcal{X}_W$ is also $k$-connected, by the first part of the proof.
\end{proof}
\begin{prop}\label{prop:UQ_preserves_id_cartesian}
Let $\mathcal{X}$ be a $W$-cube in ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras. If $\mathcal{X}$ is objectwise cofibrant and is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian, then so is $UQ\mathcal{X}$.
\end{prop}
\begin{rem}\label{rem:low_dim_example}
Before we give the proof of Proposition \ref{prop:UQ_preserves_id_cartesian} in full generality, here is the argument assuming that $\mathcal{X}$ is a 2-cube, i.e., that $W = \sett{1,2}$. In this case, $\mathcal{X}$ is the commutative diagram
\begin{align*}
\xymatrix{
\mathcal{X}_\emptyset \ar[r] \ar[d] & \mathcal{X}_{\{1\}} \ar[d]\\
\mathcal{X}_{\{2\}} \ar[r] & \mathcal{X}_{\{1,2\}}
}
\end{align*}
\noindent
in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$, where each object is $(-1)$-connected (i.e., 0-cartesian as a 0-cube), each map is 1-connected (i.e., 1-cartesian as a 1-cube), and the entire square is 2-cartesian.
That the objects and maps of $UQ{ \mathcal{X} }$ are appropriately connected follows as in the proof of Lemma \ref{lem:Q_preserves_cocartesian}. Let us now show that $UQ\mathcal{X}$ is 2-cartesian. The dual Blakers-Massey theorem of Ching-Harper \cite[1.9]{Ching_Harper} implies that $\mathcal{X}$ is $k$-cocartesian, where
\[
k = \min\sett{k_{12}+1, k_1+k_2+2} = \min\sett{2+1, 1+1+2}=3
\]
By Lemma \ref{lem:Q_preserves_cocartesian}, this means that $Q\mathcal{X}$ is also 3-cocartesian. It is now important to observe that $Q\mathcal{X}$ is a diagram in the stable category ${ \Alg_J }$, so the fact that it is 3-cocartesian implies it is 2-cartesian; see \cite[3.10]{Ching_Harper}. Hence, by Lemma \ref{lem:U_preserves_cartesian}, $UQ\mathcal{X}$ is also 2-cartesian.
To see that $UQ\mathcal{X}$ is objectwise cofibrant, recall that $Q$ is a left Quillen functor and that \cite[5.49]{Harper_Hess} the functor $U$ preserves cofibrant objects.
\end{rem}
\begin{proof}[Proof of Proposition \ref{prop:UQ_preserves_id_cartesian}]
Objectwise cofibrancy is proven in the same way as in Remark \ref{rem:low_dim_example}. To show that $UQ\mathcal{X}$ is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian, we induct on $n$. The cases $\abs{W} = 0, 1,2$ are handled in Remark \ref{rem:low_dim_example}. Suppose now $\mathcal{X}$ is a $W$-cube with $\abs{W} =n \geq 3$ and that the result holds for all $k$-cubes with $k < n$. This verifies that $UQ\mathcal{X}$ is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian on all strict subcubes, so we must only further show that $UQ\mathcal{X}$ is itself $n$-cartesian.
As in Remark \ref{rem:low_dim_example}, we first establish a cocartesian estimate on $\mathcal{X}$, but now use the higher dual Blakers-Massey Theorem of Ching-Harper. Adopting the notation of \cite[1.11]{Ching_Harper}, observe that each $k_V$ (the cartesianness of a particular $\abs{V}$-dimensional subcube of $\mathcal{X}$) is equal to $\abs{V}$ by assumption that $\mathcal{X}$ is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian. It follows that for any partition $\lambda$ of $W$, we have
\[
\abs{W} + \sum_{V \in \lambda}k_V = n + \sum_{V \in \lambda}\abs{V} = n + n = 2n
\]
On the other hand,
\[
k_W + \abs{W} - 1 = n + n -1 = 2n-1
\]
Hence, $\mathcal{X}$ is $(2n-1)$-cocartesian. By Lemma \ref{lem:Q_preserves_cocartesian}, this means $Q\mathcal{X}$ is also $(2n-1)$-cocartesian. Since $Q\mathcal{X}$ is in the stable category ${ \Alg_J }$, the proof of \cite[3.10]{Ching_Harper} implies that $Q\mathcal{X}$ is $(2n-1)-n+1 = n$-cartesian. Therefore, by Lemma \ref{lem:U_preserves_cartesian}, $UQ\mathcal{X}$ is also $n$-cartesian.
\end{proof}
We are now in a position to prove the main result of this section.
\begin{prop}\label{prop:horizontal_direction}
Let $n\geq -1$ and $k\geq 0$. The coface $(n+1)$-cube associated to $(UQ)^kF\rightarrow(UQ)^k\tilde{F}$ is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian. In particular, the natural map $(UQ)^kF \to \holim_\Delta(UQ)^k\tilde{F}$ is a weak equivalence.
\end{prop}
\begin{proof}
The first part follows inductively from Propositions \ref{prop:uniform_cartesian_estimates_for_F} and \ref{prop:UQ_preserves_id_cartesian}. The second part follows by observing that this cartesian estimate implies that the natural map $(UQ)^kF \to \holim_{\Delta^\leq n}(UQ)^k\tilde{F}$ is $(n+1)$ connected (see Proposition \ref{prop:cofinality}), then using the associated $\lim^1$ short exact sequence.
\end{proof}
\begin{rem}
The increasing connectivity proven in Proposition \ref{prop:horizontal_direction} implies that, for all $k \geq 0$, the map of towers $\sett{(UQ)^kF}_s \to \sett{\mathsf{Tot}_s(UQ)^k\tilde{F}}_s$ is a pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphism.
\end{rem}
\begin{rem}
If one relaxes the connectivity assumptions on $E, B$, but can still show that $\tilde{\mathcal{F}}_{n+1}$ is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian, then Proposition \ref{prop:horizontal_direction} remains valid. In this case, since the connectivities of $E, B$ do not play a role in the following section, the conclusion of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1} also remains valid. We thank the referee for pointing this out.
\end{rem}
\section{Analysis of the vertical direction}
The purpose of this section is to analyze the maps $(**)$ and, in particular, to prove Proposition \ref{prop:vertical_direction}. The basic idea is to first show that, up to homotopy, there is an extra codegeneracy in each coaugmented cosimplicial diagram $\tilde{F}^n \to (UQ)^{\bullet+1}\tilde{F}^n$. This is accomplished by showing that each $\tilde{F}^n$ is weakly equivalent to an ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra of the form $UY$ and observing that the diagram $UY \to (UQ)^{\bullet+1}UY$ has an extra codegeneracy on the nose. A short spectral sequence argument then completes the analysis.
\begin{lem}\label{lem:Fn_weak_equiv_to_J_alg}
For each $n \geq 0$, there is a fibrant and cofibrant $J$-algebra $G^n$ with a natural zigzag of weak equivalences $UG^n \simeq \tilde{F}^n$ in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$.
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
We will prove the $n=0$ case. The proof is essentially the same for $n \geq 1$. By definition, and commuting $U$ past a homotopy limit, we have a natural zigzag of weak equivalences
\[
\tilde{F}^0 \simeq \hofib(UQE \to UQB) \simeq U\hofib(QE \to QB)
\]
and the lemma follows by letting $G^0$ be the functorial cofibrant replacement of $\hofib(QE \to QB)$ in ${ \Alg_J }$.
\end{proof}
\begin{lem}\label{lem:J_algebras_have_extra_codegeneracies}
If $Y$ is in ${ \Alg_J }$, the diagram $UY \to (UQ)^{\bullet+1}UY$ has an extra codegeneracy.
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
One obtains an extra codegeneracy by defining $s^n = U(QU)^{n+1}Y \overset{U(QU)^n\epsilon}{\to} U(QU)^nY$ for all $n \geq 0$, where $\epsilon$ is the counit associated to the $(Q, U)$ adjunction.
\end{proof}
\begin{lem}\label{lem:extra_codegeneracy}
If the coaugmented cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $X^{-1} \to X$ has an extra codegeneracy and $X^{-1}$ is fibrant, then the natural map $\sett{X^{-1}}_s \to \sett{\mathsf{Tot}_sX}_s$ is a pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphism.
\end{lem}
\begin{rem}
In the proof below, we use the spectral sequence associated to a tower of fibrations of ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras. For details of the construction, see \cite[8.31]{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality}. It is essentially the same as the homotopy spectral sequence \cite[X.6]{Bousfield_Kan} of Bousfield-Kan; see also \cite[VIII.1]{Goerss_Jardine}.
\end{rem}
\begin{proof}
Fix $n \in \mathbb{Z}$ and consider the coaugmented cosimplicial abelian group $\pi_nX^{-1} \to \pi_nX$. The assumed extra codegeneracy implies that for any $s \geq 0$, we have $\pi^s\pi_nX^{-1} \overset{{ \cong }}{\to} \pi^s\pi_nX$. It follows that there is an induced isomorphism on $E^2$ pages of the homotopy spectral sequences associated to $\sett{X^{-1}}_s$ and $\sett{\mathsf{Tot}_sX}_s$. (Here, we are using the fact that, since $X^{-1}$ is fibrant, the constant cosimplicial diagram with value $X^{-1}$ is Reedy fibrant.) The result now follows from \cite[8.36]{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality}.
\end{proof}
\begin{prop}\label{prop:vertical_direction}
For each $n\geq 0$, the ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion map $\tilde{F}^n{ \ \simeq \ } ({\tilde{F}^n})^\wedge_{ \mathsf{TQ} }$ is a weak equivalence.
\end{prop}
\begin{proof}
First, note that both $\tilde{F}^n$ and $UG^n$ (as constructed in Lemma \ref{lem:Fn_weak_equiv_to_J_alg}) are cofibrant. By taking further functorial replacements, it follows from Lemma \ref{lem:Fn_weak_equiv_to_J_alg} that there is a natural zigzag of weak equivalences $UG^n \simeq (UG^n)^c \simeq (\tilde{F}^n)^c \simeq \tilde{F}^n$ in which each object is cofibrant. This induces a zigzag of towers
\begin{align*}
\xymatrix@C=-1mm{
\sett{UG^n}_s \ar[d] & \simeq & \sett{\tilde{F}^n}_s \ar[d]^-{(**)}\\
\{\mathsf{Tot}_s(UQ)^{\bullet+1}UG^n\}_s & \simeq & \{\mathsf{Tot}_s(UQ)^{\bullet+1}\tilde{F}^n\}_s
}
\end{align*}
and, by Lemmas \ref{lem:J_algebras_have_extra_codegeneracies} and \ref{lem:extra_codegeneracy}, the left-hand vertical map is a pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphism. It follows that $(**)$ is a pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphism as well. Hence, $\tilde{F}^n \simeq (\tilde{F}^n)_{ \mathsf{TQ} }^\wedge$ is a weak equivalence (see Remark \ref{rem:pro_pi_iso_implies_weak_equivalence}).
\end{proof}
\section{${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-completion of homotopy pullback squares}
\label{sec:homotopy_pullback}
In this section, we prove Theorem \ref{MainTheorem2}. The strategy of proof is essentially the same as that used in the proof of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1}. The new arguments given in this section are needed to obtain an analogue of Proposition \ref{prop:uniform_cartesian_estimates_for_F}; this is the content of Proposition \ref{prop:uniform_cartesian_esimates_for_A} below.
As in the proof of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1}, we may assume that $B, X, Y$ are cofibrant, and we then build the associated cosimplicial resolutions of $B, X, Y$ with respect to ${ \mathsf{TQ} }$-homology; then take levelwise homotopy pullbacks to obtain a coagumented cosimplicial diagram $A \to \tilde{A}$. In other words, we obtain maps of coaugmented cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras of the form
\begin{align}\label{diagram:construction_of_A_tilde}
\xymatrix{
\Big( A\to\tilde{A}\Big) \ar[r] \ar[d] & \Big(X \to (UQ)^{\bullet+1}X\Big) \ar[d]\\
\Big( B \to (UQ)^{\bullet+1}B \Big) \ar[r] & \Big(Y \to (UQ)^{\bullet+1}Y\Big)
}
\end{align}
such that on each fixed cosimplicial degree, one has a homotopy pullback diagram. For instance, in cosimplicial degrees 0, 1 we have homotopy pullback diagrams of the form
\begin{align}
\xymatrix{
\tilde{A}^0 \ar[r] \ar[d] & (UQ)X \ar[d]\\
(UQ)B \ar[r] & (UQ)Y
}
\quad
\xymatrix{
\tilde{A}^1 \ar[r] \ar[d] & (UQ)^2X \ar[d]\\
(UQ)^2B \ar[r] & (UQ)^2Y
}
\end{align}
in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$, and these are coaugmented by the diagram in Theorem \ref{MainTheorem2}. For the same reasons as in the proof of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1}, we may assume $A \to \tilde{A}$ is objectwise cofibrant, and that $\tilde{A}$ is a Reedy fibrant cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra.
\begin{proof}[Proof of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem2}]
Construct a diagram identical to \eqref{eq:resolution_of_F_diagram}. For the same reasons as in Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1}, the maps $(**)$ induces pro-$\pi_\ast$ isomorphisms after applying $\mathsf{Tot}_s$. The result now follows from Proposition \ref{prop:uniform_cartesian_esimates_for_A} below and arguing as in the proof of Theorem \ref{MainTheorem1}.
\end{proof}
\begin{prop}[cf. Proposition \ref{prop:uniform_cartesian_estimates_for_F}]\label{prop:uniform_cartesian_esimates_for_A}
Let $n \geq - 1$. The coface $(n+1)$-cube associated to $A \to \tilde{A}$ is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian.
\end{prop}
\begin{rem}\label{rem:low_dim_example_for_cartesianness_of_A}
As in the case of Proposition \ref{prop:uniform_cartesian_estimates_for_F}, it may be helpful to first understand a low-dimensional example of Proposition \ref{prop:uniform_cartesian_esimates_for_A} before attacking the proof in full generality. Suppose we wish to show the 1-cube $A \to \tilde{A}^0$ is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian. Consider the corresponding 1-cubes of $A, X, Y$ to obtain a commutative diagram of the form
\begin{align}\label{diagram:low_dim_example_for_cartesianness_of_A}
\xymatrix@!0{
A \ar[dd] \ar[dr] \ar[rr] && X \ar[dd]|\hole \ar[dr]\\
& \tilde{A}^0 \ar[dd] \ar[rr] &&UQX \ar[dd]\\
B \ar[rr]|\hole \ar[dr]&& Y \ar[dr]\\
& UQB \ar[rr] && UQY
}
\end{align}
in ${ \Alg_{ \mathcal{O} } }$. We will make frequent use of \cite[3.8]{Ching_Harper} in the following analysis.
Since the back and front faces of \eqref{diagram:low_dim_example_for_cartesianness_of_A} are both homotopy pullback diagrams (i.e., infinitely caretesian), the entire 3-cube is also infinitely cartesian. The 1-cubes $X \to UQX$ and $Y \to UQY$ are both 2-cartesian (i.e., the maps are 2-connected) by Proposition \ref{Higher_TQ_Hurewicz_Theorem} and so the right-hand face of \eqref{diagram:low_dim_example_for_cartesianness_of_A} is 1-cartesian. Therefore, the left-hand face is 1-cartesian as well. Since $B \to UQB$ is 2-cartesian (also by Proposition \ref{Higher_TQ_Hurewicz_Theorem}), we conclude that $A \to \tilde{A}^0$ is 1-cartesian. One then repeats this argument on all subcubes of $A \to \tilde{A}^0$, i.e., on the objects $A$ and $\tilde{A}^0$.
\end{rem}
\begin{proof}[Proof of Proposition \ref{prop:uniform_cartesian_esimates_for_A}]
Denote by $\tilde{\mathcal{A}}_{n+1}, \mathcal{B}_{n+1}, \mathcal{X}_{n+1}, \mathcal{Y}_{n+1}$ the coface $(n+1)$ cubes associated to the coaugmented cosimplicial diagrams in \eqref{diagram:construction_of_A_tilde}. Let $\mathcal{C}$ be any subcube of $\mathcal{\tilde{A}}_{n+1}$, say of dimension $k$. Let $\mathcal{C}_B, \mathcal{C}_X, \mathcal{C}_Y$ denote the corresponding subcubes and consider the commutative diagram of subcubes
\begin{align}\label{diagram:subcubes_for_proof_of_uniform_cart_of_A}
\xymatrix{
\mathcal{C} \ar[r] \ar[d] & \mathcal{C}_X \ar[d]\\
\mathcal{C}_B \ar[r] & \mathcal{C}_Y
}
\end{align}
As in Remark \ref{rem:low_dim_example_for_cartesianness_of_A}, the first step is to establish that the cube \eqref{diagram:subcubes_for_proof_of_uniform_cart_of_A} is infinitely cartesian. This is accomplished by Lemma \ref{lem:infintiely_cart_for_uniform_cart_of_A_proof} below. Next, Proposition \ref{Higher_TQ_Hurewicz_Theorem} implies that $\mathcal{C}_X$ and $\mathcal{C}_Y$ are both $(k+1)$-caratesian, so the cube $\mathcal{C}_X \to \mathcal{C}_Y$ is $k$-cartesian. Therefore, the cube $\mathcal{C}\to \mathcal{C}_B$ is $k$-cartesian. Since $\mathcal{C}_B$ is $(k+1)$-cartesian (also by Proposition \ref{Higher_TQ_Hurewicz_Theorem}), we conclude that $\mathcal{C}$ is $k$-cartesian.
\end{proof}
\begin{lem}\label{lem:infintiely_cart_for_uniform_cart_of_A_proof}
For any subcube $\mathcal{C}$ of $\tilde{\mathcal{A}}_{n+1}$, the cube constructed in \eqref{diagram:subcubes_for_proof_of_uniform_cart_of_A} is infinitely cartesian.
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
The proof is by induction on $k$. If $k=0$, then $\mathcal{C}$ is a single object and the lemma follows by construction. If $k \geq 1$, we may write $\mathcal{C}$ as a map of $(k-1)$-dimensional subcubes $\mathcal{D} \to \mathcal{E}$ of $\tilde{\mathcal{A}}_{n+1}$. Consider the commutative diagram of subcubes
\begin{align*}
\xymatrix@!0{
\mathcal{D} \ar[dd] \ar[dr] \ar[rr] && \mathcal{D}_X \ar[dd]|\hole \ar[dr]\\
& \mathcal{E} \ar[dd] \ar[rr] &&\mathcal{E}_X \ar[dd]\\
\mathcal{D}_B \ar[rr]|\hole \ar[dr]&& \mathcal{D}_Y \ar[dr]\\
& \mathcal{E}_B \ar[rr] && \mathcal{E}_Y
}
\end{align*}
and note that this diagram is precisely \eqref{diagram:subcubes_for_proof_of_uniform_cart_of_A}. By induction, the back and front faces (which are themselves both $(k+1)$-cubes) are both infinitely cartesian, so the whole cube is as well.
\end{proof}
\section{Appendix: cubical diagrams}\label{sec:appendix}
The purpose of this appendix is to briefly summarize the tools of cubical homotopy theory used in this paper, particularly in Section \ref{sec:horizontal_direction}. While these notions can be defined in other settings, we have phrased them in the context of ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras to keep this section appropriately focused. For the more interested reader, useful references for cubical diagrams of spaces include \cite[A.8]{Dundas_Goodwillie_McCarthy}, \cite{Goodwillie_calculus_2}, and \cite{Munson_Volic_book_project}. In the context of ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras, see \cite{Ching_Harper} and \cite{Ching_Harper_derived_Koszul_duality}.
\begin{defn}
Let $\mathcal{X}$ be a $W$-cube of ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras indexed on the set $W= [n]$, where $[n]: =\sett{1, 2, \ldots, n}$. Let $\mathcal{P}_0([n])$ be the poset of nonempty subsets of $[n]$. We say that $\mathcal{X}$ is \emph{$k$-cartesian} if the natural map $\mathcal{X}_\emptyset \to \holim_{\mathcal{P}_0([n])}\mathcal{X}$ is $k$-connected.
\end{defn}
The connectivity of $\mathcal{X}_\emptyset \to \holim_{\mathcal{P}_0([n])}\mathcal{X}$ gives information about the cube $\mathcal{X}$ as a whole. One might also be interested in subcubes (see \cite[3.6]{Blomquist_Harper_integral_chains} or \cite[A.8.0.1]{Dundas_Goodwillie_McCarthy}) of $\mathcal{X}$. This motivates the following definition, which appears in \cite{Dundas_relative_K_theory} and \cite{Dundas_Goodwillie_McCarthy}.
\begin{defn}
Given a function $f \colon \mathbb{N} \to \mathbb{Z}$, we say that a cube $\mathcal{X}$ of ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebras is \emph{$f$-cartesian} if each $d$-dimensional subcube of $\mathcal{X}$ is $f(d)$-cartesian; here, $\mathbb{N}$ denotes the non-negative integers.
\end{defn}
\begin{rem}
For instance, to say that a cube $\mathcal{X}$ is ${ \mathrm{id} }$-cartesian means that each $d$-dimensional subcube of $\mathcal{X}$ is $d$-cartesian.
\end{rem}
\begin{defn}\label{general_coface_cubes}
Let $Z^{-1} \overset{d^0}{\to} Z$ be a coaugmented cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra. The \emph{coface $(n+1)$-cube $\mathcal{X}_{n+1}$ associated to $Z^{-1} \to Z$} is the canonical $(n+1)$-cube constructed using the cosimplicial relations $d^jd^i = d^id^{j-1}$ for $i < j$.
\end{defn}
\begin{rem}
For instance, $\mathcal{X}_2$ has the form on the left, and $\mathcal{X}_3$ the form on the right.
\end{rem}
\begin{align*}
\xymatrix{
\\
Z^{-1} \ar^-{d^0}[r] \ar^-{d^0}[d] & Z^0 \ar^-{d^1}[d]\\
Z^0 \ar^-{d^0}[r] & Z^1
}\quad \quad \quad
\xymatrix{
Z^{-1} \ar@{.>}_-{d^0}[dd] \ar@{.>}^-{d^0}[dr] \ar@{.>}^-{d^0}[rr] && Z^0 \ar^(.7){d^1}[dd]|\hole \ar^-{d^0}[dr]\\
& Z^0 \ar^(.3){d^1}[dd] \ar^(.3){d^1}[rr] &&Z^1 \ar^-{d^2 }[dd]\\
Z^0 \ar^(.3){d^0}[rr]|\hole \ar_-{d^0}[dr]&& Z^1 \ar_-{d^0}[dr]\\
& Z^1\ar_-{d^1}[rr] && Z^2
}
\end{align*}
One of the reasons cubical diagrams are useful is that (as described above) they naturally arise from cosimplicial diagrams, combined with the following fact, which is proven in \cite[Section 6]{Carlsson}, \cite{Dugger_homotopy_colimits}, and \cite[6.7]{Sinha_cosimplicial_models}.
\begin{prop}\label{prop:cofinality}
For $n \geq 0$, the composite
\begin{align*}
\mathcal{P}_0([n]) \to \Delta^{\leq n}
\end{align*}
is left cofinal (i.e., homotopy initial).
\end{prop}
The upshot is this: Given a coaugmented cosimplicial ${ \mathcal{O} }$-algebra $Z^{-1}\to Z$, the map $Z^{-1} \to \holim_{\Delta^{\leq n}}Z$ is $k$-connected if and only if the associated coface $(n+1)$-cube $\mathcal{X}_{n+1}$ is $k$-cartesian.
\bibliographystyle{plain}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 4,898 |
{"url":"http:\/\/www.weaselhat.com\/category\/formal\/programming-languages\/page\/4\/","text":"# Flapjax: A Programming Language for Ajax Applications\n\nI am immensely pleased to report that our paper on Flapjax was accepted to OOPSLA 2009.\n\nThis paper presents Flapjax, a language designed for contemporary Web applications. These applications communicate with servers and have rich, interactive interfaces. Flapjax provides two key features that simplify writing these applications. First, it provides event streams, a uniform abstraction for communication within a program as well as with external Web services. Second, the language itself is reactive: it automatically tracks data dependencies and propagates updates along those data?ows. This allows developers to write reactive interfaces in a declarative and compositional style.\n\nFlapjax is built on top of JavaScript. It runs on unmodi?ed browsers and readily interoperates with existing JavaScript code. It is usable as either a programming language (that is compiled to JavaScript) or as a JavaScript library, and is designed for both uses. This paper presents the language, its design decisions, and illustrative examples drawn from several working Flapjax applications.\n\nThe real heroes of this story are my co-authors. Leo, Arjun, and Greg were there for the initial, heroic-effort-based implementation. Jacob and Aleks wrote incredible applications with our dog food. Shriram, of course, saw the whole thing through. Very few of my contributions remain: the original compiler is gone (thank goodness); my thesis work is discussed briefly in How many DOMs? on page 15. Here\u2019s to a great team and a great experience (and a great language)!\n\nBenjamin Pierce, Stephanie Weirich, and I submitted a paper to POPL 2010; it\u2019s about contracts. Here\u2019s the abstract:\n\nSince Findler and Felleisen introduced higher-order contracts, many variants of their system have been proposed. Broadly, these fall into two groups: some follow Findler and Felleisen in using latent contracts, purely dynamic checks that are transparent to the type system; others use manifest contracts, where refinement types record the most recent check that has been applied. These two approaches are generally assumed to be equivalent\u2014different ways of implementing the same idea, one retaining a simple type system, and the other providing more static information. Our goal is to formalize and clarify this folklore understanding.\n\nOur work extends that of Gronski and Flanagan, who defined a latent calculus \\lambda_C and a manifest calculus \\lambda_H, gave a translation \\phi from \\lambda_C to \\lambda_H, and proved that if a \\lambda_C term reduces to a constant, then so does its \\phi-image. We enrich their account with a translation \\psi in the opposite direction and prove an analogous theorem for \\psi.\n\nMore importantly, we generalize the whole framework to dependent contracts, where the predicates in contracts can mention variables from the local context. This extension is both pragmatically crucial, supporting a much more interesting range of contracts, and theoretically challenging. We define dependent versions of \\lambda_C (following Findler and Felleisen\u2019s semantics) and \\lambda_H, establish type soundness\u2014a challenging result in itself, for \\lambda_H\u2014and extend \\phi and \\psi accordingly. Interestingly, the intuition that the two systems are equivalent appears to break down here: we show that \\psi preserves behavior exactly, but that a natural extension of \\phi to the dependent case will sometimes yield terms that blame more because of a subtle difference in the treatment of dependent function contracts when the codomain contract itself abuses the argument.\n\nEdit on 2009-11-03: there\u2019s a newer version, as will appear in POPL 2010.\n\nEdit on 2010-01-22: I have removed the link to the submission, since it is properly subsumed by our published paper.\n\n# Debounce and other callback combinators\n\nIt is serendipitous that I noticed a blog post about a callback combinator while adding a few drops to the Flapjax bucket.\n\nFlapjax is nothing more than a coherent set of callback combinators. The key insight to this set of callback combinators is the \u201cEvent\u201d abstraction \u2014 a Node in FJ\u2019s implementation. Once callbacks are Nodes, you get two things:\n\n1. a handle that allows you to multiply operate on a single (time-varying) data source, and\n2. a whole host of useful abstractions for manipulating handles: mergeE, calmE, switchE, etc.\n\nThe last I saw the implementations of Resume and Continue, they were built using this idea. The more I think about it, the more the FJ-language seems like the wrong approach: the FJ-library is an awesome abstraction, in theory and practice.\n\n# Practical OCaml\n\nSuppose you were trying to run some experiments about L1 D-caches. (You may also suppose that this is a homework problem, but that\u2019s life.) You\u2019re given a trace of loads and stores at certain addresses. These addresses are 32-bits wide, and the trace is in a textual format:\n1A2B3C4D L DEADBEEF S 1B2B3C4D L represents a load to 0x1a2b3c4d, followed by a store to 0xdeadbeef, followed by a load to 0x1b2b3c4d. (You might notice the two loads may be in conflict, depending on the block and cache size and the degree associativity. In that case, you might be in my computer architecture class\u2026)\n\nThis is problematic. Naturally, you\u2019d like to process the trace in OCaml. But did I mention that the trace is rather large \u2014 some 600MB uncompressed? And that some of the addresses require all 32 bits? And some of the statistics you need to collect require 32 bits (or more)? OCaml could process the entire trace in under a minute, but the boxing and unboxing of int32s and int64s adds more than twenty minutes (even with -unsafe). I felt bad about this until a classmate using Haskell had a runtime of about two and a half hours. Yeesh. C can do this in a minute or less. And apparently the traces that real architecture researchers use are gigabytes in size. Writing the simulator in OCaml was a joy; testing and running it was not.\n\nThere were some optimizations I didn\u2019t do. I was reading memop-by-memop rather than in blocks of memops. I ran all of my simulations in parallel: read in a memop, simulate the memop in each type of cache, repeat. I could have improved cache locality by reading in a block of memops and then simulating in sequence; I\u2019m not sure how the compiler laid out my statistics structures. I could\u2019ve also written the statistics functions in C on unboxed unsigned longs, but didn\u2019t have the patience. I\u2019d still have to pay for boxing and unboxing the C structure every time, though. Still: one lazy summer week, I may give the code generation for boxed integers a glance.\n\n# Boomerang v0.1 available\n\nThe indomitable Nate Foster has released Boomerang v0.1. Congratulations, Nate!\n\nBoomerang is a bidirectional programming language over strings: it maps input strings to output strings, and then it maps outputs back to inputs. This is perfect for translation, synchronization, and other tasks: think of them as update-able views in a database. Check it out!\n\nVia Dave Herman and Lambda the Ultimate: ADTs in JavaScript 1.8. Shouldn\u2019t be too hard to Flapjax-ify, which might make the handling of lists a little nicer.\n\nI have to say, I can breathe a sigh of relief now that the expression problem has been solved in JavaScript. All of the interpreters and compilers I\u2019d written in JavaScript were so inextensible!\n\n# C# GC Leaks\n\nReading this experience report from the DARPA challenge via Slashdot, I wondered: if event registration caused object retention, how can we deal with these memory issues in Flapjax?\n\nWorrying about memory leaks in JavaScript is a losing battle \u2014 the browsers have different collectors. But given functional reactive programming in other settings (e.g., Java\/C#), how can we solve this kind of problem? We looked at deletion briefly, but never had time to address the issue in detail. The complexity in our case is that the event registration encodes the entire application \u2014 how do you decide that a certain code path is dead? It may be helpful to view a functional-reactive program as a super-graph of data producing, splitting, merging, and consuming nodes; the application state is the subgraph induced by the active nodes reaching the consumers. Then there\u2019s a certain static overhead for the program, plus the dynamic overhead of its active components.\n\nMost of the Flapjax code I\u2019ve written has been for the user interface, so binding and unbinding isn\u2019t much of an issue: if the interface changes temporarily (e.g., tabs), the older behavior is usually recoverable and shouldn\u2019t be collected. When working with more complex models with longer lived state, a deletion policy is more important. Shriram has been working on larger Flapjax applications with application logic as well as presentation \u2014 I wonder if he\u2019s run into serious GC issues.\n\n# Lifting in Flapjax\n\nIn the Flapjax programming language, \u2018lifting\u2019 is the automatic conversion of operations on ordinary values into operations on time-varying values. Lifting gets its name from an explicit operation used with Flapjax-as-a-library; we use the transform method call or the lift_{b,e} functions. To better understand lifting, we\u2019ll walk through a simple implementation of the Flapjax library.\n\nI consider the (excellent) Flapjax tutorial prerequisite reading, so it will be hard to follow along if you\u2019re not vaguely familiar with Flapjax.\n\nThe following code is all working JavaScript (in Firefox, at least), so feel free to follow along.\n\n# Another nasty bug \u2014 and an idea\n\nI spent about two hours tracking down a DOM node sharing bug \u2014 nodes were being put into a new structure outside of the document before the salient data had been read out. While there was no information in these nodes, the lens system insisted that they still be there. (More on that \u2014 eventually.)\n\nAfter finally tracking it down and writing a version of cloneNode that also copies event handlers, everything worked. Between this and the last prototype aliasing bug I had, I got an idea. A programmer could keep a \u201cbug journal\u201d, a list of bugs found and described first by their behavior, then by their solution (and, if those two aren\u2019t descriptive enough, the underlying problem should be described as well). For example, two days ago I ran into my first genuine typing bug in JavaScript \u2014 a type checker would have rejected my program, and from the errors generated it wasn\u2019t obvious where the problem was.\n\nThis practice could be useful in a few ways. First, the process of writing down the description can help the programmer find the solution. Tedious, but perhaps worthwhile. Surely some bugs would end up being described post facto, since it\u2019s not worth the time when the fix is fairly clear. Second, the solution may add to a \u2018bag of tricks\u2019 at the programmer\u2019s\/team\u2019s disposal. Third, the bug and solution tease out invariants in the program, and so the bug journal could be gleaned for inter-module and system-level documentation.\n\nFourth, and dearest to my heart, I think it\u2019s an interesting way to evaluate programming languages. The bug log of a programmer writing an e-mail interface in Java and that of one writing such an interface in JavaScript would provide for some interesting contrasts. To provide more than anecdotal evidence, you\u2019d need to use a much larger sample size of programmers and kinds of programs being written.\n\nI think the bug journal would differ profoundly from examination of bug tracking logs. Only the truly mysterious bugs and the large, architectural shortcomings make it into the tracker. On a daily basis, programmers struggle with making buggy code workable \u2014 before it ever hits version control. So bug tracking logs can highlight difficulties in design and with the team, but a bug journal shows exactly what a programmer has to deal with.","date":"2021-03-06 15:01:23","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.2494712769985199, \"perplexity\": 2165.93832256658}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2021-10\/segments\/1614178375096.65\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20210306131539-20210306161539-00532.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
Världsmästerskapen i badminton 1989 anordnades i Jakarta, Indonesien.
Medaljsummering
Resultat
Referenser
1989 i Indonesien
Sport i Jakarta
Sportevenemang i Indonesien
Sportåret 1989
1989 | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 4,265 |
Orthocomotis melanochlora is een vlinder uit de familie van de bladrollers (Tortricidae). De wetenschappelijke naam van de soort is voor het eerst geldig gepubliceerd in 1931 door Meyrick.
melanochlora | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 6,883 |
Afonso IV (Alfons IV), zwany Dzielnym (ur. 8 lutego 1291, zm. 28 maja 1357) – siódmy król Portugalii od 7 stycznia 1325 r.
Alfons był legalnym synem króla Portugalii, Dinisa i jego żony - Izabeli Aragońskiej, ale miał rywala w swoich pretensjach do tronu: był nim Afonso Sanches, jego przyrodni, nieślubny brat.
Afonso Sanches od początku przebywał na dworze i spiskował przeciw bratu.
W 1325 r., gdy Alfons został królem, pozbył się kłopotliwego brata wysyłając go na wygnanie do Kastylii. Ten jednak nie ustępował i próbował obalić legalnego króla. Wreszcie obaj bracia dogadali się.
Małżeństwo i krótki pokój
W 1309 r. Alfons poślubił Beatrice (1293-1359), córkę króla Kastylii - Sancho IV Odważnego i królowej-regentki Marii de Molina. Tym samym zawarł unię z tym krajem. Z tego związku miał zaś:
Marię (1313-1357), królową Kastylii jako żonę Alfonsa XI,
Alfonsa (1315),
Dionizego (1317-1318),
Piotra I (1320-1367), kolejnego króla Portugalii,
Izabelę (1324-1326),
Jana (1326-1327),
Eleonorę (1328-1348), królową Aragonii jako żonę Piotra IV.
Jednak Afonso IV niechętnie patrzył na swojego zięcia publicznie zdradzającego żonę i wypowiedział mu wojnę. Po czterech latach (1339 r.) podpisano pokój w Sewilli, a rok później wojska portugalskie odegrały ważną rolę w kolejnej kampanii przeciw Maurom.
Dalsze rządy
Pod koniec życia Alfonsa IV w Kastylii wybuchła wojna domowa, przez co wiele zagranicznej szlachty trafiło na dwór portugalski, prowadząc na nim własne gry. Jedna z kastylijskich szlachcianek, Inês de Castro, została kochanką jego syna, Piotra, co nie podobało się ojcu. Sytuacja stawała się coraz bardziej napięta, a stary król nie umiał uzyskać nad nią kontroli. Zlecił zamordowanie Inês (1355), co doprowadziło praktycznie do wojny domowej między nim a synem, która zakończyła się w 1357 r. Wkrótce potem Alfons umarł, władzę po nim przejął Piotr, mszcząc się na dawnych stronnikach ojca.
Król był znany ze swoich sukcesów militarnych, stąd przydomek "Dzielny". Istotne są jednak również jego zasługi w administracji: rozbudowa floty handlowej, marynarki, rozpoczęcie pierwszych odkryć - w tym najważniejsze odkrycie Wysp Kanaryjskich.
Przodkowie
Dynastia burgundzka
Władcy Portugalii
Urodzeni w 1291
Zmarli w 1357
Ludzie urodzeni w Lizbonie | {
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\section{\label{sec:level 1}Introduction}
The nonequilibrium dynamics of quantum many-body systems keeps on
attracting attention of both experimentalists~\cite{Bloch08}
and theorists~\cite{Polkovnikov11,Eisert15}. For integrable
systems, the case-by-case study of exact solutions revealed exotic properties
of the quantum states driven out of equilibrium. The long-time asymptotic state is far from thermal
equilibrium, but should be described by the generalized Gibbs ensemble~\cite{rigol2007relaxation}.
On the other hand, for systems whose classical counterparts are
chaotic, it is widely believed that they will finally thermalize in the
long time limit~\cite{rigol2008thermalization}. But the dynamics in the transient and intermediate time scale
is still hard to explore, due to the lack of a reliable analytical or numerical method.
The study of the dynamics in quantum chaotic systems dated back to
the early days of quantum mechanics, when the question has been raised as to
how the statistical properties of equilibrium ensembles arise from
the linear dynamics of Schr\"{o}dinger equation in a complex system~\cite{Neumann29,Goldstein10}.
A breakthrough was made in 1950s by Wigner~\cite{Wigner55,Wigner57,Wigner58}, who stated
that the statistics of the eigenenergies of a chaotic system should be as same as that of a random matrix,
that is the level spacing follows the Wigner-Dyson distribution.
This statement was verified by both experiments and numerical
simulations~\cite{rosenzweig1960repulsion,brody1981random,
bohigas1984characterization,schroeder1987statistical,guhr1998random}.
But for an integrable system, the level spacing
satisfies a Poisson distribution according to Berry and Tabor~\cite{Berry77}.
In the random matrix theory (RMT), the eigenstates of the Hamiltonian
are considered to be random vectors in the Hilbert space.
This oversimplified picture ignores the dependence of the structure of
the eigenstate on the eigenenergy, and then fails to explain why the observables
are in fact a function of the energy or temperature of the system.
A further step was made in the eigenstate thermalization hypothesis (ETH)~\cite{deutsch1991quantum,
srednicki1994chaos,srednicki1999approach}, which proposed a generic form
of the matrix elements of observable operators in the eigenbasis of the Hamiltonian:
\begin{equation}\label{eth}
O_{\alpha\beta}={O}\left(\bar{E}\right)\delta_{\alpha\beta}
+D^{-\frac{1}{2}}\left(\bar{E}\right)f_O\left(\omega,\bar{E}\right)R^O_{\alpha\beta},
\end{equation}
where $\alpha$ and $\beta$ are the eigenstates of the Hamiltonian with
$E_{\alpha}$ and $E_{\beta}$ being their eigenenergies, respectively.
$\bar{E}= (E_{\alpha}+E_{\beta})/2$ and $\omega=E_{\alpha}-E_{\beta}$
denote the average energy and the energy difference of $\alpha$ and $\beta$, respectively.
$D\left(\bar{E}\right)$ is the density of many-body states, which increases exponentially
with the system size (or the total number of particles).
${O}\left(\bar{E}\right)$ and $f_O\left(\omega,\bar{E}\right)$ are both smooth functions,
with the former describing how the expectation value of the observable changes with energy.
The randomness of the eigenstates is reflected in Eq.~(\ref{eth}) by the random number
$R^O_{\alpha\beta}$, which has zero mean and unit variance according to definition.
When a chaotic system is driven out of equilibrium, its density matrix evolves according
to the quantum Liouville equation. In the asymptotic
long-time state, the off-diagonal elements of the density matrix obtain completely randomized phases,
therefore, only the diagonal elements, which construct the so-called diagonal ensemble,
have a contribution to the expectation value
of observables. ETH builds the equivalence between the microcanonical
ensemble and the diagonal ensemble, and then explains thermalization successfully.
Its correctness has been verified in plenty of numerical simulations~\cite{d2016quantum},
while its limitation was also noticed. ETH has to be modified for the order parameter in the presence of
spontaneous symmetry breaking~\cite{PhysRevE.92.040103}, and
it fails in a many-body localized system~\cite{Gornyi05,basko2006metal} which cannot thermalize.
In spite of the success of ETH, it cannot explain how an observable relaxes towards steady value,
because it says nothing about the off-diagonal elements
of density matrix which are important in the transient and intermediate time scale.
The off-diagonal elements of density matrix are even the key of describing an asymptotic long-time state,
in the case that the thermodynamic limit and the long-time limit
are noncommutative. This noncommutativity defines an important class of nonequilibrium states
- the nonequilibrium steady states, which is the basis of understanding mesoscopic transport phenomena.
A stationary current flows through a central region which is
coupled to multiple thermal reservoirs at different temperatures and chemical potentials.
The description of such a quantum state goes beyond the ability of diagonal ensemble,
Gibbs ensemble or generalized Gibbs ensemble,
but requires the knowledge of the off-diagonal elements.
This motivated one of the authors to propose the nonequilibrium
steady state hypothesis~(NESSH)~\cite{wang2017theory}.
In this paper, we make NESSH complete by proposing the form of
both the diagonal and off-diagonal elements in the density matrix, which is
\begin{eqnarray}\label{NESSHt}
\rho_{\alpha\beta}&=&D^{-1}\left(\bar{E}\right)\Big(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi\sigma^2_s}}
e^{-\frac{\left(\bar{E}-\mu_s\right)^2}{2\sigma^2_s}}\delta_{\alpha\beta}\nonumber\\
&&+D^{-\frac{1}{2}}\left(\bar{E}\right)f\left(\omega,\bar{E}\right)R^s_{\alpha\beta}\Big),
\end{eqnarray}
where $\mu_s$ and $\sigma^2_s$ denote the mean and variance of
the system's energy, respectively. Note that the first term in Eq.~(\ref{NESSHt})
is absent in the previous paper~\cite{wang2017theory}. $f\left(\omega,\bar{E}\right)$ is the
dynamical characteristic function, which is determined by the initial state
and contains all the information for
understanding the real-time dynamics of a chaotic system from the transient regime
to the long-time steady limit. It is worth emphasizing that Eq.~(\ref{NESSHt}) stands for the density matrix
of arbitrary chaotic system whether it thermalizes or evolves into a nonequilibrium steady state.
In this paper, we will carry out numerical simulations in different models of spins in different dimensions
to support our assumption~(\ref{NESSHt}), supplement to the numerical simulations of fermionic models
in the previous study. Furthermore, we will show how to derive ETH by using Eq.~(\ref{NESSHt}),
and then build an intimate connection between NESSH and ETH, which both stand
in quantum chaotic systems.
The rest of the paper is organized as follows.
The physical meaning of Eq.~(\ref{NESSHt}) will be discussed in Sec.~\ref{sec:level 2},
in which we also derive a generic expression for the real-time dynamics of an observable based on
our assumption and ETH. The numerical evidence of our assumption
is presented in Sec.~\ref{sec:level 3} and~\ref{sec:level 4}.
The connection between NESSH and ETH is the content of Sec.~\ref{sec:level 5}.
Sec.~\ref{sec:level 6} summarizes our results.
\section{\label{sec:level 2}Nonequilibrium dynamics of the density matrix}
Let us consider an isolated system with the Hamiltonian $\hat H$.
Without loss of generality, we suppose $t=0$ as the initial time, at which
the quantum state of the system is denoted by $\ket{s}$.
According to quantum mechanics, the expectation value of
an arbitrary observable evolves as
\begin{equation}\label{quench}
O(t)=\sum_{\alpha,\beta} e^{-i\omega t}\rho_{\alpha\beta}O_{\beta\alpha},
\end{equation}
where $\alpha$ and ${\beta}$ denote the eigenstates of $\hat H$,
and $\omega=E_{\alpha}-E_{\beta}$ is the difference between their eigenenergies.
$\rho_{\alpha\beta}=\bra{\alpha}\hat{\rho}\ket{\beta}$ with $\hat \rho =\ket{s}\bra{s}$
denotes the element of the initial density matrix in the eigenbasis of $\hat H$,
and $O_{\beta\alpha}=\bra{\beta}\hat{O}\ket{\alpha}$ denotes the matrix element of
the observable operator.
In the case that the initial state is not an eigenstate of $\hat H$, the system is out of equilibrium at $t>0$.
To study the nonequilibrium dynamics of a system is equivalent to calculate $O(t)$.
For this purpose, we need to know the eigenenergies, the initial density matrix and the observable matrix.
For integrable systems, $E_\alpha$, $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ and $O_{\alpha\beta}$
differ from model to model. There is no common way of understanding nonequilibrium
dynamics of integrable systems. But it is not the case for chaotic systems, which are "similar"
to each other. RMT tells us that the eigenenergies of chaotic systems all
follow the Wigner-Dyson distribution~\cite{kravtsov2012random}
\begin{equation}\label{WDdis}
P(E_1,E_2,\cdots) = \frac{1}{\mathcal{N}} \displaystyle e^{-\frac{E_1^2+E_2^2+\cdots}{2\sigma^2}}
\left| \prod_{\alpha>\beta}\left(E_\alpha-E_\beta\right) \right|,
\end{equation}
where $\sigma$ is connected to the energy bandwidth and $\mathcal{N}$
is a normalization constant. And according to ETH, $O_{\alpha\beta}$ has the universal
form~(\ref{eth}), independent of the model being of fermions, bosons or spins,
or in which dimensions. Once if we know the form of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$, $O(t)$ can be calculated,
even if the exact solution of any specific chaotic model is inaccessible.
Different from integrable models, our knowledge of $E_\alpha$, $O_{\alpha\beta}$
and $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ in chaotic models is not precise, but only statistical. Eq.~(\ref{WDdis})
only gives the statistics of the eigenenergies, and Eq.~(\ref{eth}) contains a
random number $R^O_{\alpha\beta}$. This is what we have to pay for
not really solving the model. But it does not prevent us from
obtaining the information that we are interested in, i.e. $O(t)$.
Before discussing the form of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$, we need to make clear
which kind of initial states are interesting to us. The initial state $\ket{s}$
should be some quantum state that we can prepare in a laboratory.
Preparing a quantum state is usually equivalent to measuring
the state which inevitably causes the wave function collapsing
into an eigenstate of the observable operator. Therefore, it is natural
to choose $\ket{s}$ as an eigenstate of a complete set of observable operators.
For example, in a spin lattice model, we can choose $\ket{s}$ to be a configuration
of spin eigenstates in the $z$-direction on each lattice site, or we
choose $\ket{s}$ to the spin eigenstates in the $x$- or $y$-directions.
Such kind of initial states will be called natural states in next.
Of course, $\ket{s}$ cannot be an eigenstate of $\hat H$, otherwise,
the system is already thermalized at the initial time according to ETH.
$\ket{s}$ is also not a fine-tuned state, such as the superposition of
a few eigenstates of $\hat H$. Such kind of fine-tuned states are diffcult
to creat in experiments for a many-body chaotic system.
On the other hand, $\ket{s}$ can be an eigenstate of a
Hamiltonian $\hat H_0$ which includes no interaction between particles
and is then integrable, e.g., a spin model without
interaction between spins at different sites.
Usually, this kind of $\hat H_0$ is commutative with some
observable operators so that they have common eigenstates.
$\ket{s}$ can also be the eigenstate of
a chaotic Hamiltonian $\hat H'$ which is noncommutative with $\hat H$.
For example, $\hat H'$ and $\hat H$ describe interacting spins
with different interaction strength. In this case, the eigenstate of $\hat H'$
looks like a random vector in the eigenbasis of $\hat H$,
which is the foundation of our assumption~(\ref{NESSHt}).
Starting from a natural state, the dynamics of the density matrix
follows the quantum Liouville equation.
We propose that $\rho_{\alpha\beta}=\braket{\alpha|s}\braket{s|\beta}$
has a universal form which can be expressed as
\begin{equation}\label{NESSH}
\rho_{\alpha\beta}=D^{-1}\left(\bar{E}\right)\left(\rho\left(\bar{E}\right)
\delta_{\alpha\beta}+D^{-\frac{1}{2}}\left(\bar{E}\right)
f\left(\omega,\bar{E}\right)R^s_{\alpha\beta}\right),
\end{equation}
where the first term in the bracket denotes the diagonal element,
while the second term denotes the off-diagonal element.
$\bar{E}=\left(E_\alpha+E_\beta\right)/2$ and $\omega=E_\alpha - E_\beta$
are the energy average and the energy difference, respectively.
The density of states $D\left(\bar{E}\right)$ appears in Eq.~(\ref{NESSH})
to indicate how $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ scales with increasing system's size $N$.
Note that both ETH and NESSH should be treated as assumptions in
the thermodynamic limit $N\to \infty$. But $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ vanishes
as $N\to \infty$, therefore, we have to start from a finite $N$
and separate the diverging factor in $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$, which is $D$.
$D$ increases exponentially with $N$ and diverges in thermodynamic limit.
The exponents of $D$ in the diagonal and off-diagonal terms can be deduced from the fact
that a local observable $O(t)$ must be convergent in thermodynamic limit.
Let us consider the diagonal term in Eq.~(\ref{NESSH}).
$\rho_{\alpha\alpha}= \braket{\alpha|s}\braket{s|\alpha}$ is in fact the probability of
measuring the energy of state $\ket{s}$ and finding it is $E_\alpha$.
This probability distribution should be centered around the mean energy
of $\ket{s}$. It is natural to think that this distribution is a Gaussian distribution,
which is also supported by our numerics.
$\rho\left(\bar{E}\right)$ can then be expressed as
\begin{equation}\label{NESSHd}
\rho\left(\bar{E}\right)=\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi\sigma^2_s}}
e^{-\frac{(\bar{E}-\mu_s)^2}{2\sigma^2_s}}+C_sR^s_{\alpha\alpha},
\end{equation}
where $\mu_s$ and $\sigma_s^2$ denote the mean energy and the energy fluctuation
of the state $\ket{s}$. An additional term $C_sR^s_{\alpha\alpha}$
is added to fit the numerics into Eq.~(\ref{NESSHd}).
$C_sR^s_{\alpha\alpha}$ describes the deviation from the Gaussian distribution with $C_s$
being a constant and $R^s_{\alpha\alpha}$ being an independent random number with zero mean and unit variance.
The properties of $C_s$ and $R^s_{\alpha\alpha}$ will be further discussed in Sec.~\ref{sec:level 3}.
They indeed vanish in thermodynamic limit. Anyway, $C_sR^s_{\alpha\alpha}$ has no effect on the value of $O(t)$.
The parameters $\mu_s$ and $\sigma^2_s$ in Eq.~(\ref{NESSHd}) can be determined.
We have
\begin{equation}\label{mean}
\begin{split}
\mu_s =&\int\bar{E}\rho\left(\bar{E}\right)\mathrm{d}\bar{E} \\
=&\sum_{\alpha}E_{\alpha}\braket{\alpha|s}\braket{s|\alpha} \\ =& \bra{s} \hat H \ket{s},
\end{split}
\end{equation}
where we have used $\int\mathrm{d}E_{\alpha}D(E_{\alpha})= \sum_{\alpha}$ and
$E_{\alpha}=\bar{E}$ for the diagonal elements.
Note $\int C_sR^s_{\alpha\alpha} \bar{E}\mathrm{d}\bar{E}=0$, because $R^s_{\alpha\alpha}$ at different $\alpha$
are independent random numbers with zero mean. Similarly, we obtain the variance of energy
\begin{eqnarray}\label{var}
\sigma_s^2&=&\int\bar{E}^2\rho\left(\bar{E}\right)\mathrm{d}
\bar{E}-\left(\int\bar{E}\rho\left(\bar{E}\right)\mathrm{d}\bar{E}\right)^2\nonumber\\
&=&\bra{s}\hat{H}^2\ket{s}-\bra{s}\hat{H}\ket{s}^2 \nonumber\\
&=&\sum_{s'\ne s}H^2_{ss'}.
\end{eqnarray}
Here the sum with respect to $s'$ is over the natural states, i.e., the common eigenstates
of the complete set of observable operators, which form a natural basis of the Hilbert space.
Different from $\mu_s$, the variance is determined by
the off-diagonal elements of the Hamiltonian in the natural basis.
Next we consider the off-diagonal elements in Eq.~(\ref{NESSH}).
The factor $D^{-1/2}$ indicates that the off-diagonal elements
are exponentially smaller than the diagonal elements.
RMT says that the eigenstates are random vectors in the Hilbert space,
therefore, $\braket{s|\alpha}$ and $\braket{s|\beta}$ are both random numbers, so
is $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$. The randomness of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ in Eq.~(\ref{NESSH})
is reflected by the random number $R^s_{\alpha\beta}$, which by definition
has zero mean and unit variance. And $R^s_{\alpha\beta}$ at different $(\alpha,\beta)$
are independent to each other. But the variance of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ is not a constant,
but depends on the energies $E_\alpha$ and $E_\beta$.
In order to describe the structure of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ which is ignored by RMT,
we introduce the dynamical characteristic function
$f\left(\omega,\bar{E}\right)$ with $\bar{E}=(E_{\alpha}
+E_{\beta})/2$ and $\omega=E_{\alpha}-E_{\beta}$.
One can understand the off-diagonal term of Eq.~(\ref{NESSH}) as follows.
$\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ fluctuates heavily as $E_\alpha$ or $E_\beta$ changes.
But if we integrate out the fluctuation, the average of $\left| \rho_{\alpha\beta} \right|^2$
changes smoothly with $E_\alpha$ and $E_\beta$, or with $\bar{E}$ and $\omega$.
This is the central idea of NESSH and is highly nontrivial, being true only for chaotic systems.
Our numerics in the previous study~\cite{wang2017theory} already showed
its breakdown in integrable models.
By substituting Eqs.~(\ref{eth}) and~(\ref{NESSH}) into Eq.~(\ref{quench}), we obtain
\begin{eqnarray}\label{de2q}
O(t)&=&\int_{-\infty}^{\infty}\mathrm{d}\bar{E}\rho
\left(\bar{E}\right)O\left(\bar{E}\right)\\
&&+\mathcal{C}_{so}\int_{-\infty}^{\infty}\mathrm{d}\bar{E}
\int_{-\infty}^{\infty}\mathrm{d}\omega e^{-i\omega t}f\left(\omega,\bar{E}\right)
f_O\left(-\omega,\bar{E}\right),\nonumber
\end{eqnarray}
where we have used
$\sum_{\alpha}\to\int\mathrm{d}E_{\alpha}D(E_{\alpha})$ and
$D(\bar{E}\pm\omega/2)\approx D\left(\bar{E}\right)$. The latter
approximation comes from the factor that the integration function $ff_O $
decays to zero quickly with increasing $\omega$. $\mathcal{C}_{so}=
\overline{R^s_{\alpha\beta}R^O_{\beta\alpha}}$ denotes
the correlation between the random numbers
$R^s_{\alpha\beta}$ and $R^O_{\beta\alpha}$, which can
be estimated numerically by averaging $R^s_{\alpha\beta}R^O_{\beta\alpha}$
over a small energy box centered at a specific value of $(\bar{E},\omega)$.
$\mathcal{C}_{so}$ changes slowly with $\bar{E}$
or $\omega$, and can be treated as a constant and taken out of the integral.
Note that the density of states disappears in
Eq.~({\ref{de2q}}), therefore, $O(t)$ converges in thermodynamic limit, as we expect.
The first term of Eq.~(\ref{de2q}) is independent of time, being exactly
the expectation value of the observable with respect to the diagonal ensemble.
Since $\rho(\bar{E})$ is a Gaussian distribution (the second term of Eq.~(\ref{NESSHd})
cancels out in the integral), the first term of Eq.~(\ref{de2q}) evaluates $O(\mu_s)$, once if
$O(\bar{E})$ changes slowly in the range $\left( \mu_s -\sigma_s, \mu_s+\sigma_s\right)$.
$O(\mu_s)$ is indeed the value of the observable after thermalization.
Imagine the evolution processes starting from two different microscopic states
$\ket{s_1}$ and $\ket{s_2}$ that have the same mean energy $\mu_s$.
In the long-time steady limit, one cannot distinguish $\ket{s_1}$ from $\ket{s_2}$ by any measurement.
This is exactly what thermalization means - the memory of initial state is lost and
the properties of the system is only determined by few parameters such as the mean energy.
The second term of Eq.~(\ref{de2q}) is more interesting. It is time-dependent and
displays how $O(t)$ relaxes to its stationary limit. Note that the second
term is a Fourier transformation of $ff_O$ with respect to the variable $\omega$.
The transient dynamics of $O(t)$ is determined by the asymptotic behavior
of $ff_O$ in the large-$\omega$ limit, while the long-time asymptotic
behavior of $O(t)$ is determined by the asymptote of $ff_O$ at small $\omega$.
In this way, $f$ influences the dynamics of an arbitrary observable in the
whole time scale, which is the reason why $f$ is called the dynamical
characteristic function.
In thermodynamic limit, two different situations can be distinguished
in the long-time asymptotic behavior of $O(t)$.
First, since numerics already shows that $f_O$ always develops a plateau
at small $\omega$, if $f$ converges in the limit $\omega\to 0$, according to
Riemann-Lebesgue lemma, the Fourier transformation of $ff_O$
must decay to zero in the limit $t\to\infty$. The second term of Eq.~(\ref{de2q}) then
vanishes in the long-time limit, and $\lim_{t\to\infty} O(t)$ coincides with
the value of $O$ in the diagonal ensemble. In this case,
the system thermalizes. Second, if $f$ asymptotes to $1/\omega$ in the small-$\omega$ limit,
the second term goes to a nonzero value in the limit $t\to\infty$.
In this case, the system does not thermalize but evolves into
a nonequilibrium steady state, in which the values of observables are
different from their equilibrium counterparts. The failure of thermalization
is attributed to the infinite imbalance in the initial state $\hat \rho$,
which cannot be removed for thermalization to happen~\cite{wang2017theory}.
Moreover, the first situation (thermalization) can be further classified
according to whether $O(t)$ relaxes in an exponential way
or in a power-law way, etc., by supposing different asymptotic
behavior of $f(\omega)$ in the limit $\omega \to 0$.
Therefore, Eq.~(\ref{de2q}) serves as a benchmark for understanding the
nonequilibrium dynamics of chaotic quantum systems.
\section{\label{sec:level 3}Numerical simulation of the diagonal part of density matrix}
Next, we test NESSH (Eqs.~(\ref{NESSH}) and~(\ref{NESSHd})) in spin lattice models.
We consider the two-dimensional~(2D) transverse field Ising model
(TFIM) and the one-dimensional~(1D) disordered XXZ model.
The Hamiltonian of TFIM is
\begin{equation}\label{isingh}
\hat{H}_{Ising}=-J\sum_{<i,j>}\hat{\sigma}^z_i\hat{\sigma}^z_j+g\sum_i\hat{\sigma}^x_i,
\end{equation}
where $\hat{\sigma}^z_i$ and $\hat{\sigma}^x_i$ are the Pauli
matrices. We consider only the interaction between nearest-neighbor sites.
The ferromagnetic coupling $J$ is set to the energy unit and $g$
denotes the transverse field. The total number of lattice sites in numerical simulation
is set to $N$. This model has already been studied for testing ETH, and found to be
chaotic~\cite{mondaini2017eigenstate,mondaini2016eigenstate}.
We choose the natural states $\ket{s}$ to be the eigenstates of
$\{\hat \sigma_i^z\}$. After a straightforward calculation, we obtain
$\sigma^2_s=Ng^2$ which is a constant, thereafter, the fluctuation of energy
density is $\frac{\sigma^2_s}{N^2}=\frac{g^2}{N}$, which goes
to zero in the thermodynamic limit $N\to\infty$, as we expect.
The second model we study is the one-dimensional XXZ model:
\begin{equation}\label{xxzm}
\hat{H}_{XXZ}=-J\sum_i\left(\hat{\sigma}_i^x\hat{\sigma}_{i+1}^x
+\hat{\sigma}_i^y\hat{\sigma}_{i+1}^y+\hat{\sigma}_i^z
\hat{\sigma}_{i+1}^z\right)+\sum_ih_i\hat{\sigma}_i^z,
\end{equation}
where $h_i\in\left[-h, h\right]$ is a random number with uniform distribution
and $h$ is the disorder strength. Again $J$ is set to unity.
The XXZ model without disorder is integrable, but infinitesimal disorder
destroys integrability. As is well known, the XXZ model is in the many-body localized phase
in the case of strong disorder. In our study, we control $h$
to be small enough for avoiding localization.
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.45\textwidth]{fig1.eps}
\caption{(Color online) The plot of $\left(\overline{\rho_{\alpha\alpha}}
D\right)$ as a function of $\bar{E}$ for (a) 2D-TFIM with $g=2$,
$\Delta\bar{E}=1$ and $N=12$, and (b) the disordered XXZ chain
with $h=0.05$, $\Delta\bar{E}=1$ and $N=16$. The black solid lines are the Gaussian
functions of $\mu_s=4.58\times10^{-6}$, $\sigma^2_s=61.3$, and
$\mu_s=-0.18$, $\sigma^2_s=3.73$, respectively.}\label{fig1}
\end{figure}
In order to obtain the density matrix elements, we first diagonalize the model Hamiltonians.
For the 2D-TFIM, we choose a lattice of specific shape that
breaks the geometric symmetries (see Ref.~[\onlinecite{mondaini2016eigenstate}] for detail).
Similarly, there is a symmetry in the XXZ model.
Following previous literatures~\cite{bertrand2016anomalous}, we focus
on a subspace of the Hilbert space associated with the
operator $\hat{\sigma}^z=\sum_i\hat{\sigma}_i^z$.
Only the subspace $\sigma^z=0$ is considered.
After diagonalization, we calculate the density matrix elements $\rho_{\alpha\beta}
=\braket{\alpha | s}\braket{s| \beta}$.
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.45\textwidth]{fig2.eps}
\caption{(Color online) Panels~(a) and~(b) plot $\kappa_s$
of the different natural states $\ket{s}$ for 2D-TFIM with $g=2$
and the XXZ model with $h=0.05$, respectively.
The natural states are sorted with $s$ denoting
their sequence number, and $s_{max}$ denotes the total number of natural states
which equals the dimension of the Hilbert space.
Different types of dots with different colors represent different $N$.
Panels (c) and (d) plot $\bar{\kappa}$ as a function of $1/N$ for
2D-TFIM and the XXZ model, respectively. The dashed lines
are the fitting functions with the form $\bar{\kappa} \propto \left(1/N\right)^z$.}\label{fig2}
\end{figure}
According to our assumption, the diagonal element $\rho_{\alpha\alpha}$
is a Gaussian function blurred by the fluctuation $C_s R^s_{\alpha\alpha}$.
Since the mean of $R^s_{\alpha\alpha}$ is zero, we calculate the average of $\rho_{\alpha\alpha}$
over a thin energy shell centered at $\bar{E}$, which should give
\begin{equation}
\overline{\rho_{\alpha\alpha}}=D^{-1}\left( \bar{E} \right) \frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi \sigma^2_s}}
e^{-\frac{(\bar{E}-\mu_s)^2}{2\sigma_s^2}}.
\end{equation}
The width of the energy shell is set to $2\Delta\bar{E}=2$ in practice to
contain enough number of eigenstates.
But it is worth mentioning that $\Delta\bar{E}$ can be made smaller
and smaller as the system's size increases, since the density of states
increases. And in thermodynamic limit, $\Delta\bar{E} $ can be made arbitrarily small,
while there are still infinite number of states in the shell.
Fig.~\ref{fig1} shows $\left(\overline{\rho_{\alpha\alpha}} \cdot D\right)$ as a function of $\bar{E}$.
It fits well into a Gaussian function (the solid line). The deviation should be attributed to
the finite system's size in numerical simulation. We expect that
the deviation vanishes in thermodynamic limit.
$\rho_{\alpha\alpha}$ fluctuates around its average $\overline{\rho_{\alpha\alpha}}$.
According to our assumption, their difference should be
$\rho_{\alpha\alpha}- \overline{\rho_{\alpha\alpha}}=D^{-1} C_s R^s_{\alpha\alpha}$.
The amplitude of the fluctuation is $\kappa_s = D^{-1} C_s$, which can be computed according to
\begin{equation}\label{eq:kappadef}
\kappa_s= \sqrt{\displaystyle \overline{\left(\rho_{\alpha\alpha}- \overline{\rho_{\alpha\alpha}}\right)^2} },
\end{equation}
where the overline denotes the average over $\alpha$. To obtain Eq.~(\ref{eq:kappadef}),
we have used the definition $\overline{\left(R^s_{\alpha\alpha}\right)^2}=1$.
Fig.~\ref{fig2}(a) and~(b) plot $\kappa_s$ for different states $\ket{s}$ in the natural basis.
It is clear that the values of $\kappa_s$ concentrate.
As the system's size increases, the change of $\kappa_s$ with $s$ becomes even smaller.
We then guess that $\kappa_s$ should be independent of the initial state
$\ket{s}$ for sufficiently large $N$. We study the average of $\kappa_s$
over ${s}$, which is denoted by $\bar{\kappa}$.
Fig.~\ref{fig2}(c) and~(d) display how $\bar{\kappa}$ changes with the system's size.
For both TFIM and XXZ models, $\bar{\kappa}$ decays with
increasing $N$. Our numerics indicates $\kappa_s \to 0$ in thermodynamic limit,
which means that the fluctuation vanishes and the diagonal element $\rho_{\alpha\alpha}$
approaches $\overline{\rho_{\alpha\alpha}}$, while the latter is a Gaussian function of
$E_\alpha$ according to Fig.~\ref{fig1}.
\section{\label{sec:level 4}Numerical simulation of the off-diagonal part}
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.45\textwidth]{fig3.eps}
\caption{(Color online) The distribution of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$
for (a) 2D-TFIM at $g=2$ and $N=12$ and (b) the XXZ model at $h=0.05$ and $N=14$.
We choose $\bar{E}=0$ and $\omega=1$ as the center of the energy box whose
sides are set to $\Delta{\bar{E}}=0.1$ and $\Delta\omega=0.1$.
The red lines are the stable distributions with the parameters
$a=0.99$, $b=0.05$, $c=5.78\times 10^{-5}$ and $\delta=-2.37\times10^{-6}$ for panel~(a),
and $a=0.51$, $b=-5.51\times10^{-4}$, $c=1.67\times 10^{-5}$ and $\delta=-1.96\times10^{-9}$
for panel~(b).}\label{fig3}
\end{figure}
Next let us study $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ for $\alpha\neq\beta$, which should be expressed as
$D^{-3/2} f R^s_{\alpha\beta}$ according to our assumption. $R_{\alpha\beta}^s$ is
a random number of zero mean and unit variance, therefore, $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$
should be a random number of zero mean and the variance $D^{-3}f^2$.
We consider the set of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ within a small rectangular energy box centered at
$(\bar{E},\omega)$ with the sides $2\Delta{\bar{E}}$ and $2\Delta{\omega}$,
that is $\alpha$ and $\beta$ satisfy $\bar{E}-\Delta{\bar{E}}<(E_\alpha +E_\beta)/2 <
\bar{E}+\Delta{\bar{E}}$ and $\omega-\Delta{\omega}<E_\alpha -E_\beta<
\omega+\Delta{\omega}$. We choose small $\Delta{\bar{E}}$ and $\Delta{\omega}$ so
that $f$ and $D$ are approximately constants within the energy box,
and then obtain the statistics of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$.
Fig.~$\ref{fig3}$ plots the distribution of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$.
It is clear that the distribution is symmetric with respect to zero, indicating
that the mean of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ is zero. And the distribution
function has a similar shape for the TFIM and XXZ models. It is also
quite similar to that in the fermionic models studied previously~\cite{wang2017theory}.
Since the distribution of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ is indeed determined by
the random number $R^s_{\alpha\beta}$, our finding suggests that $R^s_{\alpha\beta}$
has a universal distribution in arbitrary chaotic system.
We fit the histogram of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ to the stable distribution (the red lines in Fig.~$\ref{fig3}$),
which is defined as the Fourier transformation
\begin{equation}
\begin{split}
P\left( x \right)=& \frac{1}{2\pi} \int dp \,
e^{-ip(x-\delta)} \\ & \times e^{-c^a \left|p \right|^a \left[1+i b\, \text{sign}\left(p\right) \tan(\pi a/2)
\left( \left(c\left|p \right| \right)^{1-a} - 1\right)\right]}
\end{split}
\end{equation}
with the parameters $a$, $b$, $c$ and $\delta$. $\text{sign}(p)$ denotes
the sign of $p$. $\delta$ is the location parameter, which is almost zero,
indicating that the distribution is symmetric to zero.
$c$ is the scale parameter, which is also small. The shape parameters $a$ and $b$ measure
the concentration and the asymmetry of the distribution, respectively.
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\includegraphics[width=0.45\textwidth]{fig4.eps}
\caption{(Color online) The variance of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ as a function
of $\omega$ is plotted for TFIM.
(a) $\Sigma(\omega)$ at different system's size. (b) The plateau of $\Sigma(\omega)$
at small $\omega$ is plotted as a function of the system's size. The dotted line
is the function $0.21 e^{-1.31 N}$. (c) The functions $\Sigma(\omega)$ for
different initial states $\ket{s_1}$ and $\ket{s_2}$, whose
spin configurations are depicted in panel~(d) with
the circles and squares representing the spins up and down, respectively.}\label{fig4}
\end{figure}
We study the variance of $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$, denoted by
$\Sigma(\bar{E},\omega)= D^{-3}(\bar{E})f^2(\bar{E},\omega)$. $\Sigma$
is no more than the squared dynamical characteristic function weighted by
a factor $D^{-3}$, which is exponentially small as the system's size increases.
We average $\Sigma$ over $\bar{E}$, and then obtain a function of $\omega$.
The averaged $\Sigma$ reflects how the dynamical characteristic function changes
with $\omega$. The results are plotted in Fig.~\ref{fig4}. $\Sigma$ (or $f$) is a smooth
function of $\omega$, as we expect. And it develops a plateau at small $\omega$,
indicating that the system will thermalize in the long-time limit (see the discussion
in the previous section). The thermalizing consequence agrees with previous
studies~\cite{mondaini2017eigenstate,mondaini2016eigenstate}.
For large $\omega$, the dynamical characteristic function decays exponentially to zero.
This is believed to be a typical feature of $f$.
For $N=11$, $\Sigma(\omega)$ displays a peak before the exponential
decay (see Fig.~\ref{fig4}(a)), which should be attributed to the small value that $N$ takes.
This peak vanishes as we choose $N=12$. We also see that
the value of $\Sigma$ decreases with increasing $N$. This is due to the factor $D^{-3}$
in the expression of $\Sigma$, which decays exponentially as $N$ increases.
We denote the value of $\Sigma$ at the plateau as $S_d$ and display it as a function
of $N$ in Fig.~\ref{fig4}(b). As we expect, $S_d$ does decay exponentially.
In general, the dynamical characteristic function should be dependent on
the initial state $\ket{s}$. Fig.~\ref{fig4}(c) shows $\Sigma(\omega)$
for two different initial states $\ket{s_1}$ and $\ket{s_2}$,
which are depicted in Fig.~\ref{fig4}(d). As we see,
their dynamical characteristic functions differ from each other,
but the difference is not significant, indicating that the real-time
dynamics starting from $\ket{s_1}$ and $\ket{s_2}$ has similar properties.
In this section, we focus on the dependence of $\Sigma$ or $f$ on
$\omega$, but neglect their dependence on $\bar{E}$.
The former is more important, since the time-dependent observable $O(t)$
is a Fourier transformation with respect to the variable $\omega$
(see Eq.~(\ref{de2q})). The real-time dynamics is then sensitive
to the dependence of $f$ on $\omega$.
\section{\label{sec:level 5}The connection between NESSH and ETH}
In this section, we try to connect ETH, i.e. the assumption about
the matrix elements of an observable operator $\hat O$,
to our assumption about the density matrix $\hat \rho=\ket{s}\bra{s}$.
For this purpose, we notice that the natural state $\ket{s}$ can be chosen to
the eigenstate of some observable operators. Without loss of generality, we suppose that
$\ket{s}$ is the eigenstate of $\hat O$. And all the natural states form
a complete basis of the Hilbert space, satisfying $\sum_s\ket{s}\bra{s}=1$.
In this natural basis, $O_{ss'}=\bra{s}\hat{O}\ket{s'}$ is a diagonal matrix.
The matrix elements of the observable in the eigenbasis
of the Hamiltonian can then be expressed as
\begin{equation}\label{ob}
O_{\alpha\beta}=\sum_s O_{ss} \rho_{\alpha\beta},
\end{equation}
where $\rho_{\alpha\beta}=\braket{\alpha |s} \braket{s|\beta}$ denotes the
element of the density matrix.
NESSH states that $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ has a universal expression
in chaotic systems (see Eqs.~(\ref{NESSH}) and~(\ref{NESSHd})).
Therefore, our target is to use Eqs.~(\ref{NESSH}) and~(\ref{NESSHd}) to prove that
$O_{\alpha\alpha}$ changes smoothly with $E_\alpha$,
which is the central idea of ETH for explaining thermalization.
Substituting Eqs.~(\ref{NESSH}) and~(\ref{NESSHd}) into Eq.~(\ref{ob}), we obtain
\begin{equation}\label{NESSH2eth}
\begin{split}
O_{\alpha\alpha}=& \sum_s D^{-1}\left({E_\alpha}\right) O_{ss}
\rho\left({E_\alpha}\right) \\
= & \sum_s D^{-1} O_{ss} \frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi\sigma^2_s}}
e^{-\frac{({E}_\alpha-\mu_s)^2}{2\sigma^2_s}} \\ & + \sum_s O_{ss}
D^{-1}C_sR^s_{\alpha\alpha}.
\end{split}
\end{equation}
Our numerics has shown that $D^{-1}C_sR^s_{\alpha\alpha}$ goes to zero
in thermodynamic limit (see Fig.~\ref{fig2} and the corresponding discussion). And since $R^s_{\alpha\alpha}$ is a
random number of zero mean independent of $O_{ss}$, we have sufficient reason to believe
that $\sum_s O_{ss} D^{-1}C_sR^s_{\alpha\alpha} \to 0$ in thermodynamic limit.
\begin{figure}[htbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.45\textwidth]{fig5.eps}
\caption{${O}'_{max}$ is plotted as a function of $1/N$.}\label{fig6}
\end{figure}
Next we use 2D-TFIM as an example to show that the first term in Eq.~(\ref{NESSH2eth})
changes smoothly with $E_\alpha$ in the limit $N\to \infty$.
The observable operator is chosen to be $\hat O=\hat \sigma_i^z$ with
$i$ denoting the bottom site in Fig.~\ref{fig4}(d).
The first term of Eq.~(\ref{NESSH2eth}) is the sum of a series of
Gaussian functions weighted by $O_{ss}$. $O_{ss}$ is usually bounded,
and the sum of finite number of Gaussian functions must changes smoothly.
In order to extend this conclusion to the limit $N\to \infty$,
we compute the derivative
\begin{equation}
{O}'_{\alpha\alpha} = \sum_s O_{ss} \frac{d}{dE_\alpha} \left( D^{-1} \frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi\sigma^2_s}}
e^{-\frac{({E}_\alpha-\mu_s)^2}{2\sigma^2_s} } \right).
\end{equation}
And we define $O'_{max}$ as the maximum of $\left|{O}'_{\alpha\alpha}\right|$ over $\alpha$.
A scaling analysis of $O'_{max}$
is given in Fig.~\ref{fig6}, which clearly shows that
${O}'_{max}$ converges in the limit $N\to\infty$.
This means that $O_{\alpha\alpha}$ has a finite derivative at arbitrary energy,
i.e., $O_{\alpha\alpha}$ changes smoothly with $E_\alpha$.
We then reach the central idea of ETH and also the basis of thermalization -
$O_{\alpha\alpha}$ does not fluctuate infinitely with $\alpha$ even in thermodynamic limit.
\section{\label{sec:level 6}summary}
We summarize our results.
NESSH assumes a universal form of the density matrix in the eigenbasis of
the Hamiltonian of a quantum chaotic system.
The main assumption of NESSH is given in Eq.~(\ref{NESSHt}).
The diagonal element of the density matrix $\rho_{\alpha\alpha}$ is a Gaussian function,
with the mean $\mu_s$ and the variance $\sigma^2_s$ determined by the initial state.
The off-diagonal elements $\rho_{\alpha\beta}$ are random numbers with
a universal distribution. Its standard deviation is dubbed the dynamical characteristic function,
which governs the real-time dynamics of the system according to Eq.~(\ref{de2q}).
For a typical initial state that thermalizes in the long-time limit,
the dynamical characteristic function exhibits a plateau at low frequencies
but an exponential decay at high frequencies.
We provide the numerical evidence of NESSH in two chaotic spin models -
the 2D transverse field Ising model and the 1D disordered XXZ model.
The numerics for these two models is consistent with the prediction of NESSH,
both for the diagonal and off-diagonal elements.
Furthermore, we show how to reach ETH from the assumptions of NESSH
by factorizing the observable matrix elements into the density matrix elements
and the expectation value of observable in the natural basis.
By using the assumptions of NESSH, we show that the diagonal element
of the observable matrix changes smoothly with energy, which explains
why thermalization happens.
\section*{acknowledgements}
This work is supported by NSF of China under Grant Nos.~11774315 and~11304280.
Pei Wang is also supported by the Junior Associates programm
of the Abdus Salam International Center for Theoretical Physics.
| {
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{"url":"https:\/\/eprint.iacr.org\/2009\/066","text":"Adaptive Preimage Resistance and Permutation-based Hash Functions\n\nJooyoung Lee and Je Hong Park\n\nAbstract\n\nIn this paper, we introduce a new notion of security, called \\emph{adaptive preimage resistance}. We prove that a compression function that is collision resistant and adaptive preimage resistant can be combined with a public random function to yield a hash function that is indifferentiable from a random oracle. Specifically, we analyze adaptive preimage resistance of $2n$-bit to $n$-bit compression functions that use three calls to $n$-bit public random permutations. This analysis also provides a simpler proof of their collision resistance and preimage resistance than the one provided by Rogaway and Steinberger. By using such compression functions as building blocks, we obtain permutation-based pseudorandom oracles that outperform the Sponge construction and the MD6 compression function both in terms of security and efficiency.\n\nAvailable format(s)\nPublication info\nPublished elsewhere. Unknown where it was published\nKeywords\nhash functionindifferentiabilityblockcipherprovable security\nContact author(s)\njlee05 @ ensec re kr\nHistory\n2009-05-22: last of 4 revisions\nSee all versions\nShort URL\nhttps:\/\/ia.cr\/2009\/066\n\nCC BY\n\nBibTeX\n\n@misc{cryptoeprint:2009\/066,\nauthor = {Jooyoung Lee and Je Hong Park},\ntitle = {Adaptive Preimage Resistance and Permutation-based Hash Functions},\nhowpublished = {Cryptology ePrint Archive, Paper 2009\/066},\nyear = {2009},\nnote = {\\url{https:\/\/eprint.iacr.org\/2009\/066}},\nurl = {https:\/\/eprint.iacr.org\/2009\/066}\n}\n\nNote: In order to protect the privacy of readers, eprint.iacr.org does not use cookies or embedded third party content.","date":"2022-07-04 08:30:34","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.1807430386543274, \"perplexity\": 7481.972597614593}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": false, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.3, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2022-27\/segments\/1656104364750.74\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20220704080332-20220704110332-00644.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
\section{Introduction}
The Pierre Auger Observatory~\cite{xavier:2} aims at unveiling the secrets of Ultra High Energy Cosmic Rays (UHECR)
through the observation of the Extensive Air Showers (EAS) they produce in the atmosphere. It combines
four fluorescence detector (FD) sites with a surface array of 1600 water Cherenkov tanks placed on a triangular 1.5 km grid.
The combination of a large ground array and fluorescence detectors, known as the hybrid
concept, means that a rich variety of measurements can be made on a single shower, providing much improved
information over what is possible with either detector alone.
It is not
simply a dual experiment. Apart from important cross-checks and measurement redundancy, the two techniques
see air showers in complementary ways. The ground array measures the lateral structure of the shower
at ground level, with some ability to separate the electromagnetic and muon components. On the other hand,
the fluorescence detector records the longitudinal profile of the shower during its development through the
atmosphere.
\section{Status and Performances of the Observatory}
\subsection{Surface Detector
An Auger Surface Detector (SD) station is a 10~m$^2$ base, 1.5~m tall cylindrical plastic tank
filled with locally produced purified water.
Three 9"
photo-multiplier tubes are used to collect the Cherenkov light emitted by particles crossing the tank. Signal is extracted both
from the anode and the last dynode, the latter being amplified to achieve a larger final dynamic range extending from a few
to about 10$^5$ photoelectrons. All channels are digitized
at 40 MHz by 10 bit FADC, and a digital trigger is operated by a local CPU. Timing is obtained by a GPS unit, and
communication to the Central Data Acquisition System (CDAS) is done via a custom built wireless communication system. Two solar
panels charging two 12 V batteries provide the 10 W used by the electronics. Each detector is therefore independent and can
start operating upon installation, independently of other detectors in the array.
More details about the SD can be found in~\cite{xavier:2,XAVIER} and references therein.
Since January
2004, the array has been in stable operation, has grown at a steady rate of about 9 tanks per week, and reached 800
detectors in June 2005.
Each tank is deployed and its position is verified with differential GPS technique. Even if the landscape sometimes
forces some displacements from the perfect triangular geometry, 50~\% of the tanks are at less than 5~m from the theoretical
position, and 90~\% at less than 20~m. The exact position is used to operate the GPS in position hold mode, achieving better
than 20~ns time resolution.
\begin{figure}
\label{fig:xavier}
\includegraphics[width=.90\textwidth]{xavier}
\caption{Evolution of event rate with time. An average event rate of about one physics event per day per station is observed.
The consequence of a major software upgrade in April 2005 is visible as a dip in the plot. }
\end{figure}
The environment to which an Auger Surface Detector is exposed is somewhat hostile for the electronics. At 1400 m a.s.l. and
with clear skies, day-night temperature variations are of the order of 20$^\circ$C.
To monitor the whole array
accurately various sensors are installed in each tank. This information is sent to the CDAS every 6 minutes. Temperature is
measured on each PMT base, on the electronics board, and on each battery. PMT voltage and current are also monitored, as well as
solar panel voltages, individual battery voltage, and charge current. These data are used to detect a wide range of failures,
from broken solar panels to discharging batteries, and correlations like unstable PMT behavior related to temperature.
Weather
stations reporting temperature, pressure, humidity, wind speed and direction are installed at each fluorescence site and in the
center of the array, to complete the environmental monitoring. These data allow extra checks such as the influence of the pressure
on the calibration. The calibration is operated online every minute\cite{xavier:3}, and sent to CDAS every 6 minutes for monitoring.
Over the whole array, correlation of
the trigger rate with temperature are -0.04$\pm$0.03\% per degree for first trigger level (T1), 0.08$\pm$0.05\% per degree for the
second level trigger (T2), and 0.2$\pm$0.5\% per degree for the Time over Threshold trigger (ToT). The SD array therefore operates
with stable trigger threshold even with 20 degrees daily temperature variations.
The last step monitored to ensure the quality of the Auger SD data set is done at the system acquisition level. The second
level trigger rate for each station are registered every second allowing a precise knowledge of the dead time of the detectors.
The acquisition is fully automated and no operator is needed for data taking. Information from the CDAS processes are kept to
diagnose possible crashes.
Simple quantities such as the number of stations in operation and the event rate, and more complex ones such as the rate of physics
events are checked daily to validate the data acquisition period. Over 2004, the total on-time of the system has been about 94~\%,
including all kinds of dead time (individual detectors down, general power cuts, software upgrades, etc.). It should be noted that
this on-time was obtained while priority was being given to the building of the Observatory (deploying new detectors) over its
operation (repairing failing ones), and with evolving software for the detectors, the communication system, and the CDAS.
Up to June 2005, more than 180000 events were recorded with an average rate of about 0.9 per station per day
(see Fig.~\ref{fig:xavier}). Once the array is completed, a rate of about 1500 physics events per day is expected.
\subsection{Fluorescence Detector
The fluorescence detectors are distributed in 4 stations around the perimeter of the surface detector array, and
view the atmosphere above the array on moon-less or partially moon-lit nights. At the present time three of the four
fluorescence sites have been completed and are in operation.
Two of them, Los Leones and Coihueco, have been collecting data since January 2004, with Los Morados beginning data taking in
March 2005. The fourth site at Loma Amarilla will be in operation in the second half of 2006. A fluorescence site contains
six identical fluorescence telescopes. Fluorescence light enters the telescope
through a 1.10~m radius diaphragm, and light is collected by a 3.5x3.5~m$^2$ spherical mirror and focused onto a photo-multiplier
(PMT) camera. The camera contains 440 hexagonal (45~mm diameter) PMTs, each PMT covering a 1.5$^\circ$ diameter portion of the
sky. The optical spot size on the focal surface has a diameter of approximately 15~mm (equivalent to 0.5$^\circ$) for all
directions of incoming light. To reduce signal losses when the light spot crosses PMT boundaries, small light reflectors
("Mercedes stars") are placed between PMTs. The field of view of a single telescope covers 30$^\circ$ in azimuth and 28.6$^\circ$
in elevation.
The fluorescence telescopes have been installed with an uncertainty of 0.1$^\circ$ in their nominal pointing directions.
However, observations of stars crossing the field of view of the telescopes can improve this precision, to 0.01$^\circ$.
An optical filter matched to the fluorescence spectrum (approximately 300~nm to 400~nm) is placed over the telescope
diaphragm to reduce night-sky noise. In addition, the diaphragm contains an annular corrector lens as part of the Schmidt
telescope design, with an inner radius of 0.85~m and outer radius of 1.10~m. The effect of the lens is to allow an increase
in the radius of the telescope diaphragm from 0.85~m to 1.1~m (increasing the effective light collecting area by a factor of
two) while maintaining an optical spot size of 0.5$^\circ$~\cite{jose:4}.
One of the goals of the FD is to measure air shower energies with an uncertainty smaller than 15\%. In order to achieve this
goal the fluorescence detectors have to be calibrated with a precision of about 8\% and the calibration stability needs to
be monitored on a regular basis. An absolute calibration of each telescope is performed three or four times a year, and
relative calibrations are performed every night during detector operation. To perform an absolute end-to-end calibration of
a telescope, a large homogeneous diffuse light source was constructed for use at the front of the telescope diaphragm.
The ratio of the light source intensity to the observed signal for each PMT
gives the required calibration. At present, the precision in the PMT calibration using the source is about 12\%~\cite{jose:5}.
For relative calibration,
optical fibers bring light signals to three different diffuser groups for each telescope
The total charge per pixel is measured with respect to reference
measurements made at the time of absolute calibrations. This allows the monitoring of short and long term stability,
the relative timing between pixels and the relative gain of each pixel~\cite{jose:6}. The relative calibration information is not
yet incorporated in the reconstruction system. However, the average detector stability has been measured and a corresponding
systematic uncertainty of 3\% has been introduced to account for this. This contributes to the overall 12\% systematic
uncertainty in the FD calibration. Cross-checks of the FD calibration can be made by reconstructing the energy of laser beams
that are fired into the atmosphere from various positions in the SD array. The Central Laset Facility (CLF see next section)
located at the center of the array allows to fire laser beam into to the sky with known geometry
and energy.
The observed difference between the reconstructed energy
and the real laser energy is of the order of 10\% to 15\%~\cite{jose:8}, consistent with the current level of uncertainty
in calibrations and knowledge of the atmosphere.
As part of the reconstruction process, the detected light at the telescope must be transformed into the amount of
fluorescence light emitted at the shower axis as a function of atmospheric depth. For this it is necessary to have a good
knowledge of local atmospheric conditions. We need to account for both Rayleigh and aerosol scattering of light between the
shower and the detector, so we must understand the distribution of aerosols and the density of the atmosphere at different
heights. In addition, the temperature distribution with height is needed since the fluorescence light yield is a (slow)
function of temperature. Finally, the detector volume must be monitored for the presence of clouds. Aerosols in the atmosphere
consist of clouds, smoke, dust and other pollutants. The aerosol conditions can change rapidly and are known to have a strong
effect on the propagation of fluorescence light. The Observatory has an extensive network of atmospheric monitoring devices.
These include LIDAR systems, cloud cameras and star monitors. We have also deployed systems to monitor the wavelength dependence
and differential scattering properties of the aerosols. More details of these systems can be found in~\cite{jose:7}.
Presently, only the aerosol information obtained from observing the laser tracks is incorporated in the shower energy
reconstruction algorithm.
The uncertainty in the
currently applied monthly atmospheres in the Auger reconstruction introduce an uncertainty in the atmospheric depth at ground
of about 5 g/cm$^2$\cite{jose:10}.
The resulting fluorescence light at the shower track is converted to the energy
deposited by the shower by applying the expected fluorescence efficiency at each depth.
More details about the FD calibration and performances can be found in~\cite{xavier:2,JOSE} and references therein.
The estimated systematic uncertainty
in the reconstructed shower energy is currently 25\%, with activity underway to reduce this significantly.
\begin{figure}
\label{fig:miguel}
\includegraphics[width=.90\textwidth]{Miguel}
\caption{Left : Difference between the reconstructed and true distance from the eye to the vertical laser beam using the
monocular and hybrid techniques. The location of the laser is known to 5 m. Right : Angular difference between reconstructed
and true direction of the laser beam using the monocular and hybrid techniques. The laser beam is vertical within 0.01$^\circ$. }
\end{figure}
\subsection{Hybrid Performances
A hybrid event is an air shower that is simultaneously detected by the fluorescence detector and the ground array.
The Observatory was originally designed and is currently being built with a cross-triggering capability. Data are recovered
from both detectors whenever either system is triggered. If an air shower independently triggers both detectors the event is
tagged accordingly. There are cases where the fluorescence detector, having a lower energy threshold, promotes a sub-threshold
array trigger. Surface stations are matched by timing and location. This is an important capability because these sub-threshold
hybrid events would not have triggered the array otherwise. The Observatory started operation in hybrid production mode in January,
2004. Surface stations have a 100\% duty cycle, while fluorescence eyes can only operate on clear moon-less nights.
Both surface and fluorescence detectors have been running simultaneously 14\% of the time. The number of hybrid events represents
10\% the statistics of the surface array data.
A hybrid detector has excellent capability for studying the highest energy cosmic ray air showers. Much of its capability stems
from the accurate geometrical reconstructions it achieves. Timing information from even one surface station can much improve
the geometrical reconstruction of a shower over that achieved using only eye pixel information. The axis of the air shower is
determined by minimizing a $\chi^2$ function involving data from all triggered elements in the eye and at ground. The
reconstruction accuracy is better than the ground array counters or the single eye could achieve
independently~\cite{miguel:1,miguel:2}.
Using the timing information from the eye pixels together with the surface stations, a core location resolution of 50~m is
achieved. The resolution for the arrival direction of cosmic rays is 0.6$^\circ$~\cite{miguel:2}.
These results for the hybrid accuracy are in
good agreement with estimations using analytic arguments~\cite{miguel:3}, measurements on real data using a bootstrap method\cite{miguel:4},
and previous
simulation studies~\cite{miguel:5}. The reconstruction uncertainties are evaluated using events with known geometries, i.e. laser beams. The
CLF, described in Ref.~\cite{jose:8}, is located approximately equidistant from the first three
fluorescence sites. Since the location of the CLF and the direction of the laser beam are known to an accuracy better than the
expected angular resolution of the fluorescence detector, laser shots from the CLF can be used to measure the accuracy of the
geometrical reconstruction. Furthermore, the laser beam is split and part of the laser light is sent through an optical fiber
to a nearby ground array station. The resolution of the monocular and hybrid reconstructions are compared in
figure~\ref{fig:miguel} for the distance between the eye and the CLF, and for the angle of the axis.
The laser light from the CLF produces simultaneous triggers in both the surface and (three) fluorescence detectors. The
recorded event times can be used to measure and monitor the relative timing between the two detectors. The time offset between
the first fluorescence eye and the surface detector is shown in figure 3. This time offset has been measured to better than
50~ns~\cite{miguel:7}. The contribution to the systematic uncertainty in the core
location due to the uncertainty in the time synchronization
is 20~m.
More details about the Hybrid performances of the Auger Observatory can be found in~\cite{xavier:2,MIGUEL} and references therein.
Due to the much improved angular accuracy, the hybrid data sample is ideal for anisotropy studies.
Many ground parameters,like the shower front curvature and thickness, have always been difficult to measure experimentally,
and were usually determined from Monte Carlos simulation. The hybrid sample provides a unique opportunity in this respect.
As mentioned, the geometrical reconstruction can be done using only one ground station,thus all the remaining detectors can be
used to measure the shower characteristics. The possibility of studying the same set of air showers with two independent methods
is valuable in understanding the strengths and limitations of each technique. The hybrid analysis benefits from the calorimetry
of the fluorescence technique and the uniformity of the surface detector aperture.
\section{Results Highlights}
\subsection{Anisotropy Studies Around the Galactic Center
The galactic centre (GC) region provides an attractive target for
anisotropy studies with the Pierre Auger Observatory. On the one hand,
there have been in the past observations by the
AGASA~\cite{antoine:1} and SUGAR~\cite{antoine:2} experiments indicating an excess of cosmic rays from this region in the EeV energy range . On the other hand, since the GC harbors a very massive black hole,
it provides a natural candidate for CR accelerator to very high energies.
In this study Auger data from 1$^{st}$ January 2004 until 6$^{th}$ June 2005 was used.
Events from the surface detector that passed the 3-fold or
the 4-fold data acquisition triggers and satisfying our high level physics trigger (T4)
and our quality trigger (T5)~\cite{antoine:14} were selected.
The T5 selection is
independent of energy and ensures a better quality for the event reconstruction.
This data set has an angular resolution better than 2.2$^\circ$ for all of the 3-fold
events (regardless of the zenith angle considered) and better than 1.7$^\circ$ for all events with
multiplicities > 3 SD stations~\cite{miguel:2}. In all our analyses the zenith angle was cut at
60$^\circ$ like AGASA while SUGAR used all zenith angles.
\begin{figure}[t]
\includegraphics[width=.90\textwidth]{Figure1}
\vspace*{-0.5cm}
\caption{Lambert projections of the galactic centre region, GC (cross), galactic plane (solid line), regions of excess of AGASA and SUGAR (circles), AGASA f.o.v. limit (dashed line).
A) coverage map (same color scale as the significance maps, but in a range [0-1.0]).
B) significance map in the range [0.8-3.2]~EeV smoothed using the individual pointing resolution of the events and
a 1.5$^\circ$ filter (Auger like excess),
C) same smoothed at 3.7$^\circ$ (SUGAR like excess), D) in the range [1.0-2.5]~EeV smoothed at 13.3$^\circ$ (AGASA like excess).}
\label{fig:1}
\end{figure}
To estimate the coverage map, needed to construct excess and excess probability maps, a shuffling technique was used.
In Fig.~3A the coverage map obtained from our SD sample in a region around the GC is presented.
In Fig.~3 B,C and D we present the chance probability distributions (mapped to positive Gaussian significance for excesses and
negative for deficits) in the same region for various filtering and energy cuts corresponding to our various searches.
In these maps the chance probability distributions are consistent with those expected as a result of statistical
fluctuations from an isotropic sky.
Regarding the region where the AGASA excess was reported, the results from the Auger Observatory are $1155$ events observed,
and $1160.7$ expected (ratio 1.00$\pm$0.03) for the energy range [1.0-2.5]~EeV.
These results do not support the excess observed by AGASA, and
in particular not at a level of 22\% like the one they reported which would translate into
a 7.5$\sigma$ excess. In a worst case scenario where the source would be protons and the background much heavier (e.g. Iron), the
difference in detection efficiency of the Auger trigger at 1~EeV would reduce the sensitivity to a source excess. However,
using the Fe/proton efficiency ratio at 1~EeV ($70\%/50\%=1.44$, an upper bound in the range [1-2.5]~EeV)
a 5.2$\sigma$ event excess would still be expected in our data set.
Regarding the excess claimed by SUGAR, we find in their angular/energy window
$144$ events observed, and $150.9$ expected (ratio 0.95$\pm$0.08)
, and hence with over an order of magnitude more statistics we are not able to confirm this claim.
A search was performed for signals of a point-like source in the direction
of the GC. Using a 1.5$^\circ$ Gaussian filter corresponding to the angular resolution of the SD~\cite{miguel:2}.
In the energy range
[0.8--3.2]~EeV, we obtain $24.3$ events observed and, $23.9$ expected (ratio 1.0$\pm$0.1).
A 95\% CL upper bound on the number of events coming from a point source in that window is
$n_s(95\%)= 6.7$. This bound can be translated into a
flux upper limit ($\Phi_s$) integrated in this energy range.
In the simplest case in which the source has a spectrum
similar to the one of the overall CR spectrum (d$N/{\rm d}E\propto E^{-3}$),
$\Phi_s = n_s \Phi_{CR} 4\pi\sigma^2/n_{exp}$
where $\sigma$ is the size of the Gaussian filter used.
Using $\Phi_{CR}(E)= 1.5\ \xi (E/EeV)^{-3} \times 10^{-12}\, (\mbox{\rm EeV$^{-1}$\,m$^{-2}$\,s$^{-1}$\,sr$^{-1}$})$
where $\xi \in [1,2.5]$ denotes our uncertainty on the CR flux ($\xi$ is around unity for Auger and 2.5 for AGASA),
introducing $\varepsilon$ the Iron/proton detection efficiency ratio ($1< \varepsilon < 1.6$ for $ E \in [0.8,3.2]$~EeV) and,
integrating in that energy range we obtain :
$$
\Phi_s < 2.6\,\, \xi \,\, \varepsilon \times 10^{-15}\, \mbox{\rm m$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$} \mbox{~~~~@ 95\% CL.}
$$
In a worst case scenario, where both $\xi$ and $\varepsilon$
take their maximum value, the bound is $\Phi_s = 10.6 \times 10^{-15}\, \mbox{\rm m$^{-2}$s$^{-1}$}$, and
still excludes the neutron source scenario suggested in~\cite{antoine:1,antoine:9} to
account for the AGASA excess, or in~\cite{antoine:3,antoine:4} in connection with the HESS measurements.
More details about the GC anisotropy studies with the Auger Observatory data can be found in~\cite{ANTOINE}.
\subsection{A First Estimate of the Cosmic Ray Spectrum Above 3~EeV
The data for this analysis are from 1 Jan 2004 through 5 Jun 2005.
The event acceptance criteria and exposure calculation are described
in separate papers \cite{antoine:14,paul:6}. Events are included
for zenith angles 0-60$^{\circ}$, and results are reported for
energies above 3 EeV (3525 events). The array is fully efficient for
detecting such showers, so the acceptance at any time is the simple
geometric aperture. The cumulative exposure adds up to 1750 km$^2$ sr
yr, which is 7\% greater than the total exposure obtained by AGASA
\cite{AGASA}. The average array size during the time of this exposure
was 22\% of what will be available when the southern site of the
Observatory has been completed.
Assigning energies to the SD event set is a two-step process.
The first step is to assign an energy parameter $S_{38}$ to each
event. Then the hybrid events are used to establish
the rule for converting $S_{38}$ to energy.
The energy parameter $S_{38}$ for each shower comes from its
experimentally measured S(1000), which is the time-integrated
water Cherenkov signal S(1000) that would be measured by a tank
1000 meters from the core.
The signal S(1000) is
attenuated at large slant depths. Its dependence on zenith angle
is derived empirically by exploiting the nearly isotropic
intensity of cosmic rays. By fixing a specific intensity $I_0$
(counts per unit of $sin^2\theta$), one finds for each zenith
angle the value of S(1000) such that $I(>S(1000))=I_0$. We
calculated a particular constant intensity cut curve $CIC(\theta)$
relative to the value
at the median zenith angle ($\theta\approx 38^{\circ}$). Given
S(1000) and $\theta$ for any measured shower, the energy
parameter $S_{38}$ is defined by {\bf $S_{38}\equiv
S(1000)/CIC(\theta)$}. It may be regarded as the S(1000)
measurement the shower would have produced if it had arrived
$38^{\circ}$ from the zenith.
$S_{38}$ is well correlated with the FD energy measurements in
hybrid events that are reconstructed independently by the FD and
SD. A linear relation was fitted and gives an empirical rule for
assigning energies (in EeV) based on $S_{38}$ (in VEM):
\begin{equation}E = 0.16 \times S_{38}^{1.06} =
0.16\times [S(1000)/CIC(\theta)]^{1.06}.\end{equation}
The uncertainty in this rule is discussed below.
The distribution over $ln(E)$ produced by this two-step procedure
becomes the energy spectrum of figures~\ref{fig:paul} after dividing by the
exposure: 1750 km$^2$ sr yr. (See also
http://www.auger.org/icrc2005/spectrum.html.)
\begin{figure}[t]
\begin{minipage}[t]{0.5\linewidth}
\includegraphics*[width=1.0\textwidth]{spectrum}
\end{minipage}
\hfill
\begin{minipage}[t]{0.5\linewidth}
\includegraphics*[width=1.0\textwidth]{fraction}
\caption{\label{fig:paul} Left : Estimated spectrum. Plotted on the vertical axis is
the differential intensity $\frac{dI}{dlnE}\equiv
E\frac{dI}{dE}.$ Error bars
on points indicate statistical
uncertainty (or 95\% CL upper limit). Systematic uncertainty is indicated by double
arrows at two different energies. Right: Percentage deviation from the best-fit
power law: $100\times((dI/d(lnE)-F)/F$. The fitted function is $F =
30.9\pm 1.7\times(E/EeV)^{-1.84\pm 0.03}$. The chisquare per degree of freedom
in the fit is 2.4}
\end{minipage}
\hfill
\end{figure}
The Auger Observatory will measure the spectrum over the southern
sky accurately in coming years. The spectrum in figure~\ref{fig:paul} is only
a first estimate. It has significant systematic and statistical
uncertainties. The indicated statistical error for each point
comes directly from the Poisson uncertainty in the number of
measured showers in that logarithmic energy bin. Systematic and
statistical uncertainties in S(1000) are discussed elsewhere~\cite{paul:7}.
There is larger systematic uncertainty in the
conversion of $S_{38}$ to energy. Part of that comes from the FD
energies themselves. Laboratory measurements of the fluorescence
yield are uncertain by 15\%, and the absolute calibration of the
FD telescopes is presently uncertain by 12\%. Together with
other smaller FD uncertainties, the total systematic uncertainty
in the FD energy measurements is estimated to be 25\%.
Combining in quadrature the FD systematic
uncertainty and this correlation uncertainty, the total
systematic energy uncertainty grows from 30\% at 3 EeV to 50\% at
100 EeV. This uncertainty is indicated by horizontal double
arrows in figure~\ref{fig:paul}, and a 10\% systematic uncertainty in the
exposure is indicated by vertical arrows.
More details about this analysis can be found in~\cite{PAUL} and references therein.
The Pierre Auger Observatory is still under construction and
growing rapidly. By the next ICRC meeting, its cumulative
exposure will be approximately 7 times greater. The statistical
errors will shrink accordingly, permitting a search in the
southern skies for spectral features, including the predicted GZK
suppression. The enlarged hybrid data set will reduce systematic
uncertainty in the FD normalization of the SD energies.
Numerous laboratory experiments are attempting to reduce the
systematic uncertainty in the fluorescence yield, which will
be the dominant uncertainty in the FD normalization of the
Auger energy spectrum. The FD detector calibration uncertainty
will also be reduced.
\subsection{An Upper Limit on the Primary Photon Fraction
The photon upper limit derived
here is based on the direct observation of the longitudinal air
shower profile and makes use of the hybrid detection technique:
$X_{\rm max}$ is used as discriminant observable.
The information from triggered surface detectors in hybrid
events considerably reduces the uncertainty in shower track geometry.
\begin{figure}[t]
\noindent
\begin{minipage}[l]{.5\linewidth}
\includegraphics[width=.99\textwidth]{photon_fig1}
\end{minipage}\hfill
\begin{minipage}[c]{.5\linewidth}
\includegraphics[width=.99\textwidth]{photon_fig2}
\caption{Left :Example of $X_{\rm max}$ measured in an individual shower
of 11~EeV (point
with error bar) compared to the $X_{\rm max}$ distribution
expected for photon showers (solid line).
Also shown the $X_{\rm max}$ distribution of the data sample (dashed line;
normalization changed as indicated).
Right: Upper limits (95\% CL) on cosmic-ray photon fraction
derived in the present analysis (Auger) and
previously from AGASA (A1)~\cite{shinozaki}, (A2)~\cite{risse05}
and Haverah Park (HP)~\cite{ave} data compared to some estimates
based on non-acceleration models~\cite{models}.}
\label{fig:markus}
\end{minipage}
\end{figure}
The data are taken with a total of 12 fluorescence
telescopes~\cite{JOSE}, situated at
two different telescope sites, during the period January 2004
to April 2005. The number of deployed surface detector
stations ~\cite{XAVIER} grew
from $\sim$200 to $\sim$800 during this time.
For the analysis, hybrid events were selected, i.e.~showers observed
both by (at least one) surface tank and telescope~\cite{MIGUEL}.
Even for one triggered tank only, the additional timing constraint allows
a significantly improved geometry fit to the observed profile
which leads to a reduced uncertainty in the reconstructed $X_{\rm max}$.
The reconstruction is based on an end-to-end calibration of the
fluorescence telescopes~\cite{brack}, on monitoring data of
local atmospheric conditions~\cite{keilhauer,jose:7},
and includes an improved subtraction of Cherenkov
light~\cite{nerling}
and reconstruction of energy deposit profiles for deriving the
primary energy.
In total, 16 events with energies above $10^{19}$~eV are selected.
The total uncertainty $\Delta X_{\rm max}^{\rm tot}$ of the
reconstructed depth of shower maximum is composed of
several contributions which, in general, vary from event to event.
A conservative estimate of the current $X_{\rm max}$ uncertainties
gives $\Delta X_{\rm max}^{\rm tot}\simeq$ 40~g~cm$^{-2}$.
Among the main contributions, each one in general well below
$\Delta X_{\rm max}=$15~g~cm$^{-2}$, are
the statistical uncertainty from the profile fit,
the uncertainty in shower geometry,
the uncertainty in atmospheric conditions such as the air
density profile, and
the uncertainty in the reconstructed primary energy, which is taken
as input for the primary photon simulation.
For each event, high-statistics shower simulations are performed for
photons for the specific event conditions.
A simulation study of the detector acceptance to photons and nuclear
primaries has been conducted.
For the chosen cuts, the ratio of the acceptance to photon-induced showers
to that of nuclear primaries (proton or iron nuclei) is $\epsilon = 0.88$.
A corresponding correction is applied to the derived photon limit.
Fig.~\ref{fig:markus} shows as an example an event of 11~EeV primary energy
observed with
$X_{\rm max} = 744$~g~cm$^{-2}$, compared to the corresponding
$X_{\rm max}$ distribution expected for primary photons.
With $<$$X_{\rm max}^\gamma$$> = 1020$~g~cm$^{-2}$, photon showers are on
average expected to reach maximum at depths considerably greater than
observed.
Shower-to-shower fluctuations are large due to the LPM effect
(rms of 80~g~cm$^{-2}$) and well in excess of the measurement
uncertainty.
For all 16 events, the observed $X_{\rm max}$ is well below the average value
expected for photons.
The $X_{\rm max}$ distribution of the data is also displayed in Fig.~\ref{fig:markus}.
More details about this analysis can be found in~\cite{MARKUS}.
The statistical method for deriving an upper limit follows that
introduced in~\cite{risse05}.
For the Auger data sample, an upper limit on the
photon fraction of 26\% at a confidence level of 95\% is derived.
In Fig.~\ref{fig:markus}, this upper limit is plotted together with previous experimental
limits and some estimates based on non-acceleration models.
The presented 26\% limit confirms and improves the existing limits
above $10^{19}$~eV.
\section{Prospects}
It is important to note that the Pierre Auger Observatory is under construction and that results are preliminary.
Growing rapidly, its cumulative exposure will be approximately 7 times greater than toady within two years (mid 2007) from now.
The statistical errors on our results
will shrink accordingly, permitting a search in the southern skies for spectral features,
including the predicted GZK suppression, cosmic rays sources as well as primary identification.
It is already clear that the
combination of fluorescence and ground array measurements provides reconstruction of the geometry of the
shower with much greater accuracy than is achieved with either detector system on its own. Unprecedented
core location and direction precision leads to excellent energy and shower development measurements.
The enlarged hybrid data set will also reduce systematic uncertainty in the FD normalization of the SD energies.
\bibliographystyle{aipproc}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 7,818 |
Q: How to select multiple image/video in android project? I am creating app in which I want to choose multiple photo and video from photo/video library of device, to upload.
But using native sdk picker we can choose one by one.
Is there any library by which we can make pickerview multiple selection by putting checkbox or something.
Please help
A: There is no official picker yet which supports all versions of Android.
Official Image picker:
See ALLOW_MULTIPLE option (API Level >=18)
http://developer.android.com/reference/android/content/Intent.html#ACTION_GET_CONTENT
Third party libraries:
See this question:
select multiple images in Android Gallery
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 2,664 |
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Description: Naperville, IL : Sourcebooks Fire, [2019] | Summary: Told from two viewpoints, Atlanta high school seniors Lena and Campbell, one black, one white, must rely on each other to survive after a football rivalry escalates into a riot.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019008892 | (hardcover : alk. paper)
Subjects: | CYAC: Race relations--Fiction. | Riots--Fiction. | African Americans--Fiction. | Atlanta (Ga.)--Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S3386 Im 2019 | DDC [Fic]--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019008892
# Contents
Front Cover
Author Letter
Title Page
Copyright
Part I: Mass Disturbance
Part II: All Call
Part III: The First Brick
Part IV: Fatal Funnel
Part V: Aftermath
Discussion Guide
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Back Cover
For Drake.
—K. J.
For Kate, who knows why.
—G. S.
"We didn't understand that the riots had begun..."
—Bart Bartholomew, New York Times photographer and only professional journalist in South Central Los Angeles when rioting broke out following the Rodney King verdict
# Part I
Mass Disturbance
# 1
Lena
McPherson High School
"Waiting for Black is on your agenda, not mine," LaShunda barks as we leave the building.
I ain't think she was gonna wait, no way, that ain't what I was anticipating. I know she's got responsibilities at home, but she knows I hate sitting out here by myself. If you ask me, this is really about her hating on Black. As usual.
"It don't cost you nothin' to walk away," I snap back.
LaShunda cackles. "Can your grandfather stop speaking through your body?"
"I don't know what you talkin' about." I flip my hair over my shoulder, but she got me laughing like she always does. "Pops got all the best sayings."
She shakes her head and then looks down at my feet. "Anyway, I see you got them."
A big smile takes over my face. LaShunda never misses anything I do. She knows me, like, really knows me, and she knew that statement would perk up both our moods.
"They cute, right?"
"Lady, you know they better than cute—they are fire, best friend. If I thought I could cram my size tens into them, I'd be trying to borrow them ASAP," LaShunda says.
"I saw some size tens in a different style as cute as these. Let me turn a few more checks, and I'm going to hook you up."
"Go, best friend. That's my best friend," she sings, and we both laugh. Her granny, Miss Ann, house is really her house. Miss Ann works two jobs and drives for Uber. LaShunda does all the laundry, cooking, and watching of her three bad, little cousins. Even though she works real hard, she's not able to have an after-school job or anything. That's why I love splurging on a pair of fly shoes for her when I can. I like being that person in her life who gives her the little extras. "So are we going to this game-slash-fund-raiser-slash-turnup-slash-piped-up lituation?"
"Yes, ma'am, you know if we don't see the Dolls dance at halftime, they will kill us."
"You ain't never lied." LaShunda winks. "NaNa, let me get out of here before Gram kills me."
"Okay, but don't flake tonight."
Anyway, it's okay she has to go. Some days you just want to be alone with your man, and for me, this is one of those days. I've been missing him. He's been grinding so hard lately that we never get to see each other. He always smells good enough to eat. He puts aftershave right on his neck too, because he knows I like to rest my head on his shoulder and just breathe him in. Ooh, that man does something to me. He makes my head spin. I'm so caught up thinking about his fine self that I don't notice LaShunda walking away until she yells back at me.
"Love you later."
"Love you later," I shout. She hates goodbye. That's the last thing her mom said to her before she passed away from a heroin overdose. She's never said the word goodbye to anyone since.
I think about texting Black but that will only aggravate him. I know he's coming, and he always says what's understood doesn't need to be said. Not a minute later, he pulls up, bumping the new Kelechi album loud as he can. He has such amazing taste in music. He can't stand trap music and only listens to real emcees who don't do all that cursing and hating on women.
"Did somebody request an Uber?" He smiles, leaning toward the passenger window.
"I did. I hit the button for cute, so I wasn't expecting fine. Is it the same fee?"
"Uber Black is usually a little more, but I lower the rate when the rider is fine too."
We both laugh, and I get in. I lean over to hug him, and he smells as good as I expected. I almost don't want to let go. I lift my face for him to kiss me and melt into him. His soft lips press against mine, and it feels like sun rays warming my skin.
I gently pull away. "I need to go home and get myself together to be cute at the football game tonight."
"The game?" He starts the car and pulls out. "Since when is that something you do?"
"My girls doing the halftime, and I'm a good friend, jerk." I push his shoulder playfully. "But you know, I don't plan on staying longer than their show. So I'll have some free time left before curfew."
"Okay, well, Imma see how I'm movin' tonight, and you know, I'll let you know what I'm doing."
"So, that's a no?" I say, feeling my mouth twist up.
"I didn't say no."
"You didn't have to," I say. "I guess we'll see, won't we?" We pull up a few doors from my house, and I let him kiss me goodbye. "Bye, Black."
"Later, beautiful."
I roll my eyes as I get out of the car. I walk in my house and head to the kitchen for a snack.
"What you doing?" Pops asks, not looking up from the sink as he washes the plates. I have no idea why my grandfather won't use the dishwasher. I refuse to hand-wash dishes, my nails too delicious to be ruined by Palmolive.
"Just making a snack before I get ready for the game." I sigh. Black usually leaves me in the most amazing mood, except for when he plays like he Hansel, leaving me crumbs.
"What's got you down in the mouth?"
"Pops, you ain't even looked at me."
"Don't need to. I can hear it. I reckon it's 'cuz of that little knucklehead you just got out the car with."
"Pops, I didn't—"
He interrupts, "Go to lying and the only game you gon' see tonight is Wheel of Fortune on the Game Show Network. If you had a nice boy, there would never be a need to lie."
No, if you gave him a chance, I'd have no need to lie. If I said that out loud, he'd pop me in the mouth. "Am I excused?"
"Go on, little liar on the prairie."
I don't care what Pops says as long as he don't say I can't go to the game. Imma try to hook up with Black later. I think tonight can end better than we just left it in the car.
# 2
Campbell
McPherson High School
Football Field
My dad's truck rumbles into the school parking lot at the same time as the bus carrying the opposing team. We squeeze into a space at the very end of a row.
"It's good you're doing this, Campbell," Dad says, as the bus empties and a long line of beefy football guys in tracksuits lumber out.
Is it? I stay in my seat, remain buckled. I wonder why he thinks it matters if I work the concession stand for one game at this school. I'll only be here a year—my senior year. Where does he think this one night is going to lead?
While the players head through a gate in the chain-link fence toward the locker rooms, another bus pulls up and hems us in. This one lets out a load of cheerleaders, a dance team, and some boosters. The Panthers and their entourage fill the parking lot. According to what our principal said on the morning announcements, Jonesville is McPherson's biggest rival, ranked one beneath us in the standings. Or something. I guess they would bus in a big crowd for such an important game.
The only people around seem to be Jonesville fans. You'd think McPherson fans would've shown up by now to cheer on the home team at the most important game of the season. Then again, the principal made a big deal about expecting extra security and demanding we all be on our best behavior tonight, so I'm guessing the rivalry gets intense. Maybe it's better if the Jonesville superfans are settled on the visitor side of the stadium before the home crowd shows.
I look around for people I might know, then realize that's ridiculous. I don't know anybody here.
The human throng before us parts, allowing a tall woman with waist-length braids to make her way through. She struggles to push a dolly in front of her with one hand and drag a battered, red wagon behind her with the other. Both are heaped with cardboard boxes.
"That's Ms. Marino," I say. She coaches the dance team, teaches my English class, and invited me to work the concession stand tonight. I unbuckle my seat belt and hop out of the car to help her. To my surprise, my dad jumps out too.
"Campbell!" she exclaims. "So glad you decided to come."
I can't think why I did. Ms. Marino explained that this year, the proceeds from concession stand sales will be used to fund renovations to upgrade the rest of the athletic facilities so they'll be as nice as the fancy new football field. The only catch is, the teams have to man the stand. Of course, as the athletes are too busy during games to work the booth, they've been asking for volunteers. I didn't raise my hand when Ms. Marino asked, believe me. No one did, even though she practically begged for help every single day this week. The entire class dodged her. The awkward silences that followed her more and more desperate requests made me squirm. That's probably why, when she caught me as the bell rang this morning and asked if I'd ever run concessions before, the word yes came out faster than an excuse.
My dad takes the dolly, I hoist a couple of boxes off the top of the wagon, and we follow her toward the main gate. She leads us past two dance team members raising a glittery SUPPORT FIELD RENOVATIONS banner up to the top of the fence.
"Good job, girls," she calls. "Finish hanging that, and I'll meet you in the locker room in ten minutes for warm-ups."
The familiar ring of a coach giving orders makes me flinch. Words like those reverberated through my nights and weekends once. Back when I used to be on a team. I look quickly away from the girls and their mascot-logo warm-up suits, and scurry after my dad and Ms. Marino.
The huge concrete stadium looms above us, casting a shadow over the concession stand, which is a relief. There's a good couple of hours of daylight left, and this wooden booth will be enough of a sauna without sitting in the middle of a sunbeam. The shade is the only thing to get excited about. Otherwise, the concession stand is a disaster—a rickety box built of plywood and two-by-fours, with big windows on one side covered by a rolling metal security grill, and below them, a lip of wood that juts out and is probably supposed to be the service counter. Ms. Marino dials the combination of a padlock hooked onto a hasp near the top of the door, slides it off, then yanks the door open, the knob wobbling loosely in her hands. With her, my dad, me, and the dolly, the booth is crowded to capacity. A third of the boxes and the wagon are still outside.
How is this going to work?
I don't point that out, though. I just help ferry the boxes.
My dad stays long enough to help cram all the supplies into the concession stand. "Okay," he says, when the last of the packages have been shoved into cabinets. "I'll see you after the game, Campbell. Pick you up right outside the gate."
"You know," Ms. Marino says. "The dance team always celebrates at Mr. Souvlaki's after home games. I think, after working the booth for us tonight, you've earned honorary team member status. You should come with us."
I'm stunned. "I don't really know any of the girls."
She smiles gently. "This is how you get to know them."
"Mr. Souvlaki's?" Dad's frown lines cut deep into his face as he considers this invite. "That Greek place up on Woodland Street?"
"Yes," Ms. Marino says. "Pizza's perfect, Cokes are cold, and they're both cheap! And I'll be there, as will both of our team moms. Plenty of adult supervision, if that's what you're worried about."
"Campbell, I was planning on heading up to the cabin right after the game. I'm not thrilled about getting up there that late," says Dad. He sets a hand on my shoulder, like his trip is breaking news to me. Like I'm disappointed and need comforting.
"You're going out of town?" Ms. Marino asks, deflating.
"Just him. But he's my ride home, so." I feel a strange mix of regret and relief churning around in my stomach. "Maybe another time."
"Oh," she says, her smile back and beaming. "That's no problem. I can drive you home after dinner."
What? No, no, no. As if being the new girl isn't pathetic enough. Now Ms. Marino is my ride?
Dad says slowly, "That could work. If I leave now, I'll reach the cabin before it gets too dark."
I protest, but in vain. My teacher and my father lock down my Friday night plans, he happily heads off to his fishing cabin, and before I even make sense of how it happened, I'm escorting Ms. Marino as she goes to get more supplies. We head toward her portable classroom, which is housed in a big square trailer on cinder blocks between the main building and the football field. The portables were probably meant to be temporary, housing overflow classes until the district could add on to the building, but as far as I can tell, they look like they've been there for about thirty years. Ms. Marino chatters on about wanting to have the best sales records tonight of any other team that's taken a turn running concessions, telling me the rules of running the booth. They're nothing new—take this seriously, give accurate cash back, blah blah—but everything else here is. Her words wash over me as I wipe the sweat from my forehead and let my mind wander to what might be happening back home in Haverford. Which I shouldn't think of as home anymore, since I probably won't ever live there again.
"This fund-raiser," Ms. Marino says. "It's partly about raising money to renovate the concession stand. It's such a disgrace compared to the new stadium. All kinds of donations welcome—construction supplies, for example."
Ah, there's the ulterior motive that isn't related to my popularity status. She knows my dad owns Carlson's Hardware down in the commercial district on Seventh Avenue. She can't have ever been in the place, though, if she's hoping he's got anything extra to donate. I smile blankly back at her, pretending not to get the hint.
She doesn't seem to take it personally. She shrugs and hands me a small, metal lockbox, preloaded with quarters and singles, and the key to the room. "Here you go. Since your fellow salespeople haven't shown yet, you go ahead and take this down to the stand. You're in charge of it. I'll send them along soon. Meet me back here after the game so we can go to Mr. Souvlaki's! Wait inside, though. Don't stay out there with the cash box."
An hour and a half later, I'm still sweating my butt off inside the concession stand. It's not quite halftime yet in what has to be the longest game ever recorded. There have been so many penalties and stoppages in play I've lost count.
Ms. Marino came by a few minutes ago, took one look at the inside of this stand, and blew her top. "Y'all," she said, her voice snapping like a brittle twig. "You been having a food fight up in here? Get this place cleaned up. Now. I'll be back in the second half, and it better be as clean as the Board of Health."
"I'm gonna get supplies." Keisha swings her purse over her shoulder and heads for the concession stand door. "You stay here, New Girl, and start cleaning up."
"It's Campbell," I say. I told her that earlier, but she doesn't remember. Or maybe doesn't want to remember.
"Uh-huh, New Girl."
These are the first and only words Keisha has said to me all night.
That leaves me and Caleb in the booth, and he's no help. He only looks up from his phone to talk to a parade of friends, who, for some reason, keep stopping by the door, instead of the customer service window.
"Hey, dude," Caleb says, hopping down from the counter as another of his friends sticks his head in the door.
So here I am, the new girl, basically alone, cleaning up a catastrophic mess by myself.
People leaving me behind is quite the trend lately.
Somewhere overhead, people start cheering, and the band strikes up a song totally unlike the marching songs played at my old school. No John Philip Sousa here. Everything the McPherson band has played so far tonight could be on the radio. It's kind of awesome, and I wish I could be in the bleachers to watch, but I'm not supposed to leave the stand.
I glance from the pile of napkins scattered across the floor to the massive, old-fashioned soda fountain that's been jammed up and working erratically most of the night.
"What am I doing here?" I mutter.
None of the answers that pop into my head seem like good ones anymore. Yes, I worked concessions at Haverford, before my mom chased a job to Venezuela and dumped me with my dad for my last year of school. Yes, the idea of working concessions and going out with friends afterward was the first thing that felt familiar since I moved to Atlanta. I imagine, for a second, an alternate universe Friday night in a similar booth with bright lights shining on the carefully tended turf of a football field. But those are the only similarities. All the rest of McPherson is so far away and so different, it might as well be another planet. In Haverford, October is already chilly. I'd be wearing my varsity track jacket, and I wouldn't be afraid to sneak out to watch the game. I'd be counting cash into a real cash register, instead of a metal lockbox, with people who were actually my friends. Almost half my track team, including my best friends, Lindsey and Megan, had been going directly from track practice to football games since freshman year. I'd be Instagramming pics of the architectural wonders we always built from candy bars when the game was boring.
I swing the door to the soda machine shut and think for a second about constructing a candy bar Golden Gate Bridge to post. There are enough Snickers bars to do it, but there's no one I could ask for help. Caleb's friend is gone, but Caleb has returned to sitting on the back counter, face glued to his phone. Anyway, I wouldn't want people in Haverford seeing this place in the background. Cellophane trails down the counter like enormous, shiny spiderwebs. Trash litters the ground, including an entire stack of popcorn cups Caleb knocked over. They lay half crushed and blackened beneath our feet. A disgusting work of red-and-yellow abstract art, done in generic condiments, smears the customer counter. Ugh.
"Hey, Caleb. Do you think you could—"
Three knocks on the side of the concession stand.
"Hold that thought, dude," Caleb says. He jumps down from his perch and wrenches open the door, slapping hands with the guy on the other side.
I hold my breath for a second, trying to control the impulse to roll my eyes. And then, I bend down and start cleaning up. Not that I really want to. I don't want to be here at all anymore, but I can't leave. Anyway, my dad already left town for the weekend. There's no one waiting for me, even if I did take off.
Caleb hauls himself back onto the cabinet and pulls his phone into its usual position: in front of his face. His thumb scrolls and his eyes follow. Totally absorbed. I wish I had a snarky comment that would get him off his butt to help, but as usual, my mind's blank. I can only ever think of good retorts when it's way too late. Besides, I'm a little nervous to take a dig. I'm not sure how people here would react, and I am not about to risk starting trouble.
With a sigh, I start picking up dirty napkins and tossing them into a trash bag, keeping one eye on the kids outside the window. There's a few people hanging around, and I don't recognize a single one of them.
Except wait. There's Lena James. I know her—sort of. We have a class together, though she's never spoken to me. I recognize her friend too, the one Lena's always hanging out with. I can't remember her name. They're laughing as they wander over. Lena gives her friend a shoulder-shove, the girl shoves back, and then Lena swats at her with a Louis Vuitton purse. I look closer and see the leather is a little worn and the bottom is scuffed up, but I'm pretty sure that bag is not a fake. Wow. I wonder where she got a real LV.
Lena's forehead is beaded with sweat, and her makeup has started to cake. Surprising, since she usually catwalks the halls looking like she stepped out of a music video. Her long, wavy hair flows over her shoulders, and I wonder how she can stand the heat. Maybe she's compensating with her shorts, which are so short they've got to be a dress code violation.
I catch her friend eyeing me and realize I'm staring like a creeper. Whoops. I drop behind the counter, hiding from the girl's gaze.
# 3
Lena
McPherson High School
Football Field
The Dancing Dolls finish their routine, and everybody is going wild. My girl Aaliyah is the captain, and she was out front, crushing it. Next to me, LaShunda is Milly Rocking. I wave at Aaliyah from my seat as they're leaving the stadium. Then I grab LaShunda's elbow and pull her up.
"Come on, let's go before everybody else does."
"I still wanna see the band," she says. "They got one more song."
"You seen that tired-ass band before."
"You a hater," Shun says, but she follows me anyway.
Once we get done stepping over people and get to the bottom, a bass thumping hip-hop song makes just enough noise to be heard over the roar of the football stadium. The sound creeps through the leather of my favorite Louis purse—the one I searched for months to find—that special ringtone alerting me Black is calling.
He got his nickname from his family because his skin is darker than anyone else, but also because he was so dark and calm like a lake. The calm got lost when he got older, but he kept the name. If he was a girl, that rich sable tint would've gotten him made fun of, and for sure no one would have been checkin' for him to be a bae or boo. But being a dude, it made him a lady's man.
"Hey," I say, making it sound like I don't care at all that he called. I don't want him to think my world revolves around him. I mean, it does a little, but he don't need to know that.
"Hey," he says back, without the softness every girl wants to hear from her boyfriend—that tone in a guy's voice he uses only for you.
"Whatchu doin?" I ask, trying to draw him, like I usually can.
"Hangin' out."
"Who with?"
"You not still yellin' 'bout Tamika? She ain't even here." He definitely ain't sounding soft and sweet now.
That groupie who was all over him at the studio last weekend still causing trouble. He mad I said somethin'. But what was I supposed to do, let it go? Uh-uh. Anyway, that was days ago.
"I'm not."
The quiet is not good.
"What you doing later, shawty?" he asks, sounding like it's inconvenient to ask me.
"Tryna see you," I say with a hint of humor. I don't want to come off as thirsty. Everybody in our neighborhood recognizes Black, his box Chevy with the custom candy-purple paint, and his J's. I been wanting him, and now I got him and I plan to keep him, although it's work. Like keeping his age a secret at home. He's twenty. Pops don't know that. If he found out, I'd never leave the house again.
I wait to see what Black says, hoping he wants to see me too. I already miss the way he smells and the way he wraps his arms around me when he kisses me. I know I saw him earlier, but it was only a few minutes. I'm not trippin' though. He's been busy in the studio. His beats is fire. He's not gonna be a bum like the rest of these clowns who think they can rap. He says he'll do whatever to get rich. I believe him too.
I sigh a little when he teases back, "Aw, I feel special."
It's all right now. He ain't mad no more, and I can breathe easy. By the time we hang up, he's agreed to pick me up after the game. He's gonna get a new tattoo to celebrate almost finishing the new album, and I'm gonna hang with him and his boys while he gets inked. I hang up and can't stop smiling. LaShunda hits me on the shoulder and knocks me out of the trance I've been in since I heard his ringtone.
"Girrrrrrl," LaShunda almost sings. "That must have been Black's annoying behind."
"Yup, so I don't need a ride home from you, friend."
We both laugh. I hope one day LaShunda finds a bae. I don't like candy, but I don't need it, because LaShunda is my sugar. She takes care of everybody from her baby cousins to me and anybody else who needs her. She thinks nothing of it. I see how amazing she is, but she doesn't.
I look over at her. "You comin' with me to meet him?"
LaShunda hesitates for a second. "Nah, I won't wanna hang around with them."
"Come on. A girl is only as cute as the cute chicks around her, and I need you to bring me up a few notches."
LaShunda shakes her head, like she don't think that's true at all. But of course, she jokes back. "Don't use me for my beauty. I have a brain."
"It ain't your brain I'm into," I say, and we both laugh, because most of the time, LaShunda is all about the brain. "Hey, remember that one time Black and his boys wanted to go to Stone Mountain, and we got on the kayaks, and the paddles got stuck, and you told 'em they had to row us back with their shoes?" I'm laughing so hard thinking about it. "Big Baby actually did it!"
"Yeah, okay. That was fun," LaShunda says. I can tell she likes that memory as much as I do, and she wants to make me happy. She's smiling, but she's shaking her head. "I'm not comin' tonight, NaNa."
"Why? You do have fun with them. Come with me, and let's count how many times Wink flashes you that smile of his."
"He need to stop doin' that."
I grin, because I think Wink likes her a little bit and she kinda likes him too. "Don't front. You like that chocolate morsel."
"He a'ight."
"That smile is moonlight!"
"You mean sunshine. No girl wants that smile comin' at her at night," she says, nudging my shoulder and smiling for a second before her face gets serious again. "No. Uh-uh. Other than Wink, Black's friends are hella rude to me. You should say somethin' to your man when they talk to me like that."
Ugh. She right, and it ain't the first time she said it to me. I don't normally allow people to talk to me like that, but LaShunda's been my best friend since we was too small to know what best friends is. And she has a way of thinking that makes sense. She's always worth listening to. Black's friends might not treat her real kind, and Pops would comment on what that says about them if he knew. But I can't admit that to her.
I glance away and cross my arms. "Black just thinks you should have that kinda conversation in private, Shun. He don't want me frontin' on him with his boys."
"Well, as long as you ain't saying somethin', I ain't gonna come hang around his friends. You and me can find some other time to chill."
That hurts my feelings a little, but I would never say that out loud. Even to LaShunda. Anyway, I want to see my bae. That's what's keeping me going. Most people don't understand why I'm so pressed to spend time with Black. Everything about our relationship seems wrong on the outside, but it's our quiet moments alone that count.
"You should be glad I found someone that makes me feel beautiful," I say. "He tells me stories he don't talk about with anyone else. I know his dreams. Believe me when I tell you, ain't no one else get that out of him. He don't make a move without talking to me."
"Girl, Black do what he want," LaShunda says. "Anyway, that's what you offer him. What does he offer you?"
I roll my eyes. She thinks she has him figured out, but what she sees on the surface ain't what's really going on, and I don't gotta prove nothing to her.
"He's the one who noticed how good my style was. He's always telling me he's gonna put me to work being a stylist for him when he blows up." And he's right too. You give me fifty bucks and two hours at LaRue's consignment shop, and I'll have anyone looking red-carpet ready but unique. "When I told him about that cosmetology school me and Pops went to check out for me to maybe go to next year, he thought that was cool but said I could for sure do more. That's why I found the Art Institute. I've got a lot of style and a lot of opinion, and I need to put it to work."
"Well, he right about that."
I give her a little shove. "His boys call me the pretty bandit. I'm the first one to steal his heart."
"I think he did the stealing."
I grin. "I mean, I love him so much."
But LaShunda in serious mode. Unlike Black, I can never talk her out of being real when she in that mindset. "I don't know, Lena. Don't seem like he's there for you."
"He can be a little distant—"
"A little distant? Or are you a little clingy?"
"Excuse me, Lena James clings to no one."
"Me, Black, none of us can keep up with your demands."
I hate when she claps back at me like this. Especially saying that. She knew saying that would sting because a few times Black has stated it's hard for him to keep up with the schedule I request of him. I mean, I understand him. When he gets caught up at the studio, he in the creative zone. I get that. It's a little embarrassing, though, when LaShunda agrees with him.
"Just saying sometimes even I feel sorry for the boy. You're a lot," LaShunda says.
I glare at her. I don't like that response, and I don't like her making me sound like a thirst bot. "You are my friend. My friend, my side."
LaShunda lets out a long sigh. "I stand on the side of truth, and the truth is, you can be a gnat."
"Rude." I'm kinda surprised to see LaShunda being all Team Black. That part is not so bad, but I'm annoyed by all of it, so I need to get out of this conversation. The concession stand is right nearby. "I need a Coke."
"Whatever, NaNa." LaShunda flicks her hand and heads toward the stands.
I'm fine she walked off, though. Tomorrow we'll be laughing on the phone again.
The concession stand ain't exactly a 7-Eleven, but at least there's fountain Cokes. Except tonight, I damn near have to crawl over the nasty-ass counter to get the attention of the chick hanging out back there. She all crouched down for some reason.
"What you doin' down there?" I ask, staring at her.
When she finally looks up, she has the nerve to ask the dude, who clearly doesn't plan on working, to help her. I don't give a damn who gets my Coke, somebody just needs to get it.
"Coke," I say again.
Her ass is still moving slow!
"And don't take all night neither."
She finally gives me my drink, and I feel kinda bad for throwing my dollar at her and watching it fall in a bunch of ketchup. When I'm at work, people always rushing us to get their orders, and the owner, Dollie, is always sending me to calm people down. She don't like no kinda arguments, but she know I'm a boss and people love me. But even though I understand, this Coke is still nasty as hell.
"Ugh!" I slam the cup down on the counter. "What did you do to that?"
"Sorry," she says. "The machine isn't—here, let me get you another."
"No, gimme my dollar back. I don't want that nasty sh—"
That loud horn goes off, and I can't hear what ol' girl is talkin' about. It's a whole bunch of noise after that. People leaving the bleachers, cheering, all that. The band must be done.
# 4
Campbell
McPherson High School
Football Field
"I'm sorry," I say, fumbling with Lena's condiment-streaked dollar. Her nostrils flare as she grabs the soggy bill with the tips of her manicured fingers. "I'm really sorry."
Kids descend from the stands in a stampede. The crowd is full of McPherson kids wearing school colors—black and gold—though not the official school gear sold by student council. They're in regular clothes, black T-shirts, bright yellow hats, and sneakers. That's familiar enough. In Haverford, people also wanted to be their own brand of school cool. The adults around all seem like they're connected with kids on the team, mostly moms decked out in PTO team booster gear and shirts with players' pictures screen-printed on the front and numbers on the back.
Outside the booth, a line of sweaty, cranky people forms. Keisha hasn't come back, not that I really expected her to. That leaves me and Caleb behind the counter, but he remains bent over his phone, ignoring me and the crowd. They've started yelling at us. At me.
Lena James is standing there, in front of the window, like she doesn't notice the crowd behind her. Like everybody can just wait their turn.
Nobody wants to wait tonight.
The line dissolves into a horde, as people press forward, calling orders, shouting over one another. I can't tell who's asking for what, or keep track of how much someone's order costs. No one will hand over their cash before I put the food in their hands, and I'm mixing it all up.
"Caleb, could you get the sodas?"
He doesn't respond.
I miss the system I had with Lindsey, Megan, and Rachael. We worked the concession shift together with as much precision as we ran the four-by-four. Handing off a hot dog and Coke combo isn't much different from handing off a baton. Lindsey took payment, Megan got hot dogs, I handled candy, Rachael was on drinks. We had bottles on ice in giant coolers, which was simpler than dealing with paper cups and a soda fountain. Everything was easier.
A girl calls me a nasty name after I tell her we're out of M&M's. I blame Caleb for that. He's been stealing and eating them all night. And definitely not putting any money in the cash box, despite the fat wad of dollar bills sticking out of his pocket.
It's got to be 110 degrees in here. I'm afraid someone is going to hit me. People in line seem so angry. Furious. I know I'm taking a long time, but what am I supposed to do? It's only me in here.
"Ew, gross," a girl shouts, when I try to hand her a hot dog. "You're sweating all over my food."
I blush, realizing I forgot one of those white paper sheaths before grabbing the dog. I try to apologize, but she flings the thing onto the counter, and shouts, "I'm not paying for that!"
I don't think we're going to be setting that sales record Ms. Marino was hoping for.
I sneak a quick glimpse at Lena, wondering what the queen bee thinks of the new girl. Huh. She's not sneering at me. In fact, she's holding her Coke cup in one hand and the dollar I returned to her in the other, and she looks mad, but she's looking away from me, staring down the girl shouting at me.
"Calm down," Lena snaps. "Whatchu want her to do? She might as well be back there all by herself. White boy ain't much help. You don't need that extra hot dog, anyhow; you can afford to miss a meal."
I blink. I can't believe she stood up for me. I can't believe she said that either! I'd never have the guts to burn someone like that, but I want to. I offer Lena a small smile as thanks, but she rolls her eyes and turns her face down to the screen of her phone.
The more people crowd around, the worse the heat gets. Foreheads drip. Baseball caps get repurposed as fans, which don't do much beyond move warm air around. Voices grow loud, full of irritation and complaints. Mixing in with the black and gold of the McPherson crowd, there is a fair amount of Jonesville maroon and white. They wear official spirit gear—jerseys and T-shirts with huge snarling panther logos. The girls have pasted temporary tattoos of the mascot onto their cheeks.
I can't stop watching them. They remind me of my old school. My old friends. A lot. Maybe too much. A prickle begins high up in my nose, the warning sign that tears are gathering.
"Hey, you! What's wrong with you?"
A hand flies in front of my eyes, and I flinch. My cheeks get warm, and I hurriedly sniffle back the tear prickles. I've been standing there, staring. God, this is the wrong time to get all upset about missing home. Humiliated, I lumber back into action. Pass hot dog, take dollar bill. The line of people swells like a wave, pressing closer.
"You gonna move up?"
There's a guy, maybe three or four back in line, getting restless. He's tall enough that I think he must be a senior, and he's got blond hair and a Jonesville soccer polo shirt. In front of him, a group of kids is goofing around. I can't tell which of them is in line, maybe all of them are, but they're all bunched up, pushing and shoving each other, paying no attention. They've kind of stalled the line.
"Come on," the Panthers fan yells, flinging up his hands. "Move already, boy!"
Oh, damn. I freeze. The guy in front of him is African American.
He stops and glances over his shoulder, looking for the source of the comment, and spots the Panthers fan. The noise in the immediate vicinity of the stand hushes a bit. The African American kid turns slowly. "What'd you say to me?"
The blond boy looks to his group of friends, all of whom have stopped messing around to focus on what's happening, and the Jonesville kid puffs up. "You heard me, monkey. I told you to move."
Oh. My. God. What a dick. That's so wrong—
A fist arcs through the air, thrown as fast as a blur, followed by the crack of knuckles into a jaw. I suck in air so hard and so fast, it hurts.
Not good. Not good. Not good.
A shout raises, and then more. The boys clash, chests bumping together, arms swinging. A boy stumbles, and his knees hit the ground. Fists batter downward, pummeling his head, his shoulders. His mouth opens in a cry I can't hear. The shouting has swelled again. Bodies tumble over and around the boy on his knees, and he's lost behind a forest of kicking legs.
I link my hands, crushing my fingers together. My breath comes too fast, making me pant like I've finished a sprint, though I haven't moved a step. I've never seen a fight up close. Every time a scuffle broke out in the halls at my old school, a teacher showed up in under two minutes to break it up.
No one steps in to stop this.
"Dude." Caleb has finally looked up from his phone.
A cup flies past, soda arcing through the air and splattering everyone.
"Aw, what the—"
"This is a new purse!"
And then things...detonate. One flying fist becomes twenty, fifty. Two bodies crashing into each other become dozens. Yells rocket into shouts.
Caleb comes to stand beside me. "This is intense."
Intense? Intense? This is way more than that. People push, shove, swing. Yell horrible insults I don't want to hear. Throw cups of soda, poster boards, pom-poms. A fan flag goes flying through the air and hits a woman in the side of the head. The crowd morphs into a huge, seething mass.
"We should do something," I say.
"Like what?"
"I don't know." How am I supposed to know what to do in a fight like this? Maybe there's someone I could signal. An adult who'd break up the fight. All the older faces I see are involved in the pushing and shoving. "Call for help, maybe?"
Caleb rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot."
He lifts his phone, and for a second I think, despite the name-calling, he's going to call 911. But he flips his phone horizontally and starts filming. Probably going live on Instagram, so he doesn't waste his front row seat to the show. What a jerk. Not a second later, the door behind us flies open. I whirl. Lena James, a dark stain seeping down the front of her cute outfit, bursts inside.
"You're not supposed to be back here," I blurt. Ms. Marino told us, clear as crystal. No friends in the booth.
Lena looks at me as if I've grown another head. My cheeks burn.
"Shut up, Becky," she says. "You don't see what's going on out there? Look what them fools did to my shirt!" She grabs a handful of napkins and swipes them across the stain. "There wasn't another one like it at LaRue's. I cannot show up to meet Black looking like this!"
I glance at Caleb. He's riveted by the fight, arcing his phone to film the chaos in panoramic glory. He couldn't care less that Lena's in here, that we're breaking the rules. Why do I?
Loud, older voices, sharp and authoritative, ring over the shouting.
"What's going on over here?"
"Break this up!"
To the right of the concession stand, two cops push their way through the melee. At the sight of the officers, my clenched muscles go loose with relief.
"Cops!" I say. "It's gonna be okay."
"Oh, now shit's about to get real," Lena says at the exact same time.
I turn my head, her eyes meet mine, and we stare at each other.
# 5
Lena
McPherson High School
Football Field
"Oh, clearly you don't know how this could go," I say as I roll my eyes.
Becky wrinkles her freckly nose. "And you do?"
This fool. I shake my head. "Don't you see those po po out there?"
This could go left, fast. And my damn shirt is ruined! I try to clean it up, but no luck. I'm so mad. Man, this sucks.
Some kids from the Panthers are holding down this big dude from my school, and he's trying to pull their hands off of him by peeling back their fingers. A couple rough girls are screaming at this chick from Jonesville, who doesn't seem to be that afraid of them. And there it is. A real brawl.
"Man," I say. "We already ain't feelin' these racist Jonesville kids after that offensive-ass Halloween party incident, and now they have the nerve to come here, acting up?"
"Incident?" Becky asks.
White boy jumps in with the explanation. "When the football players dressed up in blackface?"
"Oh," she says, sounding real unsure. "Yeah, I heard about that."
Dude's still got his phone up filming, like he some kinda Ava DuVernay. "Who thinks that's okay anymore?"
"Anymore?" I say, staring. "Like it ever was okay?"
At least, he has the grace to blush a little. "You know what I mean."
"Unfortunately, I do," I say.
Outside the booth, I can't tell anymore what's happening, but sweat's flying, pieces of weave are hitting the ground, there's bloody knuckles, yelling, and cursing. Once it gets to this point, you better either get in the fight and go for what you know or get the hell on.
I'm about to get the hell on.
On my way into the concession stand, this one girl was swinging her purse so hard at the girl she was fighting, she hit me in the head. She didn't even look up. On a normal day, I probably would have swung on her, but I do not have time for that today. I ain't hurt, so I don't care enough to do nothin'. I don't want to be part of this.
And there's Becky's useless behind, standing around looking like a garden gnome. This fool's first comment was that I'm not supposed to be here. I can't believe that's what she thinking about. I was tempted to bring the fight to this concession stand and give her a WorldStar beatdown for opening up her mouth to say some crap like that. But my mission is to lay low 'til everything dies down enough for me to run.
She's looking at the chaos. "What is going on?"
"Girl," I say. "They fightin'!"
I almost can't hear myself over the roar of the crowd. My ears hurt, it's so loud. I look over, and Becky's hands are halfway to her head, but then I think she realize how she would look, so she drops them to her sides.
The school resource officers step into the middle of the crowd. My eyes follow they dark uniforms, chests bulky with bulletproof vests, and I wait for their presence to bring more drama. I bet Becky is waiting for the people around them to settle down. That's because she ain't never been here when stuff pops off. She probably used to seeing how they treat white folks at concerts. This ain't that.
Officer Kersey slides in between two guys squaring off, a hand to each of their chests. He pushes them apart, hard, and sends the boys stumbling backward into other kids. Body-sized dominoes crashing into each other. All of a sudden, I peep this kid from my science class, Gabriel, trying to dump an extra-large Coke on a Jonesville kid's head. He hits Officer Kersey instead. The cop ducks and yells as ice and Coke go washing over his buzz cut. His partner, Officer Tate, grabs Gabriel by the back of the shirt and yanks him up until his heels leave the ground. The collar of his shirt pulls on his neck. Gabriel's flappin' around.
Oh, God. I hope this cop don't kill this dude right in front of me.
I breathe through my nose, and the humid air feels too thick. Too hot. Everything is too hot. My palms are sweating and my forehead is dripping and salt stings my eyes.
I look over at white girl. I bet she still thinks the officers will get this under control. That the people around will listen to them.
Stop.
Break this up.
Disperse.
They're shouting as loud they can.
Get on the ground.
Chill out.
Move along.
Becky can keep waiting. It's goin' down now. People are yelling at Officer Tate. He's tryin' to make room around him and Officer Kersey, backing up, using his elbows. Everyone's so wrapped in their feelings, nothing these cops do makes a difference.
"Does this happen a lot?" Becky asks, her voice all shaky.
Good lord. This girl.
"No," I say.
But white boy contradicts me. "Yeah, it does."
"When?"
"It's the third fight this season," he says, rolling his eyes at me.
"You mean somethin' as outlandish as this?" I wave my hand out at the crowd. "Nah. I would've heard about that."
"Not this bad, maybe," he admits. "Guess those other fights were before everyone in this town decided they hate each other."
"That ain't nothin' new," I say.
Becky looks between me and white boy, terrified. "What does that mean?"
She's shocked. Surprise, surprise. I decide I'm gonna ignore her.
The officers try to get the fighting under control, but it's not working. Folks are yelling, pushing, hollering about pig this and pig that. Like I said: Cops showing up did not make things better. Hope Becky sees that now. Before, people were just kinda acting a little annoyed. Hell, I thought for a second Becky's terrible customer service set off a brawl. But leave it to the police to really aggravate folks.
# 6
Campbell
McPherson High School
Football Field
Lena, Caleb, and I stand behind the concession stand window, watching the seething crowd. Seems like hundreds of people are fighting. Maybe even thousands. Arms flying, feet kicking. The school resource officers can't control them. People are punching, pushing, shoving, and they're not afraid to hit the cops. I think they might be trying to. The officers are totally outnumbered. But they're also mad. I can tell they're scared, the way their voices sound. Loud and sharp. Repeating themselves. One of the officers elbows a girl in the chest. I didn't see what she was doing, other than running in his direction. Maybe he thought she was going to jump him. I can't imagine anyone being reckless enough to do that. She has to be a head shorter than him too, and half his size, especially with all his gear on. He hits her, though, hard and violent, and she falls to the ground and cries out. So do I.
"This is awful. They shouldn't be doing this!"
"Never can trust the police," Lena says.
I meant everybody.
I feel exposed, standing here watching, and cross my arms, but my sweaty hands slide over my skin. I drop them quickly, wiping my palms on my jeans.
Lena's pissed. She stands beside me, buzzing with the fury of a hornet. But she's also breathing heavy, which makes me wonder if maybe she's as scared as I am. I have the worst impulse to grab her hand. Somehow, I don't think she'd like that very much, so instead, I tuck one shoulder behind hers. It's not much, but I feel less alone.
She doesn't seem to notice.
I want to go home.
"Should we get out of here?"
Lena holds a hand out, gesturing at the brawl in front of us. "Not yet. Do you see what's happening?"
Before I can answer—boom. A huge object crashes against the wall of the concession stand, hard enough to rattle the whole structure. I jump. Lena flinches. So do the cops. Both officers half crouch. One reaches for his hip and then—
A bang.
No. A pop.
Pop pop pop!
I freeze. The noise and chaos around me fade until all that's left are echoes of those pops for seconds that stretch longer than they should. Then I hear: "Oh, crap."
Behind me, both Lena and Caleb have dropped to their knees.
"Get down, fool!" Lena shouts. "They shootin'!"
That sound is unmistakable, though I've never heard it outside of a movie.
"They're shooting," I whisper. I'm only able to move my mouth.
Lena grabs my wrist and yanks me to the ground.
More popping. Then more screams. I don't even know who's shooting. The cops? Someone in the crowd? I peer up at the window, see heads bobbing around. A shaved head thuds against the wall of the concession stand.
There's an electronic screech and then the scratch and crackle of a walkie-talkie.
"Mass disturbance at McPherson High School! Shots fired, officer down!"
Oh, my God.
I'm trembling. My heart pounds. Lena's still gripping my wrist. She's not shaking, but her eyes are enormous. She's breathing fast again. Caleb mouths over and over and over: Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
We huddle on the ground while chaos reigns outside. Swearing. Screaming. Smashing. I turn to Caleb and Lena, but they aren't looking at me. His face is turned toward the window, mouth hanging open, eyes huge. He looks stunned. Lena stares at the wall in front of us, both hands over her mouth.
"This is out of control." The words don't come out right. They get caught in my throat, thick and dry like cotton balls. "This can't be happening."
# 7
Lena
McPherson High School
Football Field
"This, right here, is happening."
I'm stuck on the ground of this gross concession booth, which is wet and sticky and probably the most unsanitary place in the world, and the air still stinks from the gunshots.
The smell reminds me of the time they got to fighting at the Hype Awards. I was so excited to go. My auntie hooked us up because she works at the theater where they held the show. The smile on Black's face when I showed him the tickets was so big. It took me six visits to LaRue's, a month's worth of paychecks, and some extra cash from Pops to put my perfect look together. There was nothing hotter on that red carpet than my gold pantsuit. Black rented a Benz truck so we could flex on these people. He held my hand as we walked up. I was cheesing, the night was so perfect. Then, some fools got to fighting. The po po came, people started running and shouting. I couldn't move. Black pulled me, saying, "Come on, bae." We got up out of there quick, but before we could get outside—gunshots. I'll never forget that smell. If that fight hadn't happened, there'd have been a picture of me in that pantsuit on the entertainment blogs.
Anyway, sounds weird, but I'm kinda glad that happened. Now, I know what to do in these types of situations. Lucky for Becky too, otherwise she might have gotten her head blown off.
White boy jumps up, and I cannot believe my eyes. Just when I gave this fool credit for not being a horror movie stereotype, he does the dummy, hopping up and looking all over the place. He knocks over a hot dog box trying to get to the cupboards. What the hell is he looking for?
He swings open a cupboard door and pulls out a red book bag. A bunch of small packs of weed go tumbling to the ground. Moving superhero fast, he swipes up the baggies, tosses them in the backpack, and takes a leap over us on the way to the door. His foot clips Becky's shoulder on the way down.
She shouts, "Hey!" But it's too late. The door to the stand flies open, and white boy jets.
I glance back at Becky. Her cheeks are red, her neck is dripping, and her freckles are more obvious. I touch my own cheek, and I'm warm too. I'm starting to think I was wrong. I'm starting to think it's time I left. I can usually count on LaShunda to save me. So I'm super regretting beefin' with her before. How long we been cooped up in here? I hope she ain't get caught up in this mess, but maybe if she still close by, she could come and get me.
I text her to check. Girl, where u at?
Home, where u at? W/ Black?
Not yet.
Not yet, NaNa, or never?
I don't have time for her nagging about Black right now.
It's hot up here so I wanna get out sooner.
She texts again right away. U didn't get caught up in that fight I been hearin bout?
Kinda. Come get me?
Can't, NaNa. Jaquavious got my car. Took it down to 7th.
What am I gonna do, Shun?
Lemme text Quay.
I check Becky—she's crouched on the ground near me, looking like she's about to cry. Tears filling up in her eyes and everything. "You better text somebody to get you," I say. "I'm working on a ride."
She looks at me like she don't understand what I'm saying. I shake my head. I tried.
What's Quay say?
Nothin yet. Want me to try my mom?
She's likely to be at the church function with Pops. Noooooooooooooo. Dear God please do not call your mom!!!!!!
Then u gotta wait on Quay, but u know how he is.
I put my phone away. I think I might have to call Black. I just need to get him on the phone, and he'll understand. This ain't about a hookup. This is serious business.
# 8
Campbell
McPherson High School
Football Field
Caleb's gone. Vanished into the crowd with his cell phone full of videos and his backpack full of weed. I can't believe he had all that in there. I was tending the concession stand with a drug dealer and I didn't know!
It's pointless to worry about that, but easier to focus on it than anything else. Lena says I should text my ride. How am I supposed to do that? I don't have Ms. Marino's number. I can't exactly go out there looking for her, can I?
I don't want to think about that. I don't want to think about the gunshots or the fight or what's going on outside or what I'll do when we finally get out of here.
The flimsy walls rattle as two battling girls crash against the concession stand, stumbling through the open entry and falling in a heap.
"Oh, hell no," one of them screams. "Don't you be comin' at me!"
They wrestle until one girl scrambles up, her bright yellow tank top now smeared with dirt. The other girl cowers on the ground. Yellow Tank windmills her arms, battering and snatching until she comes away with a fistful of hair. The girl on the ground wails, covering the bald patch, and scootches backward out the doorway. As she runs off, shouting insults, Yellow Tank hoists the hunk of black hair like a trophy. But her victory strut doesn't last. A fully loaded hot dog flies toward her, hitting her smack in the face. She sputters, spitting out a mouthful of ketchup and mustard, and grabs a full cup of soda from the countertop to return fire. Half the Coke spills when she winds up, splattering my sneakers.
"Hey!"
I clap my hand over my mouth, wishing I could grab the words and shove them back down my throat. I didn't mean to say anything, but I've caught her attention. She yells, "Shut up!" and pitches a water bottle at me. I duck and throw my arms over my head a second before it bounces off me.
Owwwww. That hurt. I back away, keeping my hands in front of my face.
"Girl, get the hell outta here," Lena says.
"Who you talkin' to?" She turns toward Lena.
Oh, God, oh, God. They're going to fight! In here! Should I try to stop them? Should I run?
As I try to figure out if I can escape before they attack each other, a pair of arms grabs the girl around the waist. She screams and flails, but the person drags her out the doorway. She disappears into the melee.
"Typical," Lena mutters.
Tears burn my eyes. I rub them hard, trying not to panic. I have to get out of here.
How do I get out of here?
"Black, I need you to come get me."
Lena's got a cell phone in one hand, and with the other, she points past me, jabbing a stiletto nail that winks with a press-on jewel. I gawp for a minute, and she snaps her fingers. Oh. The door still stands wide open. I crawl toward it. Lena wants me to shut the door, so that's what I'm going to do.
Outside, there's a pileup in progress. I stare, not comprehending what I'm seeing, not grasping the bodies flying at one another, diving into the fight.
And then there's someone coming at me. A huge African American guy, racing toward the doorway. Like he's going to bust in here. With us! I scream and shove at the door. The badly fitted wood scrapes along the dirt, catching on the debris that has been kicked inside during the fighting. I grunt, throw my shoulder against the wood. The guy's here, he's right here, about to come in. There's a crack and I flinch, and then the door wrenches free and I slam it closed. Right in that guy's face. There's a boom, and the wall shudders as if he's pounding his fist. I use all my weight to shut him out.
Another slam jars my arms. My muscles clench.
I have to hold on. I grit my teeth and push against the rattling door.
The banging stops. The door stays closed and goes still after a second. I do not.
A wave of shakes crashes over me. I list into the door, letting it hold me up, and bring my hands in front of my face. Stare at them. They're filthy. Did I do that? Did I hold that guy off? Wow. My knees are wobbling, and I still can't hold myself up. As the last of the adrenaline burst fades, I buckle. Even the support of the door isn't enough to keep me upright anymore. I sink onto my butt, my head dropping heavily forward. My jeans are covered with dirt, gory, like I crawled through a mile of mud instead of a foot. The tears that have been gathering for the last fifteen minutes slip down my cheeks. I let them fall.
Outside, the fight rages. The power of it ripples over my skin, rattles around the empty space Caleb left behind. There's a million obvious reasons for him to run, but all my brain keeps wondering, over and over and over, is how he could have abandoned us.
With only me and Lena left, this shelter feels less like a fortress and more like a cage.
She barks into her phone, an older model generic one.
I try to hold myself still, winding my arms so tightly, they start to tingle like they're going to go numb. I catch sight of the security grill that goes over the windows. The pulley that lowers it is almost within my reach—if I stretched or maybe stood up, I could grab it. Should I do that? Would putting that down make us safer?
Lena's voice raises, and I glance over at her instead. She holds the phone right in front of her mouth, speaker so close, her lips touch the plastic. "What do you mean, you busy? Where are you?"
She sees me looking, and her face hardens. Her eyelashes flicker, then she drops her gaze to the ground and spins away. Hiding from me. Her shoulders hunch, like she can protect her secrets if she curls small enough. I shift on the ground and squeeze my eyes shut. I'm not trying to eavesdrop, but there's no privacy in this tiny little closet of a space. I can't stop hearing. She keeps talking, words coming faster, less carefully selected, and I don't like it. Lena barking orders, I can handle. Lena losing control? That I can't contemplate.
"No!" Her shout snaps my eyelids up. "You gonna die on me now, you raggedy piece of trash?"
She grips the phone in both hands, knuckles going tight, then throws it in her purse. My already roller-coaster-wild stomach plunges.
"How am I supposed to get Black up here? Didn't even have a chance to tell him what was goin' on."
Okay. This girl cannot lose her cool. We can't both be completely freaking out. "Lena."
She spins back toward the window, pulling herself to her knees. "LaShunda, why'd you have to leave? Who else I know out there? I have got to get out of here and get to a phone."
Black dots float in front of my eyes, briefly obscuring Lena. Leave? Leave me here? Her too?
"I have a phone." The words are out before I think them through.
"Give it to me," Lena demands, instantly in my face.
"It's not here." I pat my pockets as if I'm looking for the phone, then spread my arms wide, showing her I'm empty-handed.
Her face crumples. Smoke practically starts pouring from her ears. "You think you funny? You think you any better off in here than me? They'll tear you apart."
"No! I didn't mean that. I left my phone in my backpack. In my classroom. In the portables."
"Who the hell walks around without they phone?"
"I didn't think it was safe to bring my bag down here."
She huffs. "Great. You were so worried about someone stealing your phone, now we both stuck."
That's not fair! How was I supposed to guess an epic fight would break out and trap me in the concession stand with her?
"Look at these shenanigans," she says, her eyes on what we can see of the fight. "Okay, listen, here's what we gonna do. Far as I can tell, mostly they fightin' right outside, so if we can get around back of this stand, we oughta be able to get to the gym and around to the portables."
"What?" I look from her to the window. There's not much to see from this angle, but the shouting floats in nice and clear. The sirens too. "Leave? Like, this minute?"
"Didn't you tell me I could use your phone?"
"Yes, but—"
"And how am I supposed to use your phone if we don't get it from your classroom?"
"Well—"
"And how're we supposed to get to your classroom if we don't get out this concession stand?"
I shake my head. I want to leave, but I'm terrified to move. "It's not safe out there."
"You think you safe in here? How long before a bullet come through that window?"
Oh, my God. Everything is spinning, and my stomach rolls again. I close my eyes, but Lena grabs my face. Her touch feels like someone slammed the brakes on the world. But at least that stops the spinning in my head.
"You gonna get yourself together, Becky," she says, right in my face. So close I can smell the faintest traces of her flowery perfume. "We have to get out of here and get to your phone, and you can't be fallin' apart when we do."
She's crouching in front of me. Her knees are as dirty as mine. Mud-covered. Hers are bare, though. She'll wash up easier. My jeans are toast. I shake my head one last time. Lena's right. Someone out there—maybe more than one someone—is shooting.
I'm not safe here. Nobody is safe here.
My eyes lock on Lena's face. There's no more embarrassment. Her voice isn't shaking. She looks more like the put-together girl I always see walking around the halls, making everyone laugh.
I swallow hard and nod. "Campbell."
Lena squints at me.
"You called me Becky, but my name is Campbell."
"Like the soup?" Her tone is sharp, but her mouth curves up at one corner. It's nothing close to a smile. But it's there.
"Yeah," I say. "Like the soup."
"And people think black kids have stupid names." She shakes her head. "Okay, then, Campbell Soup. You ready to get ya ass outta here?"
"Yes," I croak, and then clear my throat and try again. "Yes."
"Good. When I open that door, we gonna run like hell. You follow me, okay?"
I nod. She grabs my hand, hauls me to my feet, and reaches for the door, all in one motion. The second she swings it open, a body falls through and crashes to the ground at our feet. And then another. There's a crush of people in the doorway, falling and shoving and piling up.
"We're trapped," I cry.
# 9
Lena
McPherson High School
Football Field
"Oh, hell no!"
I start climbing over people, pushing them out the way, stepping on them. I'm not excusing myself. I. Am. Out. Of. Here.
"Hey!" Campbell shrieks. "Let me out!"
I look back and see her trying to keep up as some bulky dude pushes a white guy off him. The white guy goes crashing into Campbell, grabbing onto her. I bet he's trying to stay on his feet, but the way he grab her, she ends up right between him and ol' Bulky. Bulky's wearing a red hat cocked to the left and a thick gold chain. His ass ain't in high school, I know that.
"Move, bitch."
White dude sees his chance and takes off, which is what we need to do. But instead, I jump in front of Campbell. "Call her out her name again!"
He hulks up at me. "Whatchu gon' do?"
LaShunda always say my mouth gonna get me in trouble. Maybe this is that time.
"You ain't scare me," I say, ready to put him in his place.
He lifts one big paw and mushes me in my face, shoving me back. His skin is all sweaty and smells like funky feet. I stumble, because he pushed me hard, but I pop right back, raising my arm to let him have it.
Campbell grabs the back of my shirt. "No," she gasps in my ear. "No, no, no." I twist my head around to see her, and she's shaking her head. I get her message. We have to keep going.
She drags me back a couple steps. I point at Bulky. "You got lucky."
He lunges, like he's not gonna let it go. Campbell shrieks, and I jump back, chest heaving up and down. Is he actually gonna hit me? He can't hit me if he can't catch me. I'm not sure if I'm going to get away. Luckily, someone bumps him, and he spins. I got saved.
He gets back to fighting, and in a second, he's surrounded. Man, this is some Hunger Games–level stuff out here, so I start to Katniss my butt through the crowd. We're getting pushed around, bumped from every side, and we have to hold tight, so we don't lose each other. I gotta give it up to Becky—I mean, Campbell. She is thuggin' it out. Homegirl stays on my heels. In another minute, I see the gym and the covered walkway that leads back to the portable classrooms that ain't really portable since they been stuck in the same place since before my cousin Marcus went here. Most people are mobbing toward McPherson Road to get away from this fight, so it's only a few of people going where we are. I look around, and I see Tremaine holding his little sister Onicka's hand, and he's practically lifting her off the ground, he's running so fast toward the portables. When something ain't right, Tremaine definitely is one of the first people to remove himself from the situation, so if he's sneaking around this way, it's the way to go.
Campbell loosens her grip, but she don't let go. Thank goodness, because all of a sudden, the world goes dark.
I stop running, because what else can I do? If I move, I'm gonna trip.
"What's happening?" Campbell sounds as freaked out as me.
"I don't know," I say. I shuffle a few steps forward, bump into a post and grab on. We must've gotten to that walkway, but I can't see. I need a minute to think, but I'm afraid to stay still. I can't tell if something's coming at us in this dark.
Campbell's hand gets ripped from mine. She wails.
"What the hell, Campbell?"
"Someone bumped me. I'm okay. I think."
"Get up, get up!" I hear feet pounding around us.
And then, like a Beyoncé concert, cell phone lights start to go on. "Yes," I breathe.
Campbell gets to her feet, and we take off again. Sweat rolls down the line in the center of my back, and my hair is flying like a superhero cape. The noise of the fight begins to fade behind us, so I can hear both of our tired breaths and our feet slapping the pavement. My charm bracelets jingle on my wrist. Ah, these shoes makin' it hard to run. The straps are rubbing my toes into blisters, and my feet are starting to swell. These delicious gladiator sandals were not designed for this apocalypse. Ewww. I hate this night.
We get to the portables, and then I'm lost. "Which one?"
Campbell points. I can barely see without any lights, but her arm brushes past me. "There, number six."
When we reach the door, I yank on the handle. "Locked!"
After all that, we're locked out? I slam the door with my fist.
"Wait," Campbell says. "Wait. I have a key!"
"How'd you get a key?"
She bumps me out of the way and presses up to the door. There's fumbling, and the metal key scrapes around on the door as she tries to find the lock. "Ms. Marino gave it so me so I could meet her here and return the cash box—oh, no." The scraping stops.
"What's wrong? Let's go." I'm tempted to shake her, but I keep my hands to myself. "Get the key. Come on, why you trippin'?"
"I left the cash box. In the concession stand. When we ran."
"We don't got time to worry about that now!"
"I can't believe I did that!" she says. "The money's going to get stolen. Ms. Marino's going to be so furious at me."
I throw my hands up. "You don't think Ms. Marino will understand why we had to run? You think she cares more 'bout some candy money than you getting killed?"
Campbell pauses, then says, "Right. Duh. Okay."
The key scrapes the door again and then clinks into the lock. I'm almost on top of her as she opens the door.
"Yes!" I say, locking the door behind us. "Where's your phone?"
# Part II
All Call
# 10
Lena
McPherson High School
"Hey, bae!" I can't believe Black answered on the first ring. I'm so glad he did.
"'Sup, shawty?" His voice sounds so steady and smooth, I relax for a second. "Who phone you on?"
"Campbell's. My phone dead."
"Campbell? What she look like? She got a fat ass?"
"Stop playin', Black. It's not safe down here! The police up here harassing people as usual, people running everywhere. Somebody got shot!"
There's a long pause. I wanna see how he's going to react. Is he at least gonna act like he's worried? He stays quiet, though. My shoulders droop.
"Black, I gotta get out of here before I mess somebody up."
Black laughs. "Girl, you ain't gon' do nothin' to nobody. What you gon' do, baby, put the chopper on them?"
"Whatever, whatever, what the hell ever," I snap. "I need you to come get me. I can't be here."
"You were about to buck on these fools a minute ago," he says, still laughing hard and loud.
"Shut up before I buck on you!"
"Slow down, killer. I don't want no problems."
"Guess what, Black? This is serious. Are you coming to get me or not?"
"Ummmm, for real-for real, I prolly can't. I'm over by the tattoo shop, and I don't really know what Peanut and them got goin' on. Soooooooo."
My blood is boiling. Before I can stop myself, my volume has gone way up. "So, you finna let me be out here with all this goin' on down at the school?"
"Damn, Lena," he says, and I do not like his tone. "You bein' real dramatic."
He did not just say that to me! "Oh, is that so? How 'bout I get Campbell's boyfriend and his friends to take me home?"
"Now you trippin'."
No, now he's trippin'. I recall all the times he's acted super jealous when someone else complimented me or made it clear they liked me. His nostrils flare, his lips tighten up, and he takes in this deep breath when he's getting irritated. One time I was at the studio with him, and the engineer kept looking me up and down. Finally, he said, "You look mad different today."
I came from a photo shoot that my hairdresser asked me to do. I'm always cute, but I can't lie, this particular day, they let me style the shoot and I went full-on glam squad. As a thank-you, they let me keep this one dress, and I was still wearing it when I met Black. I saw curves even I didn't know I had. Sure enough, within seconds of the dude staring, talking, complimenting, and smiling, Black's cute little nose flare turned into a full-on attitude.
Seems like when I need him to show me he cares in the way that means something to me, he can't. Why do I have to make him jealous for him to take me serious? Why did he answer Campbell's phone, a strange number, right away, but earlier I had to call him three times to get a response?
He's trippin', and I cannot wait.
"I'm not playing," I snap.
"Um, a'ight, uh, lemme see."
"What's all that, Black?"
"All what?"
"All that back and forth! Come get me."
If Black don't come through, I'll have to call Pops. Nobody else is left, and I don't remember any other numbers by heart. Pops would ask a lotta questions I do not want to answer. He'd find out I was lying about coming home with LaShunda. And since he don't drive at night no more because of the glaucoma, he'd have to call one of the church ladies to bring him over here. And that would piss us both off. I'd be on punishment for a month, and I'd miss the Atlanta Local Designz Pop-Up Shop. That would suck so bad.
Black has to come through.
I whip around and see Campbell. Hell, I forgot I was on her phone. I'm too mad to be embarrassed that she heard us arguing. I bet when she calls her boyfriend, he gon' be like, okay, honey, I'm on my way.
"Look, I told you I'm not down here by myself," Black says. "Might be some things jumpin' off later, and everybody rolled with me. I can't leave 'em stuck."
"You could try, though, Black! A real friend wouldn't want your girl out here like this."
I don't want to admit it, but that makes me kinda nervous where Black's friends are concerned. They been known to strand a girl. One time, they left LaShunda when there was no room in the car. That's the way they get sometimes. She called Marcus for a ride, and he called his momma, who called Pops. And then there was some real drama. I didn't like that they left her, but I wish she would've called anyone other than my cousin. That was the start of Pops setting rules about me seeing Black.
Black says, "A'ight, hold on."
I trust Black. Just not his boys.
I look down at my shoes. He must have put me on mute. While I'm waiting, I go back to the fact that he picked up the phone on the first ring. He don't never do that when I call from my number. It almost always goes to voice mail, then I text and he responds to my text. Now, he calls me and I answer. Funny how he answered a strange number right away.
What's taking so long? I want to hang up. If it was anybody else, I would.
The rumbling of voices resumes in my ear and loud music. "A'ight, shawty, guess what?"
"You're coming to get me," I say, as excited as a kindergartener headed to Chuck E. Cheese's.
"Nope. I'm in the middle of some business. But if you can get down here, Imma let Big Baby drive you home."
"Why can't he come get me, Black?"
"Look, Lena," he says, his voice all short. "You want the ride home or not?"
"Yeah, you know I do. Can't stand you."
He laughs. "I know what you can stand, though."
"No, you don't," I snap. "Wait for me, okay? Imma call you when I get close."
"How you gon' do that? Ain't yo phone dead?"
Dang, he's right.
I could walk down to Seventh. I turn around and look at Campbell.
"Don't worry about that. Stay by your phone."
# 11
Campbell
McPherson High School
Lena ends her call and holds my phone out. "Thanks."
I nod, sliding it into my pocket. The room's dark, illuminated only by the faint reddish glow of the emergency exit sign, and the distance from here to the football field dampens the noise of the fight. In the relative silence, a wave hits Lena and me at the same moment. My legs go slack. Lena sighs and slumps into the chair behind Ms. Marino's desk. She clutches her purse to her middle, sagging tiredly around the shoulders.
If I sat down, I wouldn't be able to get up again. So I stand, awkwardly, fidgeting with the straps of my backpack.
We should be saying something. Goodbye, maybe. Since someone is waiting for her. She'll go soon, take off to meet that guy.
Leave me behind.
The room feels small and the air is heavy and it's too dark. Too quiet. Nothing good ever gets said into the silent darkness. Four months ago, my mother broke a hush like this to tell me she was moving to Venezuela for a new job. And leaving me behind.
She'd picked me up after track practice, the last parent to arrive, so the lot was empty and quiet and dark. I remember swiveling sideways in the front seat to stare at her when she put the car in park instead of backing out, and blurted the words.
"I'm moving to Caracas."
"What?"
"I can't say no. They're eliminating my position in the U.S. office. If I don't go, I'll be out of a job. What would I do? Now is a terrible time to be looking for a job. You understand that, don't you, Cam?"
I didn't understand, but I knew that tone of voice, the one she used when she said, I can't afford to send you on the class trip to DC, Cam. It's $250; that's our gas and electric bills this month. You understand, right? Or: I can't make the district meet this weekend, Cam, I have to go to that golf tournament with my boss. I told you about that, right? But Dani's mom will take a video for me; I made her promise, so I can still see you race. There were tears at the bottom of that tone. I'd say I understood, every time, no matter what, so long as she didn't cry.
"Okay," I'd said. "Venezuela. Is there, like, an international school I'll be going to? With all the diplomats' kids? Is there a track team?"
"Oh, no. That's not possible."
"My Spanish isn't good enough to go to school with native speakers. It'd kill my grades senior year—"
"Cam, I didn't mean no international school. I meant, you're not coming with me."
I felt like the car had slammed into a tree, though we were sitting still. "What?" I whispered.
"You're going to stay with your dad next year. Won't that be great? You've never had a chance to spend so much time with him. You'll have a much easier time transferring to another school in the U.S.—and more affordable too. And—and you'll still be able to run track. This is for the best. You understand, don't you?"
My mother's voice fades from my mind, and I try to shake off the hollowness that memory leaves inside me. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here, a month into senior year at McPherson. But I still don't like the dark.
I feel around near the door frame for a light switch and then stop. The power is out. Anyway, I don't want to attract attention, don't want anyone trying to break in here, like they did at the concession stand. I step away from the wall, and it brings me closer to Lena, who's flicking at the screen of my phone with her thumb.
"You got a flashlight on this thing?"
"There's an app—" I begin, leaning over, but she finds it before I finish the sentence and ends up beaming me directly in the eyes.
"Ooh, sorry," she says, aiming the light down. I blink away the black dots that hover in my vision to find Lena's face a couple inches from mine. She's studying me with wide eyes surrounded by a fringe of superlong lashes. Fake ones? Probably. She applies them like a pro, if they are the glue-on kind. The only time I ever tried those, they ended up so crooked, it looked like my eyebrow had grown down over my eyelid.
I'm surprised she's still here, but I'm glad I'm not alone.
"Hey, um, thanks. For—" I wave my hand vaguely in the direction of the football field, the concession stand. "All of that."
She smiles. "That mess was too much for anybody to go alone, you know?"
I have no idea how to respond to that, so I kind of nod. Again. God, I hate myself for becoming a bobblehead.
Suddenly, Lena sits up straight. Her purse falls from her lap to the floor.
"Maybe somebody left a charger in here!" She begins yanking on the drawers of Ms. Marino's desk. Most are locked, but one slides open. I hover over her, watching as she uses the flashlight app to rifle through Post-it Notes and pens and binder clips. She gags at a travel-size Secret antiperspirant stick with some white deodorant crusted around the edges of the lid, and then shoves the drawer closed with a groan. "Come on, Ms. Marino. I know you got to be charging your phone during class!"
While Lena looks in the boxes and containers on top of the desk, I run my hands along the walls and bump into a lone charger plugged into a socket near the back of the room. Some student trying to charge a contraband phone on the down low, maybe grabbing the phone but forgetting the cord.
"Found one!" I call. Lena aims the light in my direction, and I lob it to her.
"Yasssss!" She swipes it from the air, but once she gets a look, her face crumples. "Apple? Aw, fail. I got an Android."
"Me too," I say, joining her by Ms. Marino's desk. "Androids get no love."
One corner of her mouth turns up. "That's the truth." She tosses the useless charger onto the desk. "Don't know if the power's on in here, anyway."
That is also the truth.
"Listen, you think maybe I could get a ride with your parents when they come get you? I need to get down to Seventh to meet my boyfriend."
"It's just my dad. And no. He's not around tonight."
I never used to imagine what my dad did on weekends. I figured he worked in his store, like he did the rest of the time. I've been living with him for nine weeks, so now I know. Every single weekend, he goes to his fishing cabin in the mountains. Nicky, his weekend manager, watches the store. Nicky's family owns the convenience market on Seventh. I guess they're my dad's friends. Considering they're the only people he's introduced me to, it seems like maybe they're his only friends. Nicky is a computer science major at Georgia Tech. Apparently, this summer he installed new software on the computer at the shop, so my dad made him manager. Without him, my dad wouldn't have been able to afford the upgrade, and without the upgrade, he wouldn't have been able to accept the credit cards with the chips in them. And then the store would bring in less money, and my dad would probably go bankrupt.
He pays Nicky way more than he can afford, but who else could he trust to manage the shop while he's off fishing? When I first moved, I thought maybe he'd hire me, but he said he couldn't swing paying anyone else. You'd think he'd be all about the idea of me having a job. Not only for the money, though I need that. But also because I have plenty of time for work. Practice used to take up all my time after school, and I had meets on the weekends. That's not part of my life anymore, so why not clock in somewhere that'll put some cash in my pocket?
My dad's being ridiculous. When I told him the wing place up by school was looking for a cashier, he said, "Absolutely not. That's not the kind of place I want you spending time."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked. Yeah, the place was a little grungy, but I saw plenty of kids stopping in there after classes let out.
"This isn't Haverford, Campbell."
"That isn't news to me, Dad."
"How about this? There's a sandwich shop opening up by the store, run by a nice young couple. Hipsters, but decent people. Maybe in a few months, they'll be looking for some help. Then, I could keep an eye on you. Let's wait for that, okay?"
I rolled my eyes. The man has no sense of irony. I'm not allowed to work at a restaurant that's a twenty-minute walk from my house because it's too far away to keep an eye on me, but he's got no problem leaving me alone for the entire weekend so he can go fishing. I could be out roaming the neighborhood in the middle of the night while he's gone. Of course, I'm not. I've never gone farther than our mailbox while he's gone. But the point is, he doesn't know that.
Maybe he doesn't care.
He doesn't offer to take me with him to the cabin, and I don't ask to go. It's some dumpy little one-room shack, anyway.
The hipster sandwich shop job hasn't materialized yet. Of course.
I have no job, no practice, no parental supervision, no company, and no cash. My weekends revolve around hoping HGTV will do a House Hunters International marathon and waiting for my mom to FaceTime me. My friends call sometimes, though not as much as they did before they went back to school. I try not to think about the fun things that keep them from calling. Things I was doing with them four months ago, like playing foosball in Megan's parents basement and sneaking cans from her dad's beer fridge when we could. I deleted Instagram from my phone, because seeing all that stuff go on without me ate a giant hole in my heart.
"Boyfriend?" Lena asks.
"No."
"Best friend?"
I cross my arms and turn away.
An hour ago, Lena James had no idea what my name was, despite having a class together. She never bothered me—not like the girl who got in my face every day for the first three weeks of school, slamming lip gloss from my hands in the bathroom. Or the two who pulled my hair when they passed me in the stairwell. Lena's too wrapped up in herself for all that. She hangs with this group of kids that dress all hip-hop, cool enough to be in a music video, and Lena's the center of their attention. She's always making people laugh, calling everyone by name like she's their best friend. Even teachers. Whenever she's around, the Lena James Show is on and you can't help but watch. And the rest of the time, she's got her head down to her phone, texting so fast her fingers are a blur—I'm guessing with that boyfriend she mentioned.
She never noticed me before. How humiliating that the first thing she sees is that I have no friends. I can't imagine why she's getting in my business about this. I don't want to admit I'm waiting on a teacher for a ride, and I hate her a little for trying to make me.
"How are you getting home, though?" she demands. She steps up right next to me, getting into my space and forcing me to look at her. Her head tilts to the side, and her forehead is all wrinkled up. But she's not smirking. She's not laughing. She looks worried, actually.
There's no point in dodging. She's obviously not going to give up. "Ms. Marino was supposed to take me home," I say.
She stares at me. "Yeah, but now what are you gonna do?"
"Wait for her, I guess. Not like my dad is going to catch me if I break curfew."
"Girl, she ain't comin' back here."
A bolt of stress sizzles through me. No. That's not true. "Of course she is. She knows I'm waiting."
"Can't you hear them sirens?" Lena asks.
Actually, I do. A lot of them. I press my nose against the window, craning my neck to see down the walkway toward the gym, but no matter how I turn, I can't see the football field. There are a few moving forms, but it's too dark to distinguish anything else. Are there more sirens? Am I imagining it, or are they getting louder?
"How do you think that's gonna end?" Lena taps the glass right by my face, startling me. "It ain't magically gonna calm down, and everybody go about their business. They'll start clearing people out soon. Marino's not coming back here. Even if she wanted to."
Oh, God.
No. She's wrong. Ms. Marino won't leave me. She'll find a way to get back here. She has to.
But those sirens. They're definitely louder. I figured all those police showing up would calm this down, but what if Lena's right? We're hardly going to go back to playing a football game after this.
I can't breathe. The bun I tied at the top of my head earlier to ward off the heat, stretches the skin beside my eyes too tight, giving me a headache. I reach up and work the elastic loose, letting my hair fall around my face to hide the tears that are gathering in the corners of my eyes. It's just stress, but I don't want to cry. I want everything to be normal again.
Except normal would be me and my mom living in Haverford, before her job cut her salary so much, we couldn't afford the mortgage, before Carlson's Hardware tanked so hard that my dad sued to reduce the amount of child support he had to pay, before my mom had to transfer to Venezuela or be fired. Normal would be me training for the 100-meter and trying to get scouts from UPenn to see me run at the state finals. Normal would not include the fight at the concession stand, this portable, or me being stranded by the teacher who was supposed to take me home.
Great, that train of thought became a runaway. I stopped crying, but I'm not calm. I'm just freaking out too hard for the tears to squeeze free.
How. Am. I. Going. To. Get. Home?
Beside me, Lena sighs. "Looks like we're both stuck. Guess it's a walk for us. Pops would kill me if he ever found out I'm doing this. Lucky thing he busy at church tonight."
What? I turn to her. "Walk?"
"We're not going through this again. Nobody coming to get you. What're you gonna do—spend the night here?"
I gulp. Right. Of course she's right. Sirens whine from the direction of the field. I can't stay here waiting for someone who's never going to come back for me. The walk home isn't that long—maybe twenty minutes. And at least we'd be together.
Wait. "But you said you're trying to get to Seventh. My house is kinda far from there."
"Yeah, but you in Grant Village, right?"
I blink. Besides the secretary who helped my dad register me, Lena James might be the only person at McPherson who's aware of where I live. A flutter of grateful excitement kicks up in my belly, but I squelch it. So she paid a little attention to me. It won't last. People's attention never holds. "Yes, that's right."
"Where your house at?"
"I live on Taylor Street," I say. "But I don't know my way around very well."
"I do. That's not too far from where I stay. How about you walk down to Seventh with me and meet my boyfriend? He got a car. He could give you a ride home."
I frown. I don't know Lena all that well, and her boyfriend is a total stranger. He definitely doesn't go to McPherson. My mother would go nuclear if she found out I got into some strange guy's car.
"Look, I'm trying to be nice to you, but if you too afraid, then you can hide here—by yourself—for the rest of this night."
My fear spikes. She's going to leave. I can't stay here. I can't.
"Fine!" The shout rings around the empty room, shrill enough to startle me. God, I have got to dial it down. "I mean, thanks for offering a ride. I'll come with you."
Lena stops in the doorway, and my stomach churns. What if she changed her mind? What if I insulted her? She's got a better blank face than the guys my dad watches on the World Series of Poker. I need to get out of here, and she's offering to go with me, and instead of saying yes, I'm shouting at her. God, I'm absurd.
Before I can get any more words out, Lena grabs her purse from the floor by the desk and marches to the door. "Let's go," she says.
I scramble after her.
We encounter a few people on our way back to the field. They're all running. Running away from the place we're heading. My stomach starts jumping around once I realize that, but we keep going. The walk to the gym only takes a minute or two. I round the corner of the building and slam into a wall of noise and lights. I thought the sirens sounded loud inside the classroom. I thought what we walked out of thirty minutes ago was as bad as it could get.
I was wrong.
The power is still out, but the stadium isn't dark anymore. Emergency lights strobe, washing the scene blue-red-black, blue-red-black, blue-red-black. A swarm of bodies pulsates around the field, people reeling and staggering, flooding forward, swaying back, swirling endlessly. Almost like a party, if the lights were a different color. If there was music, instead of sirens and—oh, God—rotors? I squint up, using my palm to shield my eyes from the sweeping floodlights, and see two helicopters hovering overhead, adding to the noise and confusion. Police? Or maybe a news station?
The parking lot swarms with emergency vehicles, and the stadium is full of police officers. An army of them. Every cop in the city must have descended on McPherson. From the east side of the field, Central Avenue, an ambulance screams into the parking lot. Two paramedics slam open the doors, jump down, pulling the gurney after them.
I can't think about what that gurney is for. I can't think about the gunshots.
I look away from the parking lot as fast as I can, my throat closing up. It's too noisy. Too overwhelming.
"We shouldn't have come outside," I breathe.
But we did.
Lena was right. Ms. Marino's not coming back for me. She'll never get back here, assuming she remembers me at all. I have to get home. Twenty minutes, I remind myself, straight down Central. I can make it. We can. It's right across the parking lot. The lot that's currently choked by cop cars and fire engines and ambulances, teeming with police and first responders.
Thank God. At least we don't have to walk through the actual field. That would be ridiculously dangerous.
I start forward—and straight into the arm Lena has flung in front of me. I try to sidestep, but she grabs me, holds me back. Not just holds me—nearly drags me off my feet. I turn to look at her and see, for the first time, her pretty features twisted in panic.
No. Fear.
"We can't go there."
I look from her wide, rolling eyes to the war zone before me. "But we have to."
"You seein' what I am? How we gonna get through there?"
"We'll go straight to the parking lot. It's full of cops, we'll be—"
"You want to go to the cops? You must be playin'!"
She's holding my arm so tight, her nails dig into my skin. "Lena, how else are we going to get to Central?"
"I said no! I'm not gettin' anywhere near them po po."
"They're not going to bother us. We didn't do anything."
"They ain't gonna bother you, maybe! They look at you and see a poodle. They look at me and all they see is a pit bull."
Pit bull? Lena? I don't understand what she's talking about, but she lets me go and wraps her arms around herself. Her knees lock, drawing her up straight, but she's not still. She's shaking. Freaking out harder than she did in the concession stand when they were shooting. Bullets didn't make her shake, but this does.
Only trouble is, I have no idea what else to do.
A figure comes jogging toward us, shrouded in darkness, feet slapping the pavement, getting closer. I press into the wall of the gym, plucking at Lena's arm to pull her with me. Maybe if I get her away from those lights, she'll think more clearly.
"Lena, come on," I say. "It'll only take a minute to get to Central."
"Can't go down Central," a very-nearby voice calls.
I shriek. Lena presses closer to me. The jogger is right by us now, and he pauses for a second. "Police blockaded Central," he pants. "Can't go down that way. Only way out of here is First."
We both cower against the gym wall—but the jogger doesn't stop for long, and he doesn't come any closer. In fact, he veers away from us, away from the portables, toward the side entrance to the school. The other side. The non-football-field side. The side I never use.
My stomach swoops into my shoes. First Avenue?
No. No, no, no, no. First passes right through Tillman Park. My dad drilled into me from the day I moved here that I'd better not ever get near there. Grant Village, his neighborhood, is a little run down. There's some abandoned houses, some boarded-up businesses, and too many overgrown yards and empty lots where guys who are my age but definitely don't go to my school sit on upside-down paint buckets, passing joints.
Tillman Park, which takes over north of Grant Village all the way to Highway 20, is different. The kind of different that makes people drive through going fifty in a thirty zone.
"We are so screwed!" Lena breathes.
We're trapped. We have no way to get out of here. My lungs don't seem to be working properly. I can't push enough air through them, can't inflate them.
"Pops is definitely gonna kill me for walking down First," Lena says.
I blanch. "What? We're not going through there."
"How else we gonna get out of here? You heard that boy. Central's blockaded."
"We can't! I don't know my way home. We'll get lost. And Central goes through the ghetto!"
"Ghetto? Don't worry. Don't nobody want yo' skinny ass in the ghetto," Lena snaps. I flinch, because I didn't mean that. Whatever insulted her is not what I meant. I open my mouth to tell her—what? I'm sorry? I don't know. She cuts me off with a palm in my face. "Listen, we'll cut over to Seventh as soon as we can and meet up with Black. It's a few blocks. Anyway, we won't be by ourselves. Other people headed down that way."
She's right. The guy who told us about the blockade has faded into the darkness, but he was definitely headed that way. There are others too, a couple of small groups. All fleeing the school out the side entrance.
"First?" I whisper.
I have never walked down First Avenue in my life. It's not safe. A light from one of the helicopters sweeps over us. Deep voices boom through bullhorns. I peek around the corner of the gym one more time, my gaze traveling from the still-raging fight to the parking lot full of police. I look back into Lena's frightened face, red and blue and white lights flickering in her eyes.
She's as afraid of that crowd of cops as I am of First.
Suddenly, my anxiety seems extreme. She's suggesting we walk a couple of blocks through a bad neighborhood. I'm insisting we plow through a riot.
Tillman Park can't be that bad. With Lena, I ought to be safe. Safe enough for one night. If we walk fast, we might get to her boyfriend faster than we would walking down Central.
"Okay," I say, sounding shaky in my own ears. Wondering if she notices. "First."
Lena nods. "First."
She sounds as nervous as me.
# 12
Lena
First Ave
Once we get down south of Highway 20, I'll feel like I can breathe again. I don't even like being over here on this part of First Ave on a regular day, because this is where all those abandoned buildings are where stuff be happening to girls. And this is the corner where LaShunda's cousin Noel got her new car jacked, and they didn't realize her baby was still in the back seat. But I bet I'll recognize somebody hanging around, so I'll be straight.
We cut through the Citgo and I look for familiar faces, but I don't see nobody. There's not as many people walking out of the school as I thought there'd be either. Maybe a whole lotta people getting arrested.
"Is there a party I wasn't invited to or did the gas station run out of beer to sell?" I'm trying to joke, but my chest gets a little tighter and I walk faster.
Campbell looks over at me like she's confused. I shake my head. And then I see her feet. Say what you want about white girl, but she smart enough to be wearing tennis shoes.
"Girl, I'm a little jealous of your kicks. My feet killin' me. I'm tempted to take off my shoes."
"Oh, no, don't do that!" Her eyes get big. "You'd get tetanus or something."
"Way I feel," I say. "Might be worth it."
There's some people out on the streets, like always in this part of the neighborhood. Not really the people I hang around with, but I recognize a few of them. Like this one, a gentleman we all call Happy, with a thick mustache wearing combat boots, purple pants, and a fitted halter top walking across the street from us. He a regular around here, and for some reason, I kinda like him.
Happy stops when he sees us and looks me over, like he always do. "Love those sandals, girl," he says. He points at my feet and then at my face. "Cannot deny those sandals."
"Yasssssss," I say. "Happy, you know I cannot pass on a fierce pair of sandals."
"Where'd you find them at?"
Oh no. I don't wanna answer that, 'cuz he will go off the moment I tell him where. He and LaRue beef because Happy says he's more fabulous than she is, and she won't own that. But Happy sees through all lies.
"Uh, LaRue's."
"I'm surprised that LaRue, who is a fashion don't, got anything right. Maybe I might have to grace her shop with my presence one more time after all." Lord, no. LaRue would drop dead on the spot if Happy walked back in her store, but I'm here for it. "Sis, what are you doin' over here on my streets? You don't normally be in the Park."
"Trust me, I am on my way out of here," I say. "Tryna get to a ride."
"Okay, well, y'all get on outta here quick. The air ain't right tonight."
I shiver. Happy walks these streets all day, and if he's sayin' it's bad...
He heads off in the other direction, and in another block, we come up on one of the houses that always freak me out with boarded-over windows and broken furniture in the yard. That's where all the J's and drunks be at. And I am not trying to mess with them. So what we're not going to do is pass by that house. That house is a reminder of why I don't ever come up to Tillman Park. I was feeling okay, talking to Happy, but now, not so much.
"C'mon," I say. "Let's cross the street."
Campbell follows me to the other side. At least this way, if a junkie do run out, I'll have time to see 'em coming and run or find a brick to bust 'em in the head. To make matters worse, I have to keep my head to the ground because of all the broken glass, like a trail of bread crumbs leading right back to that trap house.
Maybe that's why we get all the way to the next street before I notice a homeless dude I ain't never seen before. He's there on the corner, shouting to himself, and I don't recognize him. Aw, man. I call myself getting away from this type of junkie, not walking right into a conversation with one! I start to walk faster as we cross toward him. Campbell stays with me.
"Aye, you gotta dollar I could borrow?" he hollers at us when we reach his side.
I grab Campbell's elbow and hustle her forward. "Borrow—is this man for real?" I whisper to her. "How he gon' borrow it when he ain't gon' see me to return it?"
But we gone and done it, because he starts following us. "You see me," he says. "You see me all the time!"
I speed up. After a minute, I just know dude gotta be gone, but I hear footsteps. I raise my hand and pretend to push my hair out of my face, but really, I'm sneaking a peek over my shoulder. Oh. My. God. He is still there. I slide my arm through Campbell's and pull her closer. She look at me, her eyes huge. We need to get away from his stinky self, but the faster we walk, the faster he walks. There is nobody around, except him, which is not okay. For the first time all night, I can't guess what's coming next.
"Now we got some crackhead following us," I whisper to Campbell. "He prolly the one started that fire that burnt down the highway."
Behind us, he grumbles, "Do you know what I'd do with a pretty girl like you?"
My chest tightens. We have to get out of here. Please, God, let him go away.
Then he goes from mumbling under his breath to shouting, scaring the heck out of us.
"Why you running away from me? You think that white girl make you better than me?"
At the sound of his scratchy voice, Campbell squeezes me tighter and pushes me forward. "Come on, come on!"
"You too good to speak to me, you bougie little bitch?" he demands. "You got money in that purse!"
He lunges and grabs my arm.
My heart drops into my shoes. All I can think to do is snatch away, but his grip is too strong. My eyes fill with water. I can't get away from this guy. He's pulling on me hard. But Campbell's not letting go.
She yanks on me and he yanks on me, and Campbell suddenly shouts, "Stop!"
He look so surprised she did that, he lets go. She pulls me away from his grip, and the two of us take off as fast as we can. And look at Campbell. She can fly! I'm flying too. We don't look back. My chest is on fire. When we get to the next block, I glance back to see if we've lost him, and I hope we have.
"Campbell," I push out, breathing heavy.
She stops, face all flushed and puts her hand on her chest.
"Who knew you was a gangsta?" I gasp. "That man had me like he was gonna run off with me, but he wasn't no match for the Campbell Soup!"
She giggles, while she's bent over, panting and all. "I can't believe I did that!"
"Believe it. You whooped a homeless man ass!"
Though she's shaking her head, we're both laughing.
"Girl, you always move like your ass is on fire or just when a homeless dude's chasin' you?"
"I ran track at my old school. I'm a sprinter."
"Yeah, you are. You on the track team here? 'Cuz if you're not, you should be."
Her laughter stops. "I tried out, but I, uh, got cut."
She sounds real sad, and I feel bad for making her remember. My smile fades, and I nod at her. "Anyway, thanks, Campbell Soup."
I don't know what else to say.
# 13
Campbell
First Avenue
North of Tillman Park
We're both winded. I spend so much time looking over my shoulder, making sure that guy—any guy—isn't behind us, that I trip twice. He's not, but I'm still buzzing. My arms and legs feel full of Fourth of July sparklers, flickering and crackling. On fire. Every sound from every house we pass, every barking dog, the sirens still streaming back the other way, all send me jumping. As the dark settles around us, the sparklers going off inside me mutate into exploding bottle rockets.
"Jesus, we have to get out of here! This was the most unsafe move I've ever made."
"Relax," Lena says. "That was a bit much, but we almost outta here. A few more streets and then we'll be back in Grant Village."
"No!" I shout and then flinch and look around. How careless am I, attracting more attention to us? I'm practically begging for another scary guy to attack us. "We cannot keep walking around like this. Hey, call your boyfriend. Tell him to come get us. We'll—we'll hide out on someone's porch or something until he gets here."
"Yeah, no. Not doin' that."
"Why not?"
"You don't understand," she says. "I do not demand he up and change his entire schedule. It does not work like that. Black can't break away just because I said I need a ride."
"Well, maybe your grandpa?"
"No, Campbell." I open my mouth, but she flings a hand out, palm up. "Ain't nobody got time to be coming and cleaning up after me. Everybody around here got somebody to be responsible for—I'm lucky since I only got me to worry about. I figure life out for myself. Anyway, Miss Somebody Needs to Save Us, why you don't call us an Uber? Black'll give you the cash for half when we get to Seventh."
My throat closes up. Like everyone has a credit card they can use to Uber all around and a boyfriend who'll pay for the rides. I have a five-dollar bill in my pocket and the food in my dad's fridge to last the weekend. If I wanted dinner at the concession stand, I couldn't have afforded to buy chips, a soda, and a hot dog. I'd have had to pick my favorite two out of three.
I didn't spend much time with my dad after my parents split. The typical two weeks every summer until I got old enough to ask to stay with my mom, so I could join a summer track club. I was probably eleven or twelve the last time I visited, but I knew there was a difference between his dusty little shop and the Home Depot. So I wasn't massively shocked when I moved here this fall to see he's barely paying his bills. That he doesn't always pay every bill every month. My mom's only transferred me money once and not that much. She says Caracas is more expensive to live in than she thought. Or maybe this is her way of getting back at my dad for all those years the child support checks bounced.
No. I won't think like that about her. She's doing her best, like she always does. She might get overwhelmed sometimes by her job, but she never lets two days go by without calling, and she remembers all the details I tell her about my classes. That's the best part about my mom. She takes whatever you tell her so seriously, like you're sharing state secrets. That hasn't changed, though I'm telling her details across an international telephone wire instead of across the dinner table.
And she promised she's saving up for a plane ticket so I can spend Christmas with her. It's only a few months to wait.
No way am I telling Lena any of that. I cross my arms and look away. "I don't have the app downloaded. Besides, no Uber is coming in here to get us."
"And why's that, Campbell?" she asks, sounding sharp.
I roll my eyes. Like she doesn't know. She wants to make me feel bad for being jumpy, but it's not my fault. I'm desperate and my knees are shaking and we're still in freaking Tillman Park and so I keep vomiting words. "How about you knock on someone's door and ask for help?"
"Me?" She glares. "You think I can post up on some stranger's porch, and they'll be fine with that?"
"You must know someone who lives around here that we can ask for help."
"I sure as hell do not." Lena stops and stares at me, her eyes cold, her mouth pinched. "Where do you think you are?"
"The ghetto," I cry. "And I don't want to be here anymore."
"First," she snarls, "ghetto is a person. The hood is a place. Second, you walk around here like you don't live here."
I don't, I want to shout. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You wanna talk about this?" she yells. "Fine. Let's talk about the fact that you expected I got friends here. Or the fact that you assumed I would be safe knocking on a stranger's door in Tillman Park? Which we have established is the hood. You wanna tell me why you thought that? Couldn't be because I'm black, could it?"
"No," I say, my voice wobbling. "I—you—you've lived here longer than me. I don't know the neighborhood."
"'Cuz you ain't tried to. Exactly like some rich, white bitch moving in and trying to change the place instead of living in it like it is!"
"I'm not rich."
"Please. Your daddy own a store down Seventh, right?"
I'm surprised she's aware of that. She acts like she knows nothing about me. Or maybe she just acts like she doesn't care.
"That doesn't make me rich, okay?"
"Sure, yeah. I'm crying for you. Daddy couldn't afford to buy you the newest iPhone, could he? Had to wait 'til all your friends already got one and you was the last. Boo-hoo, poor little, rich white girl."
"I might not walk around with a chip on my shoulder talking about how hard my life is, but that doesn't mean it's all rainbows and unicorns either."
I squint. I hope she thinks that's my mad face and not that I'm holding back tears. This moment transports me back home, to the times when everyone would make plans that cost a lot of money and figured I wouldn't have a problem coming up with the cash to join. My stomach clenches. The anger between us swells like a balloon I want to stick a pin in and explode, but if I'm honest, I don't want to either. "I'm not rich, Lena, and I can't help that I'm white. You don't get to blame me for something I can't control."
"Why not, Becky? You people blame me for being born black every single day!"
"That's not true. That's an excuse for poor choices."
"You wanna repeat that?" She sounds stone cold.
A nervous tingle starts in my toes, replacing the flash of anger that made me say such a thoughtless thing. "Never mind," I mutter.
"You ain't walkin' away from that. Oh, hell, no. Is it a bad choice to get in an elevator? Or how 'bout walk into a store?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I get in an elevator and people clutch they purses like I'm gonna steal from them. Why you think they do that, huh?"
I open my mouth to respond, and I get stuck. I have seen that happen. I don't want to admit this, but I do get nervous when a black guy gets in an elevator with me. Not because he's black, though. Just when it's a big guy and a small space. That's all. But suddenly, I wonder.
Suddenly, I'm not sure.
"And how 'bout in a store? You get followed around like you gonna take the whole store? No, you don't. You a rich white girl, and you ain't never gonna know what any of that's like, and let me tell you somethin' else. You lucky you only said that to me. You say some racist nonsense like that to anyone else, and they gonna beat yo ass."
I close my mouth, grind my teeth together. I want to tell her I am not racist. I want to say she's wrong about me. But she swings around and starts walking—fast. Despite her impractical shoes, which must be killing her, she's on the move, and if I don't hurry, I'll get left behind. And I definitely do not want to be left behind here. I don't want to face her either, so I lag, staying two strides behind.
Fortunately, Lena was right, and we are only a couple of streets away from Grant Village. As the neighborhood transitions, the houses have fewer boarded-up windows and graffiti tags and more FOR SALE signs decorate the yards of fancy new construction homes. And churches start to pop up. Lots and lots of churches. We pass three in the first two streets. In Haverford, the nearest church had been a fifteen-minute drive from my house. Here, churches are almost as common as mailboxes: Baptist, African Methodist Episcopal, Seventh Day Adventist, nondenominational. They're all in these little brick buildings that look like they might be someone's home. Like you could walk in and right behind the sanctuary, you'd find a kitchen with a stove and a refrigerator.
For all I know, that's what you would find. I've never been inside any of them.
I think of what Lena said, how I walk around like I don't live here. How I'm looking at these churches like I'm a tourist. How I wouldn't be able to find my dad's house from here. My whole body goes hot, like someone's dipping me in lava.
At the next intersection, First officially changes names to MLK Boulevard and becomes residential. And the air starts to smell. Stink, really, like there's a broken sewer line. I fan my hand in front of my nose and try not to breathe. I don't have to wonder if the stench bothers Lena, though.
"Ewwwwww," she cries. "Smells like the bathroom when Pops has a sit-down after too much banana pudding at the church dinner."
I snort. Maybe she wasn't trying to be funny, but it's so true. These days, I share a one-bathroom house with my father, and I have endured exactly the smell she's talking about. For my dad, the frozen chicken wings he makes when he watches football are the culprit.
Thinking about that gets me laughing. "Oh, my God. What is it about guys?"
In unison, we say, "They stink!"
We both giggle, and I look at her, my stomach aching. I fight with the tangle our conversation has made of my thoughts, wanting to say something more. Something better.
"Hey, listen—"
My phone dings.
"Black!" Lena cries. She lunges at me, digs into my pocket, and grabs my phone.
I don't have time to tell her that's not the sound of a text message.
Her face crumples as she reads the notification from one of my apps. "Your crops are dying—water them."
"Lena," I say, stretching out a hand toward her to—what? Pat her arm? Take the phone back? I have to be the last person she wants to hear from at this moment.
Confirming my suspicion, she jerks away. "Shut up, okay?"
She slides my phone into her shorts pocket. I don't have the right words to respond, so I follow as she starts down the street.
# 14
Lena
MLK and Pine Grove
North of Tillman Park
Ugh.
This girl. I thought we were on the same page. Clearly, we're not. She can keep her Uber rides to herself. She's definitely got that app, and she just don't want to share. What does she think is gonna happen—the driver gonna one-star her for being in this neighborhood? For the record, I may not be from Tillman Park, but plenty of people around here just be workin' hard, tryna live their best life.
We need to head down to Seventh and go our separate ways, so I can be free of her and her crap. We're only a couple blocks from Pine Grove Street, so I speed up. But that makes me more nervous because I notice how alone I am. Usually, there's some people outside on their way to a bar or a porch party. I don't like how this feels. Happy was right. Somethin' off about tonight.
"What time is it?" Campbell asks.
I roll my eyes, but I guess I have to answer. I do got her phone. "Oh wow, ten thirty already," I say, lighting up the screen for a minute. "This 'bout the longest amount of time you ever spent with a black girl, right?"
She catches up to me, but she won't look at me. "No!"
I throw my palms up, like, chill out, sista. "I ain't judgin'. Not like I hang around with no white people. I was curious is all."
Campbell goes quiet for a second. "Yeah, I guess so. There weren't that many African American kids at my old school, and they mostly hung around with each other."
"Yeah," I say. "That's what I figured."
I don't know how to feel about this girl at this point. On one hand, she been a rider. She held me down against the homeless old man, and she been rolling with me on this whole trip, not asking too many questions. That don't change the fact that when she does talk, she keep saying ignorant stuff.
I ain't surprised old homeless dude didn't like me walking around the neighborhood with her. Black people around here ain't really messing with white folks these days. I ain't surprised by what happened at the school either. This really wasn't no time to be putting us in no competitive situation against the kids from that rich suburban school. It was all over Instagram last month, like Caleb said, their football players dressed up in blackface for a party and weren't even suspended.
And that ain't all that's happened. A few weeks back, those paramedics wouldn't go into the projects and they let that little boy die. Then, they reelected that racist governor who called us "colored" in a speech. And then, when we demonstrated because that ain't no way to talk, and blocked the highway, they arrested like forty people and called us thugs. Not to mention all the cops around the country acting like it's open season on black folks.
When I look up, we're at Pine Grove. That homeless dude threw me all the way off. Up ahead, that's where my nosy cousin Marcus and his scrubs at. Oh man, these guys. I should have known I was gonna run into him out here. Ain't got nowhere better to be on a Friday night than an empty lot and not so much as a tricycle between 'em to get nowhere else either. He's gonna slow us down, but it's kinda nice to see his face. At least with him around, some homeless bum's not gonna jump out at me.
"I gotta go holler at my cousin," I say.
Campbell eyes Marcus and his friends. She knots her hair into a bun, but her hands are shaking.
"Hey, Campbell Soup. You good?"
"I'm fine."
Her words do not match up with her face. "Listen, this big-top circus crew might look shady, but don't worry," I say. "They're all soft as gummy bears. That one over there—the big guy? Look at his arm when we get up close. He got a Hufflepuff tattoo."
She snorts. "Seriously?"
"You'll see." I smile. "Whatever we do, though, we gotta be quick. I do not want Marcus to start preaching."
I step through the opening, careful of the chain link that's twisted like a Fruit Roll-Up, and I walk over to them. "'Sup?" I say, letting out a sigh.
"NaNa, what's good, lil cuz?" Marcus says. "I just had asked Pops about you."
Asked Pops about me means, as usual, he was trying to get all up in my business for whatever reason. "What're you asking about me for?"
"I'm lookin' out for you, NaNa," he says. "I always have and I always will."
"I don't need you to," I say. "I got my situation under control."
Marcus's friend Malik chuckles. Malik annoys me because he's cute and he's fully aware I used to have a little bit of a crush on him. But that was way before Black, so no reason for him to be big-headed. "Don't hurt the boy, now," Malik says. "We know you got this."
I glare at him. I ain't gonna respond to that. Cricket pipes up, holding out a leg with a brand new pair of Nikes so fresh out the box, they don't have a scuff on them.
"Hey, NaNa. Whatchu think of my new kicks?"
"She thinks it's a good thing you standin' on that bench, short stack, or she wouldn't be able to see 'em." That's Sheldon, who's always got something to say.
"Don't listen to them, Cricket," I say. "They jealous of your style. You always killin' it."
All them boys go oooooh like a bunch of fools, and that makes Cricket pop off.
"I don't need to be tall," he says. "A punch in the nuts hurts as bad as a punch in the face."
Pee Wee laughs. "Yeah, you are just about nut-level!"
I hold my hand up in his face and turn to Cricket. "Haters gonna hate, Cricket. You keep doin' you. That's what I do."
"And what're you doing down here tonight, NaNa?" Sheldon says.
"Me and my girl headed to Seventh."
Marcus looks confused and surprised all together. From the corner of my eye, Campbell does too, but praise God, she don't mention Black.
"Your girl? Since when is this your kinda girl?" Marcus asks.
My cousin makes me so mad.
"What are you trying to say, Marcus? You sayin' I'm not good enough to hang with Campbell or Campbell's not good enough to hang with me? Which one?"
"I'm not sayin' either one," he says. "I'm asking why all of a sudden you're walkin' around with Becky. And as a matter of fact, did y'all come through Tillman Park?"
"Tillman Park is nothing compared to what we been through together. That was the only way we could go after what happened at the school."
Marcus looks from me to Campbell and back, and I can tell he gettin' upset. "You were at the school? When they were shooting?"
Oh. My. God. I talk too much! I better think real fast, to get him off this without him having more to say. "When we were there, it was just a fight. We got out of there before anything too wild popped off." Lord, let Campbell remain on mute. I hope she don't blow up my spot and wind him up. "We're on our way to Joe's."
"Joe's on a Friday night?" Marcus says. "What's down there for you?"
Malik jumps in. "Black."
I glare at him, but at least he's talking and not Campbell. "You so busy mindin' my business 'cuz you ain't got none of your own, huh, Malik?"
"NaNa. You ain't meeting Black, is you?" Marcus asks, his voice all deep and serious.
I could lie, but why should I have to? My relationship with Black ain't none of his business. "And so what if I am, Marcus?"
"I keep telling you he ain't nothin', and I don't like to call a black man a nigga, but that's a nigga."
"You don't know him well enough to call him nothin'!" I say.
"Man, I'm too familiar with him and those dudes he's tryna be down with," Marcus says. "And that ain't for you. Not one of them fools gon' elevate yo mind, lil sister."
Here we go. "You might've heard some BS about his crew," I say. "But that ain't him."
"We are only as good as the five people around us," Marcus says, up in his pulpit now. "Mostly because we share the same value system as those five. So he with them, then he made a choice on livin' like them. He can be an eagle, but if he choose to flock with pigeons, he gon' have pigeon ways."
Dang, I'm mad at myself for not avoiding this corner. I take a look around—broken glass, a raggedy bunch of furniture thrown together for them to sit on. These fools done made a living room situation out of an abandoned lot. Like, who does that? But Bootleg Hotep wanna sit up here and lecture me on who bae choose to hang with?
"Yeah, 'cuz this is a regular presidential cabinet you kickin' it with?" I point at Pee Wee, the worst of the lot. He's on his sixth job this year and got two baby mamas to support. "The way I see it, you ain't in a position to judge nobody."
"Okay, lil cuz, you got all the answers today. But I'm telling you, that cat is gonna be your demise. A no-good man has been the end of so many women. Don't be a statistic."
"I am gonna be a statistic. They gotta do statistics on rich people too. We gon' be right up there with Jay-Z and Beyoncé, Will and Jada, Michelle and Barack. Watch and see."
I'm so tired of this conversation, and enough time has been wasted. I'm ready to go. All I need is a little interruption, because Marcus ain't gonna give up no time soon. I wish LaShunda was with me. She would have already come over here and stopped this bull, made up an excuse as to why we have to move. LaShunda's good like that, and Marcus an'nem don't mess with her. I look over at Campbell and give her a long glare. I hope she catches the hint to step up.
# 15
Campbell
MLK Boulevard and Pine Grove
The nerves in my legs crawl, shifting me from foot to foot. I can't settle in one spot. I'm not part of this conversation Lena's having with these guys. These guys I've driven past but never gotten near.
A half dozen of them sit on buckets and a bench they've constructed out of cinder blocks and rotten lumber. There's an old kitchen chair with a wicker seat that's sagging under the weight of its occupant, who sits on it backward, poking his fingers through the torn spots. The three guys on the bench pass a blunt, the musty smell sharp in my nostrils from way over here. A tall, skinny guy with the longest dreads I've ever seen holds a cell phone streaming music. From the way Lena argues with him, I'm guessing that's Marcus.
A bunch of guys skulking around at night in a fenced-off lot should be keeping quiet, shouldn't they? They're not supposed to be here, right? I glance around, worried someone's going to come over and...and do what?
What am I so anxious about?
No one in this lot is hiding. The music is loud. They're all loud, calling and laughing, talking, dancing a minute ago. Smoking right out in public. They have no fear the cops might come by any minute. Maybe I'm the only who's freaked out here. Maybe I'm the only one who needs to be. That homeless man's terrible taunts and Marcus's comments about me not being Lena's kind of girl.
They don't want me around, that's clear, though they haven't said anything to me directly. They're pretending I'm not here, which is fine, since I'm pretending I'm not here too. If I draw attention to myself, we'll all have to stop acting like this isn't happening.
Lena's conversation with Marcus is getting intense. Her hands are planted on her hips, one set of those clawlike nails drumming fast on the pocket of her shorts. He's way taller than her, and she's got her neck craned so she can look into his face.
I stand there, trying not to squirm whenever anyone glances my way, gripping the straps of my backpack tightly enough that it hurts. I think my hands might have frozen there. I'm considering trying to loosen my grip finger by finger, wondering if anyone will notice me being awkward, when Lena looks at me. As her eyes meet mine, I can read her mind.
Get me out of here.
The clarity of the plea, beamed directly from her brain to mine, drags words out of me. "Lena, we should go."
The voice shakes, but it's loud and rings over the talking and the music, and it's mine.
Oh, my God. What if I misunderstood what she wanted from me? What if she didn't want me to intervene?
One of the guys from the bench shouts, "Where you runnin' off to, Jennifer Lawrence? She talkin' here."
My face is on fire.
"Shut up, Pee Wee!" Lena snaps. "We goin'."
"Hold up, hold up," Marcus says. "After I just told you you can't trust that boy, you gonna run off to meet him? 'Cuz your little friend told you to?"
"Marcus, mind yo business." Lena sashays over to me and links her arm through mine. "Anyway, I'm meetin' Black because he gonna give me a ride to Campbell house, okay?"
Wait. What? She's coming to my house?
Marcus glances from Lena to me with a frown on his face.
"Where you think you gon' find him?" Malik asks. "He ain't got the balls to stick around no serious situation."
Lena points a shimmery nail at him. I recognize this pose. She's getting worked up. I wonder if the guys feel nervous. I do.
"We left the situation back up at the school, you fool," she says.
"Naw, streets is hot all over the city right now. My cousin's down by Joe's. He text me it's turnin' up."
"What you mean, Malik?"
"My cuz be down at the Icarus right next to Joe's." He holds up a cell phone. "He says somebody had planned a march, and some folks on the opposite side showed up, and those two do not go together."
"Lemme see!" Lena leans over and snatches his phone.
I blanch. I can't believe she did that. Wait, actually, I can. She has a serious phone-grabbing problem. She skims a finger over the screen, her eyes intent.
"Chill, shorty," Malik says, reaching for the phone.
She twists away, and there's a minute where Lena's reading the phone and Malik is trying to grab it from her, leaning way off the bench to get at her. He reaches too far and tumbles from his seat, landing in a heap at Lena's feet. The other guys burst into loud laughter. Lena looks up, and she laughs too. When she does, Marcus reaches over and plucks the phone from her hands.
"NaNa, I know Pops taught you better than to grab a man's phone."
"I ain't see no men here, just a buncha boys hanging out on a corner." Lena flings her hair behind her shoulder and steps away from Malik, who's scrambling to his feet with an angry scowl. For a second, I think he's going to grab Lena, but Marcus puts a hand to his chest and pushes him away. "If Seventh was so turnt up, we'd've heard. Black ain't say nothin' like that."
"That's 'cuz he prolly ain't there no more," Marcus says.
Anger curdles Lena's features. "He's waiting on me!" But the arm she has through mine spasms. Suddenly I get her panic over getting to Black. She isn't sure he's going to be there waiting for her. She isn't sure at all. I'm not surprised. He sounds like a jerk, but I am shocked that Lena James is chasing after a guy who isn't chasing back.
"Campbell ain't got no messages about that neither," she says.
They look at me. Oh, God. All those faces. Expecting me to speak up. There's no one in the world who would have told me what's going on down on Seventh Avenue. Lena's got to be aware of that.
"Uh..."
"Ain't that right, Campbell?" Lena widens her eyes and cocks her head with this aggressive twitch.
I fumble for my phone, which Lena has. My hands go to my pockets, patting awkwardly for a minute, and then I shake my head. "Yeah, uh, nope. I haven't heard about that."
There's no way any of them believe me, but Lena's features relax and she offers me a tiny smile that makes me feel like I won a trophy.
"See, Marcus? You worried for nothin'."
"Don't be a fool, NaNa. You walkin' into trouble when you oughta go home." He frowns for a second and then tips a couple of fingers at his friends. "Matter of fact, that's where you need to be, and I'm gonna take you there."
Lena's face gets tight and her eyes roll. She seems more annoyed than she has all night. But behind the annoyance, there's real worry. "I am not goin' home. And you must be drunk if you think you can tell me what to do, Marcus. You ain't my daddy."
"No, and I ain't yo pops neither. He know what you get into with that loser?"
"If he mysteriously find out about me and Black, yo mama gonna find out I ran into you messin' around this lot with these fools."
I watch their argument like a tennis match, swiveling back and forth. I can't imagine talking to anyone around here in Lena's sassy tone of voice, let alone him. Maybe he is her cousin, but his don't play with me vibe radiates more powerfully than hers.
"I told you, I'm going to Seventh and you can't stop me."
"Hey, Marcus, you gonna let your little cuz walk herself down there on a Friday night?" one guy calls. "Ain't no place for a couple chicks on they own." That sounds nice, like he's looking out for us, but from the mockery in his tone, he's goading Lena's cousin. It works.
Marcus stands and tosses the phone back to Malik. "No. I'm gonna head on down to Seventh with you, to meet up with Mr. Black and have a little chat with him about all the time he has been spending around my cousin."
"Oh no, you ain't," Lena screeches. "Let's go, Campbell."
She pulls on me, and I can't quite get myself turned around fast enough. Lena's marching away, sliding back through the fence, dragging me along. Marcus comes after us in long, jogging steps. His friends are shouting, catcalling. I don't really grasp what they're saying, but sounds like they're making fun. Lena waves a hand behind her, and if I don't hurry, she'll dismiss me, like she dismissed them. And I'd be left behind. My heart starts to race.
I hurry to keep up.
# 16
Lena
Pine Grove Ave
"I cannot let Marcus get to Black!"
"What?" Campbell whispers.
I glance at her, like what are you talking about, and after a second I realize I said that out loud. And then, I decide I might as well tell her.
"Marcus and Black don't get along too well. The tension's been building for a bit. And then last month, we was at the block party for Labor Day, and me and Black was chillin' and havin' a good time, and here come Marcus, pulling his usual big brother act. Only, he did that in front of everybody, so of course Black had to clap back. Next thing, they was punching each other. Ms. Johnson, this neighbor, she was about to call the police, so you know it was serious. Big Baby had to break them up, because Black don't need any marks on his pretty face, and Marcus don't need to be violating his probation."
Campbell stares at me, her mouth all wide. "Are you serious?"
"Girl, yassss. Everybody says Black is a thunderstorm when he wanna be."
"Whoa." She blinks like she can't take all this in. "What happened then?"
"Well, then Pops showed up at the party, and me and Black had to take off. I knew Pops would take Marcus's side. He don't never give Black a fair chance. I did not want him hearin' about Black startin' drama, so leaving was the best option, get me?"
"Yeah," Campbell says. "Sure."
"They ain't seen each other since, and I don't want them seeing each other tonight." I shake my head. "Bet your cousins ain't all up in your business like mine."
"No." She sounds real quiet and folds her arms and looks away. I don't like that she looks so sad, especially because Marcus's nosiness triggered it. I'll leave her alone, though. I wouldn't want anybody to put me on blast in front of a bunch of strangers. Besides, Marcus is on us like white on rice, and I have to worry about that instead.
We start heading toward Seventh Ave. I walk as many paces ahead of Marcus as I can. Campbell keeps up with me. She clearly doesn't want to walk with him. If her annoying cousin was following us, I wouldn't be wanting to make a new friend with him either.
"I don't mind him walking us down Pine Grove, but once we get close to Seventh, we gotta ditch him."
She sneaks a glance behind her, and I have to admit the girl's got some covert skills, because she's faster even than I might've been.
"I could try to drop a hint that he should go away," she says.
"He don't take hints, never has. His mind is a hint-free zone."
Our eyes catch, and we smile. I can tell we both want to laugh, but neither of us is trying to invite him into our conversation. I definitely don't want to hear a what are you laughing at from his mouth.
"Are you guys close?" she asks.
"I wouldn't say that, but he's known me my whole life. His mom is tight with my pops. We grew up in the same church."
"She was your pops's sister?"
"No."
"Oh. But then, how are you related?"
"We're not."
"Oh. Sorry. I thought—" she hesitates. "You called him your cousin."
"Yeah, he's my play cousin."
"Play cousin? What's that?"
How am I gonna explain that to this girl? "People just be havin' play cousins where I'm from."
After I say that, I realize it ain't quite right. Marcus is more than that. His mom and Pops ain't blood, but they are family, and that means me and Marcus is too. Why else would I let him call me NaNa when only him and LaShunda get that privilege?
"We got a bond. I guess that does make us close."
She presses her mouth together and shuts up. But then, like she can't help herself, more words trickle out. "Why is he so determined to talk to Black?"
"My pops was kinda like a dad to him because he didn't have one. So I think he feels like he has to look out for me."
"Wow, that's cool."
"Don't feel the need to be nice about him. He's annoying."
"Yeah, but you have a cousin, or a play cousin or whatever, who cares enough to follow you to Seventh to have a talk with your boyfriend. That's...nice," she says, trailing off and sounding a little down.
It's not that I don't appreciate Marcus. The concern is nice, but sometimes I feel he's all about being right and treating me like a child. But maybe some play cousins wouldn't care at all.
"He could be worse." I shrug.
"But," she adds, catching the look on my face and probably thinking I'm not all that enthusiastic about him. "Definitely annoying too."
"See?" I smile. "I knew you get it."
And now we do laugh together, and sure enough from behind us, Marcus puts on his deep voice and calls, "Whatchy'all laughing about?"
We get back down to the same smile-laugh from before.
"Listen, Campbell Soup, I have an idea."
"Of course you do," she says, but she don't sound mad. She sounds like she wants to laugh again.
"When we get down to Seventh, you distract Marcus for me."
Her breath catches a little. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yeah, come on. I'll slip away, and then Marcus can take you home."
"I'm not sure, Lena—"
"Please," I say. If I have to beg, I will. This is that important. "I can't let him try to intimidate Black. I can't. Black wouldn't respond well to that."
I did not mean to be that honest, but her big ol' eyes are on me. She shoots me a knowing look. I hide the rest of my embarrassment in a grin. For the first time since I got a Coke thrown all over me, I feel okay with Campbell.
We walk in silence for a while. Except for my irritating cousin walking with us, I'm actually enjoying the moment. My heart is racing from the excitement of heading toward Black. I'm so close. There's a nice breeze on my face. Could be left over adrenaline from escaping the school, but I'm amped, ready to ditch Marcus with Campbell's help, and ready to see bae.
I look up and realize there's people out everywhere. I should be glad to see that because this is normal for a Friday night. But it still seems off—because literally everybody is headed down to Seventh. All these people can't be going down to that protest—right?
We pass Ms. Johnson's house. Of course, she's standing outside on her porch, wearing leather slippers and a flowered housecoat, like always. I wave at her, but I'm shaking my head. I told her she should go to the Stein Mart that opened over in Northlake because they have real cute clothes for ladies Ms. Johnson's age. I even offered to go with her. She didn't want to. Campbell halfway lifts her hand like she's not sure if she's supposed to know this lady or not. I laugh. Obviously, she moved here recently, and not from somewhere else in the South, because she clearly doesn't get that's just the way it is here.
"Hey, Ms. Johnson," Marcus yells.
"Hey, baby, you takin' the girls home?"
"No, ma'am. My little cousin got it in her mind that she wanna go to Seventh Ave tonight."
I make a disgusted sound under my breath. "Shut up, Marcus." Campbell suppresses a giggle.
"Miss Lena James, you are not. Do I need to call Frank?"
My pulse starts to race. After all this trouble to keep tonight off Pops's radar, I'm gonna get busted by a detective in a housecoat! "It's fine, Ms. Johnson. Me and my friend meetin' someone to get a ride home. We're okay."
"Ohh, NaNa," whispers Marcus. "Lightning gonna strike you dead for lyin' to Ms. Johnson."
"She is not a preacher, you genius. Chill out."
He chuckles and calls, a little louder, "Don't worry, Ms. Johnson. I got this."
"Okay," she says, sounding pleased. "You stay with them, you hear? And y'all be careful out here, look like people acting a plum fool tonight. Look at what happened up there at that school. An officer was shot, and nineteen people was hurt in one way or another. And I reckon Seventh is only going to get worse. Heard there's already trouble brewing."
I have to admit that doesn't sound good. Ms. Johnson has the pulse of this neighborhood. She's better than Black Twitter at keeping up with news.
"I keep telling them that," Marcus says. "But they don't want to listen."
"Well, I don't advise you head that way," Ms. Johnson says. "There was a big group raising they voices about the governor. Now, that's the right thing for them to do, but it's not the right place for y'all to be."
Marcus probably wants to yell I told you so, but as I turn around and look at the smirk on his face, I can tell he's satisfied with me having heard the conversation. Sheesh. Ms. Johnson got me a little nervous, but I don't want to say so.
Campbell tenses up.
"Listen," I whisper to her. "Ms. Johnson don't do nothing but stand on her porch, tryna run this neighborhood. She has no idea what's happening down Seventh."
Campbell nods. But when she's not watching, I shoot a text to Black using Campbell's phone and also send up a quick prayer that he didn't already go home. As we walk on, I try real hard not to think about the last time he did that, when I was supposed to meet him at the studio but Wink got some last-minute tickets to a concert, and Black left and forgot to tell me.
A few houses on, I no longer believe my own words. The more I walk, the more that excitement I was feeling turns to nervousness. I recognize a few people from school, store workers, folks I've seen around. There's way too many people to make sense for this street, this time of night.
I'm really starting to wonder if Marcus and his friends weren't straight for once. This situation don't look good. But I can't turn back. Black's waiting for me.
# Part III
The First Brick
# 17
Campbell
Seventh Avenue
We hear Seventh Avenue before we see it. Hip-hop music blares from a block away—electronic club versions of songs that play on the radio. The bass rumbles through me, not making me want to dance. Tonight, the rhythm makes me nervous.
With Marcus still playing Follow the Leader, we come to a halt at the intersection. All down the street, as far as I can see, people are partying like it's New Year's Eve, not a random Friday night in October.
My father would kill me if he knew I was down here this late. He forbid me to be on Seventh after eight o'clock. I'm not even allowed to visit his store. This street is not safe, he says. I feel it now, the nervousness in his voice when he told me to beware of this area.
That same nervousness radiates through Lena, when she says, low and soft, "Yo, Seventh is turnt."
That feels like an understatement. We're at the top of the commercial district. At this end, most of the stores are closed for the night. But one block down, people fill the sidewalks and spill over into the street. The restaurants and bars look crowded to bursting. The music competes with the sounds of the Hawks game on the bar TVs. I stare around me. There's so much going on, I wish I could open my eyes wide enough to see everything all at once. People are everywhere. Mostly black, but some white too. The men wear T-shirts and fancy sneakers. The women wear skinny jeans tucked into high-heeled boots, even if the weather is too hot for that. I see quite a few BLACK LIVES MATTER shirts and another one that's new to me—black with white block writing that says COLORED PERSON in huge letters covered by one of those red "no" symbols. I don't get it. The shirt must mean something, because there's, like, twenty-five people in those shirts, milling around. And they're holding signs made of poster board, though I can't see what's on them. As far as I can tell, all they're doing is talking to each other, but I think these must be the protestors Pee Wee and Ms. Johnson mentioned.
"Is it always like this?" I ask, aware that I sound a little awed, but not caring enough to attempt a mask of cool. Lena already thinks I'm totally naive.
"Well, Seventh usually poppin', but not like this." She's still holding my phone, her nails tapping on the plastic case. I can't hear the clicks over the noise of the street, but I imagine they're staccato and anxious.
I follow her gaze toward a couple of people I can't believe I didn't notice before. A trio of white guys walks up the street, shoulder to shoulder, taking up as much of the sidewalk as they can, forcing people to step into the road to avoid them. They stand out like nothing else on this out-of-control street, wearing more camo clothing than the army and a hat with a Confederate flag on the front.
"Not like this," she says again, thoughtfully.
A crowd gathers around us, pressing closer to look at the guys across the street. Marcus and a few others start muttering.
"He better be real sure of himself, wearing that hat in this part of town."
"He better hope he bulletproof."
"Comin' down here to start trouble in our peaceful assembly."
"Don't nothin' have to stay peaceful, though. Cops all cleared outta here already."
The more they talk, the louder they get. My hands start to shake. I hide them in my pockets and edge closer to Lena and Marcus. I've never seen a street as alive as this, but it's too intense. Like an electric wire has come loose and charged every person in the crowd. I really want to get out of here.
"Where this man of yours supposed to be at?" Marcus demands over his shoulder, his watchful eyes on the guys across the street.
"Imma call him." She puts my phone to her ear. But a couple seconds later, she lowers it again.
"He didn't answer?" Marcus shakes his head. "How often he be doin' that, NaNa? Not answering when you call?"
"He prolly can't hear over all this noise," she snaps, waving her hand in front of us.
Aw, poor girl. I don't think that's true. From what I've heard about Black tonight, he seems like the type of guy to screen his girlfriend's calls until it's convenient for him. But I can't say that. Lena looks so defeated as she turns her face back to my screen and dials again and again, waiting for an answer I don't think is going to come. I know the feeling of waiting for a call from someone you're desperately missing. Someone who's too busy in their new life to make time for what they left behind.
"It is really loud," I say. "We probably wouldn't hear a ring either. Lena, you should put the phone on vibrate, so we don't miss it when Black calls you back."
She beams at me, mouth full of blaring white teeth.
Marcus snorts and looks between us. "No idea why an epic chick like you is hollerin' at him when he whack as hell. No idea why a white girl cosignin' it."
"As I keep tellin' you, Marcus, nobody asked your opinion," Lena says.
She starts forward, heading south, wading right into the crowd. One of the two clubs on the street—dark and closed up whenever I pass during the day—is not far away and clearly open for business tonight. A pulsating line has formed outside the door, with red velvet ropes and a mountain-sized bouncer.
Lena laughs. "Girl, close that mouth or you gon' catch every mosquito on Seventh Ave in there."
My hand flies up to my mouth, which is hanging wide open. Oh, shoot. I snap it closed. Lena tosses her hair, which is no longer sleek and smooth like at the beginning of the night. Her blowout is starting to frizz up, like mine would if I released my bun.
"That's Deep Blue," she says, nodding at the club. "Ain't nothin' to get worked up about."
"You've been in there before?"
"Nah. But Black is gonna get me in soon. Once they start playing his beats, they won't care if I'm underage. When you're with the artist, they don't be sweatin' you 'bout no IDs."
"Bullshit artist, maybe," Marcus says.
Lena whirls around, nostrils flaring. Her mouth opens to snap back at him, and that's when it happens. A big, silver-gray SUV swerves toward the curb. There's a squeal of brakes, the scrape of metal on concrete and screams. People try to jump out of the way, but there's one person, a woman, who can't quite move fast enough. I think she might have been in the street, but I'm not sure. The details whiz past too fast for me to process. To realize where she was before the car hits her.
Holy crap! The car hit her.
She goes flying forward and crashes through a group of people in line for the club. I scream, but I can't hear myself over the chaos breaking out.
The woman's on the ground. A few people crouch down by her, and the crowd surges, pushing me forward. Those people in the protest shirts are the first ones to come running, and there are so many of them! Lena grabs onto the strap of my backpack and holds tight. I stretch and crane, trying to see what happened to the lady, but more yelling draws my attention to the street. To the car, which has rolled to a stop beside the curb. To the people who are shouting:
"What the hell?"
"Fool, where your mind at?"
"You didn't see the sista standing there?"
A few people, mostly guys, step into the street, surrounding the car. Blocking it in. Banging on the hood. Demanding the driver get out. The door cracks open and a head appears in the car door frame, and then the night explodes in front of me all over again.
"It's a damn cracker!"
"Mighta known they'd come up in here, runnin' over people like ain't no big deal."
Someone grabs the driver and hauls him from the car, flinging him into the street.
Oh, no, not again. My heads spins, and I go hot all over. I'm being pushed and shoved, caught in a wave of people. A wave that might drown me.
Hands grab me, and I gasp—it's just Lena, clutching me. She says something that gets swept away in the noise of the fight, but I can hear the tone. She's terrified, and I am too.
I glance around for her cousin. He's as transfixed by the fight as I am. The confusion has pushed us away from him. Five or six bodies separate us.
"Lena," I cry, pointing at him.
She blinks, taking a few seconds to see what's freaking me out. Her eyes get wild.
"Marcus!" she hollers. He doesn't look our way. "Marcus!"
We're getting shoved back. He's drifting away with the crowd, carried by their momentum into the street. A burst of flutters explodes inside me. He'll be gone in a second. Lena might find him annoying, but I appreciated having him around. It didn't feel quite so alone with the three of us walking together.
He's almost on the other side of the car. To get to him would mean getting in the middle of a fight. Another fight.
I am not doing that again.
# 18
Lena
Seventh Ave
Ms. Johnson's words come back to me about this not being the right place to be. Somehow Marcus has got himself drowned in the crowd. I can only still see him because he's so tall. I wave over my head, yelling once more, "Marcus!"
Fortunately, this time he notices. "NaNa, get out of here."
Maybe before I was trying to ditch him, but what kind of cousin would I be if he walked me all the way down here and I left him?
"Come on." I wave toward myself with both hands. He tries to fight his way out, but it ain't working.
He shouts, "Go on. Go home! Don't wait on me."
I look at Campbell. I'm kinda surprised she didn't run, but I'm grateful. My eyebrows go up. I shrug and hold my hands out, asking her what she wants to do. She frowns, looking from me to Marcus, who we can't really see anymore.
"He said to go," she says, like she's asking.
Yeah, he did. I guess we should go. With one last look at Marcus, I grab her hand and start to push my way down Seventh.
Black not answering his phone has left a pit in my stomach. The only reason I drug us all the way over to Seventh is to meet him. I can't even get ahold of him. With Marcus's words in my head, I'm having a hard time not thinking the worst. Of all nights, he has to come through for me tonight. I like a touch of drama every now and again, but this is over the top. I never wanted to star in an action thriller.
In front of me, a sea of people blocks the street I need to get across. These nosy asses are all moving toward the accident, trying to lookie-loo. And the smell on this street is rank. The people pulsing around us are all sweaty, overheated, and dirty. They funkin' up the place.
A bottle flies through the air right over me. What the hell? I barely duck in time to keep my head on. That alone scares the crap out of me. Campbell felt it too. With each unbelievable moment, we've pulled each other tighter. Despite her arm being moist from sweat, which would normally gross me out, I feel so much better holding on to her.
People are yelling at the driver. I can see his face. Aw man, homie, your timing couldn't be any worse. I almost feel sorry for him because I bet he didn't think he was gonna get dragged out his big-ass car and beat. But he did hit that lady.
The street's getting louder and louder. Those three redneck white boys that was making a scene before roll up, jumping out of a pickup truck. They park right in the middle of the street and fly into the brawl, shouting, "Get these thugs under control!"
Bodies go rushing around us. People throw punches. And aw, hell. Campbell! I have got to get her out of here. If I've learned any lessons from watching the news with Pops, it's that when situations get to this level, you never know what people might do. I don't want her to get hurt. We keep getting pushed around, trying to weave our way out of this crowd. All that has happened tonight finally drops on me, and I'm numb. My feet are moving, but nothing else.
Crack! I jump. Another bottle hits the ground nearby.
Where'd that come from? I swivel my head and see a little ways down, the patio of the Shamrock bar is bubbling. That entire strip of restaurants has really cool tables out front so people strolling by can hear the live music they got on the weekend and see what delicious treats they're serving. Now, everybody's rushing outside to see what's going on, turning that patio into an ant farm. They're making a bad situation worse. That's where all the bottles coming from—not only beer either. Someone with pretty good aim chucks a liquor bottle that smashes through the window of the SUV.
There's a flicker to my left. Somebody done lit a T-shirt on fire and threw it at the car. It goes through the smashed window, lands on the liquor and whoosh! The seat goes up in flames. Before I can really react to all of that, a brick smashes through a storefront window next door.
"Campbell, we gotta haul ass," I say, tugging her arm. She's mesmerized by the flames, and her feet ain't moving. "Now!"
"'Kay," she says.
We try to run, but we can't move fast. There's so many people coming this way. It's like that car crash turned all these people into zombies and they can't help but walk into the apocalypse. Why would you literally be a moth to the flames? You get hurt running toward danger—the perpetrators always walk away and the innocents get dead.
I hear a siren, but only one. Shouldn't there be more?
"Which way are we going?" Campbell shouts. "Is Black still at the tattoo parlor, do you think?"
"I don't know. Maybe. At this moment, though, we need to get somewhere safe."
"Where?" she asks.
I don't have an answer.
I search for my cousin. He's gone, swept away in the crowd. I do see some guy climb on top of a car. Then a bunch of dudes follow him, scrambling over the hood and onto the roof. They start jumping around, caving in the roof and kicking out the windshield. A spray of broken glass showers the ground. One of the dudes tears the mirror off the side of the car like he the Hulk and throws it at another dude, smashing right at our feet.
Campbell screeches and jumps up. "That could have hit us!"
"Let's see someone try to throw something at us," I say, high-stepping over the glass. I miss the mark, because I instantly feel the sting of glass ripping across the side of my foot. I bend down and carefully try to clear out my sandal and save my skin. A beer bottle rolls toward me. I snatch it up, luckily grabbing the neck instead of the busted side. This I can use to keep the killers off us.
We finally get clear of the crowd, and I try to breathe, but the smoke from that car fire is getting heavy. I look back for a quick second because I can't help myself. Through the hazy air, a sandwich board from outside the pizza place flies by, and people hustle around, smashing windows to get inside stores.
That happened so fast.
"There!" Campbell suddenly shouts.
I follow the direction of her pointing hand, and right across the street I see one of the little convenience stores on the street, the kind that sell you a cheap hotdog with an expensive Coke.
"They closin' up. They ain't gonna let us in."
"They will. I know them. Kind of."
Shaking my head again, I let her pull me to the door. I rattle the handle, but it's locked. Story of my life tonight. But Campbell's not giving up. She's banging on the door and shouting. Gotta hand it to her, her determined side sure came out once they started burning cars. And plot twist! I'm wrong. The older man inside sees Campbell and unlocks the door.
# 19
Campbell
Seventh Avenue
Mr. Wells opens the door to Seventh Avenue Sundries, and Lena and I tumble through, elbowing him out of the way.
"Thank you!" I set my hand on my chest and try to breathe evenly, but all I can do is pant. My pulse rate might never slow down again.
"Campbell, what are you doing here? Why are you outside in this?"
"I, um—" I look away from his face, which is drawn and wrinkled with worry and anger and maybe fear. "I didn't mean to be."
Mr. and Mrs. Wells have owned Seventh Avenue Sundries for longer than my dad's owned Carlson's. I met them when I first moved here, and he showed me around. We had lunch at the sports bar across the street, and then we stopped into their store for Tastykakes, which are sold all over up north, but down here, only the Wellses have them, I think because they're originally from Pennsylvania too. I snort when I realize that was only a couple of months ago.
The sound of shattering glass makes me jump. Another car window breaking. I sneak a peek at Mr. Wells. I don't think I've ever seen a grown-up look so scared before. He's having a full-on the killer is inside the house moment. He scratches his head and mumbles something I can't understand. Then, louder, he orders, "Get back. Get away from the door."
I catch sight of the metal baseball bat he's holding and the way he plants himself in front of the door like a guard. I gulp.
Lena's voice sounds from behind me, cursing. She's got my phone to her ear again. Guess her boyfriend is still not answering. I doubt she's going to hear from him again tonight. That makes him a serious jerk. I wish for a second that I was brave enough to tell Lena what I think. But we're not friends like that.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the window and slide forward, trying to see what's going on outside. Mr. Wells frowns. "Get back from the glass, young lady."
I flinch because I'm not used to being ordered around like that. Neither of my parents ever scold me. Mr. Wells's voice is firm, so I recede. But I can't stop myself from peeking at the door. I've still got a good view of the street. There's a guy swinging an orange cone around his head like a cowboy with a lasso. Not the kind of cone the school uses in PE either. He's got one of those big traffic cones, with the black weighted bases.
"What's he going to do with that?"
Good thing I wasn't asking anyone in particular because no one responds. But not more than a minute goes by before it becomes clear what he's going to do with the cone. He torpedoes toward the cars parked across the street, hefts the cone, and smashes the windshield of the last car in the row. I gasp. The guy swings again, using the heavy base to smash another window. And another. He walks down the entire row of cars, shattering every single one.
"These punks!" Mr. Wells grumbles. "No respect for property! Who do those cars belong to, that's what I want to know!"
Out in the street, someone comes up behind the cone guy and wallops him. They start pushing and shoving. I can't tell who's on whose side. Are there sides? Mostly, this seems like a massive crowd fighting and destroying stuff. The first guy flings the cone, which smashes into some outdoor seating at Harry's Bar & Grill next door.
Instant uproar.
Tables topple. The trendy firepit in the middle of the patio falls over. Something catches, maybe a tablecloth, and with a whoosh, flames flicker to life.
People run, scrambling.
I can't really see what's happening, just that too many people in a too-small space are panicking, tripping, falling against the half-stone wall that barricades the patio from the street. Others jump the wall to escape the spreading fire.
A smoky haze covers the patio as it empties of people. Some head to the street, but I think some others went back inside.
God, I hope there was an emergency exit.
"What the hell?" Lena's beside me again.
"This is outrageous," I say.
I glance at the other stores and shops nearby and notice the bars are pushing people out into the street. Stores are shuttering. Two guys come out of a clothing store and start hauling one of those rolling metal doors down over the storefront. Next door, at the hookah shop my dad always hustled me past quickly, another guy yanks a security grill closed. Before he can lock it into place, two guys jump him, wrestling it open again.
"Why?" Lena groans as they throw the store worker to the ground.
One of the guys raises his foot and slams through the door, busting the glass to rush inside. Others follow.
I see why Mr. Wells is guarding his door with a baseball bat. He knew. He knew what was coming. He knew the looting would start. A flash of heat blazes in my head, sparking trickles of sweat at my temples.
"I can't take any more," I whisper. What if we were still out there? What if Mr. Wells hadn't opened the door and let us in? We'd be in the middle of that. Tears prick my eyes.
Then, I catch sight of the strangest episode yet. Huge sheets of plywood go marching toward the window. A whole stack. The person carrying it staggers under the weight. Mr. Wells bounds forward and opens the door to admit the plywood. As he helps lower the load, I see who's carrying the load.
Nicky, the weekend manager of my father's hardware store down the road.
Nicky, who is supposed to be in charge of the store this weekend while my father fishes at his cabin.
Nicky, who is not minding the store right now at all.
"I got as much as I could carry," he says, leaning the wood against the door frame. He pulls two hammers and a box of nails from his apron pocket. The apron that is his uniform when he's working at my dad's store. "It might not be enough, but we'll make do. No way can I get back down the street with all—"
"What are you doing here?" I demand.
He turns to me, and his eyes go wide. "What are you doing here?"
"Who's this?" Lena asks.
"My dad's manager!" I say at the same time Mr. Wells says, "My grandson."
"You're supposed to be at the store!" I'm yelling. Loud enough that Lena startles and stares at me.
"I locked the door!"
His defensive tone adds the context. We both know that doesn't matter. A lock? A second ago, I watched a guy kick down a security door. A lock isn't going to stop anyone from getting into my dad's shop!
"I set the alarm too," Nicky says.
Lena snorts. "Look around. They rioting. You think the po po gon' show up for an alarm at one little store? Naw, man. Whenever they do get around to getting here, they gon' be too busy tear gassin' folks to worry about some hammers and nails at the hardware store."
A sob catches in my throat. She's right. The store is totally unprotected. My dad is screwed. And I am too.
"Look, it happened fast. I...I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry. But it's done now." Nicky sets about trying to drag the plywood all the way into the convenience store. I step forward, blocking him.
"Move," he says.
I flinch, but I don't give up any ground. "You have to go back. You have to go back to my dad's store this minute!"
"What? Do you see what's happening out there?"
"Do you?" I start pushing the plywood back out the door. "This belongs to my father. Did you pay for it?"
He has the sense to look a little ashamed, but growls, "Are you accusing me of stealing?"
Mr. Wells, who's been standing there dumbfounded, comes back to life. "Of course we will pay for this. Of course we will. This is an emergency. My grandson must help us board up the windows. They could throw bricks any minute."
Nicky glares at me. I glare back. He retaliates by giving the sheets of wood a huge shove. I lose my grip and stumble back. My butt hits the ground.
"Yo," Lena says, stepping in front of me. The face she turns on Nicky is hard, and she's got a broken bottle clutched in her hand. "Back up."
Nicky jumps, shouting, "What the heck?!"
Mr. Wells rushes in, grabbing his grandson. "Get out, get out! You're not going to rob me!"
"Oh, I'm a thief?" Lena shouts. "Y'all got a lotta nerve sayin' that, when this boy admitted to stealing her dad's wood."
"That's not what happened!" Mr. Wells brandishes his bat. "Who do you think you are, saying that?"
I duck and throw my hands over my head. Is he really going to hit us? This is ludicrous. Lena does not look intimidated by him or the bat.
"Your worst nightmare, if your grandson puts his thieving hands on her again."
I gasp. She's been surprising me all night, but this is different. Lena might have the biggest balls of anyone I have ever met. Maybe Mr. Wells thinks so too, because he stops. His chest rises and falls too fast, and he's dripping sweat at his temples. After a long, terrible stare down between him and Lena, Mr. Wells lowers the bat and holds out his other hand, palm up.
"Okay, enough," he says. His voice trembles. "We will not bring the fight in here."
I look from him to Lena. I can only see her profile, the muscle jumping in her jaw, and I find myself silently begging both of them to take a deep breath. Lena loosens her grip on the bottle and lowers it to her side. She reaches down to help me up, while Nicky, a triumphant smile on his face, pushes the boards inside and locks the door. Tears trickle from my eyes. I've lost.
"Does my dad know?" I sound whiny and pathetic in my own head, and I cast my eyes downward so I can't see the others' reactions.
"Yes! I mean, I left him a message. Once he hears—"
"There's no reception at his cabin." I'm crying in earnest. Lena puts an arm around me.
"Here is what we must do," Mr. Wells says. "We will board up these windows. Campbell, you go in the back and wait there. And this girl—"
Lena bristles, and I jump in, "My friend. Lena."
"Well. Then you both wait in the back. Mr. Carlson would want me to look out for you. When Nicky is finished, he will take you home."
I look from Nicky's smug face to the chaotic street beyond the window. Someone flies past holding an armload of clothing I'm sure they didn't pay for. My father's store is all we have. What's going to happen to us—to me—if everything gets stolen tonight? I can't let that happen. Mr. Wells is standing here with his grim look, ready to defend his store with a baseball bat. I can't go home. I have to do something.
"I'm going to my dad's store."
Everyone hollers at once.
Lena's protective arm becomes a barricade. "What the hell are you talking about? You finna get yo-self hurt! We ain't goin' out there."
"You don't have to come."
Her face twists. "You goin' by yourself? Really?"
"Don't be ludicrous, Campbell," Nicky says. He's already begun nailing his contraband plywood to the inside of the store windows. "You can't go protect your father's store."
"Well, if you had stayed where you were supposed to, I wouldn't have to!"
"Campbell Soup," Lena says. "Come on. Think for a minute. It ain't safe. If we wait until I—"
"Until what? Black calls back? You're all about him, aren't you? Well, I'm not! And I can't wait around for him while my family loses all we have!"
She looks like I slapped her. I'm sorry for that. I shouldn't yell, and this isn't really about her, but I'm freaking out.
"Girls, I cannot let you consider this," Mr. Wells begins, but Lena cuts him off with a death glare.
"Who you tryna tell what to do?" She flips her hair over her shoulder and turns her back on him. "We have to hook up with Black and his boys. The tattoo place is on the way to your dad's shop. Listen," she says, when she sees I'm about to object. "We'll be safer with them. You're gonna need help once we get down by your dad's store anyway. What if they already looting?"
My heart drops. I hadn't thought of that, but of course, she's right. I need help.
"Okay," I say. "We can try to meet up with Black—but promise me, Lena. Promise me we're really heading to my dad's store."
She nods solemnly. "You got my word."
Mr. Wells gives a sharp shake of his head. "It's not safe for you to—"
"Grandpa!" Nicky shouts. "The door!"
We all spin and see a figure hulking up behind the glass, brick in hand. He's got on a hat, and the brim shades his face, but he's white and he looks really young. Like, our age. Maybe younger. With a yell that makes me jump, Mr. Wells goes blasting out the door, swinging his bat. God, who would've thought Mr. Wells with his sweater vests and his polite, precise demeanor had such a feral creature in him?
I want to see what Mr. Wells is doing to the guy. The kid. He's just a kid, I can't believe Mr. Wells would hurt him. Then again, the kid had a brick he was about the smash through the door.
But I can't wait for this to play out. I have to get to the store. While the Wellses are distracted, I squeeze past them and out the door.
# Part IV
Fatal Funnel
# 20
Lena
South on Seventh Ave
Campbell got her wings on again, and I gotta hurry. Normally, on a Friday night, this street is buzzing with people having a good time, eating, laughing, drinking. Right now, all I can see is smoke, things being thrown everywhere, from cones to chairs to protest signs, and blood on bruised bodies. As I run after Campbell, I can't stop thinking: What am I doing? I am a mess-free zone—why am I chasing this white girl out into a riot? This is wild! And all these people are headed the same way right behind us.
But Campbell been goin' hard for me tonight, so Imma ride with her.
We head down Seventh, not speaking, and that gives me a minute to think about the fact that Black didn't answer. Again. He can't miss what's going on outside. He down here too, ain't he? He better be at that tattoo parlor when I get there, and he better not have got himself hurt, or I'll kill him myself.
I have to get my head out of that place. I glance back. Nicky is losing a battle with someone for that plywood. It gets ripped right out his hands, and I feel what's coming next. I whip my eyes front because I don't really want to see him get his head busted.
We only make one more block before someone shoves me—and oh no. A fistfight, practically right on top of us. Campbell screams. This old man's gettin' beat up, and he's yelling for help. The other guy grabs him and swings him into a wall. I pause and eye the guy on the ground.
"I think I've been in his store before," I say. "He always yellin' at his customers. He ain't nice. He probably cussed this dude out at some point, now this dude gettin' him back." I smirk. That store owner got a nasty attitude. People only go in his shop if they don't feel like going to the mall. It's the only spot in the neighborhood that got outfits worth getting.
Campbell looks annoyed by my comment. "That's no reason to beat someone up. What if that was my father?"
"Wow, all you've seen tonight, and this is what got you mad?"
I been in her hardware store once or twice, but I can't remember if her daddy nice to his customers or not. I shrug. My eyes follow the guy as he climbs through a broken window. He comes out the front with an armful of shirts and jeans. Then, a bright light is beaming down on us from above. I squint up into the sky and—of course, a dirty bird. I don't know who's running it—could be the po po, but might also be the news, which tend to show up when people start beating on each other. The light follows a pair of looters, switches over to some folks fighting, takes in all the other activity.
I shield my eyes with my hand, trying to see what we're dealing with here. I catch the Channel 2 logo on the side. Pops watches the news and makes me watch with him nonstop, so I know that logo well. I almost think that's worse than the cops. As Pops says, the nice folk in the suburbs like to stay good and scared of what's happening down here in the hood, so that's the story reporters always want to tell.
A voice booms from the sky, and I notice another helicopter shows up—this one with the megaphone has got to be a cop chopper. That's a sign this is truly going downhill, when everyone's in the air. One thing I'm sure of is that once the dirty birds starts swarming, people are going to jail.
Flyin' fists, blood, broken glass, burning cars, there's so much going on around us. Everywhere we look. I'm starting to be scared we ain't escaping unless it's in the back of a squad car. Which, I guess, is better than the back of an ambulance, but Pops would kill me dead if the only place he sees me tonight is on the evening news. We have got to get off the street.
We're getting shoved forward again. Two men—one darker skinned and one who looks like he might be Latino—thrust past us, huddling around a pregnant lady. I don't think they mean to hurt us; they just real focused. Bet they're trying to get her to her car. They smart. This ain't no place for a pregnant lady. But she can't move real fast because her belly is huge, and they're all awkward, trying to get away. As they knock into us, the lady drops her purse.
"Wait!" she calls. "My pocketbook! My ID, my keys!"
I kinda want to keep moving. That lady ain't my problem. But she sounds so desperate. I let go of Campbell's arm, grab the purse from the ground, and chase after them. I get close enough to reach, and then I tap her on the shoulder. Man, the shriek she lets out and the look in her eyes. You would have thought I shot her. The Latino guy reacts real fast, putting out a hand to push me away. I'm lucky he don't hit me.
I hold up the purse. "Here."
"Thank you," she gasps.
The Latino guy grabs the bag from me and yells, "Come on. We gotta go!"
And they right. I have to go too. I spin around to grab Campbell, but I can't see her. Aw, hell, where is she?
"Campbell!" I scream.
I run back to where she was when I last saw her. My mind goes blank. Feet slapping the pavement, jewelry ringing, sweat forming on my forehead. Why did I let her go? Why didn't she follow me? If I find out tomorrow something happened to her, I'm going to be sick. I finally stop and spin around on the spot. Tears form in my eyes. There ain't no mousey teenage girls anywhere in my line of sight. Have I lost her?
No, wait—there's a white girl up ahead. A little bit of hair yanked up in a bun and a face peeking out of the doorway set back from the street, but that's her, I'm pretty sure.
"Campbell!" My voice don't crack through all the noise, and she ain't lookin' in my direction. She hiding, which is smart, but we ain't gonna catch each other that way. I push and elbow my way through the people between us until I reach that doorway where I saw her. Soon as I get there, I grab her. She shrieks and tries to pull free.
"It's me, girl," I say.
She looks me in the face, and then her body relaxes. I don't. I take her shoulders and shake her. "Why didn't you stay with me?"
"Why didn't I stay? Why didn't you? I thought you left me." She's got tears in her eyes.
"Why would I do that?"
"Everyone does," she sobs.
"You still on this planet?" I realize I'm screaming, but why? I'm not mad. I can't explain how I'm feeling, but it's taking me over. "Listen, I didn't run off. We only gon' get through together."
"Okay." She wipes her eyes and links her arm through mine. "Don't let go again."
Feels like the tattoo shop where Black suppose to be at is so far away. Seventh Ave ain't that big, but we been out here so long. Time keeps ticking, and the muscles in my legs burn. My feet throb, and my shirt is soaked like I got pushed in a pool. My hair sticks to the back of my neck, so I toss it into a bun. I don't got no rubber band, but I do my best to make a knot that will stay. We have to keep going to get out of here, but I just want to sit down. I want this to be over. We bust our way through people running around, fighting each other, and destroying property. The street's so hazy, with fires poppin' up left and right, it looks out of focus. My throat is scratchy and water streams from my eyes. Beside me, Campbell pulls her T-shirt up over her mouth and nose, coughing up a lung.
The tattoo shop is up ahead, and I don't see that many people around. That's good. Yes, finally! I speed up, and Campbell follows. My heart starts to race. I'm almost at a jog. I don't bother hiding the smile on my face. Black!
I stop in front of the shop and—
"It's closed."
"No!" I scream. My knees give out, and I drop to the ground.
The light on the sign flashes an annoying OPEN in neon red letters, but the door is boarded up with fresh plywood. They slapped a BLACK-OWNED BUSINESS sign in the front, written fast and barely readable, and no one's bothered the door. But Black is definitely not here. My smile fades.
I sob, "He left!"
Why didn't he call Campbell's phone? My legs are too weak to stand back up. I'm so done. Why would he leave me, with no sign, no call, no nothing? How could he do this? I don't get it. What am I gonna do? I'm done pretending like this night is going to be okay. It's not okay, and it keeps getting worse.
"Lena." Campbell kneels next to me. She pulls me in closer to the door of the shop and puts her arm around me. I lean into her hug. I'm stuck, can't move.
"Guys are a waste," she says. "Don't let him make you cry."
"I ain't cryin'." I wipe my eyes. "I'm mad."
Campbell starts rustling through her bag and comes up with a pretty, purple water bottle with some cool metallic designs on the side. She offers me some, and I shake my head. "Girl," I say, smirking, "you just remembered you have water?"
"I've been kinda busy tonight, as it turns out."
We laugh at that, and I take a long drink, holding it up over my head so my lips don't touch. Campbell takes the bottle back, takes a sip, and then pours some into her hands. She wipes her whole face and then sticks the empty bottle back in her bag.
I look down at the screen of her phone, which is still in my hand, at all the unanswered calls I made to Black. He told me to come here, and now he not answering the phone?
"I'm callin' his ass again, and he better pick up."
She makes a face. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, one more time, then I'm done."
LaShunda would be going ham about how Black ain't nothin' and how I got us all the way down here for nothin'. For the first time tonight, I'm glad it's Campbell I'm with, not LaShunda. I do kinda wish I could call her, just to be sure she's sitting still at home. She'll be the first person I call as soon as my phone charges. I bet she been trying to call me and getting my voicemail. Prolly worried as hell. This night has been hard on everyone.
The phone rings and rings, and then:
"Girl, where you at?"
"Where am I? At the tattoo shop where you were supposed to be," I shout. "Where are you?"
"Wait, you're at the shop?" Black says. "Why the hell'd you come down to Seventh? You shoulda gone home. Didn't you see what was happening?"
"Not 'til I got here."
"Okay, keep coming. I'm headin' to Walmart now. But you gotta hurry. People sayin' cops is turnin' up, and they got riot gear on."
"Black, can't you come get me?"
"Are you scared, baby?"
If only he knew what I been through tonight. Something crashes nearby, making me and Campbell both jump and push back farther into the doorway. Glad she thought to tuck us in here. "Yes, I'm scared. You see what's happening. But you left me and wouldn't answer your phone! Got me out here looking crazy."
"My phone died. I was charging it at the shop, then Big Baby ran in, talking 'bout it was a riot up the street. Soon as he said that, they was like, get out, we closin', and they kicked everybody out. You know how Wink is, he had to see for himself. Big Baby out there tryna keep him from being reckless. We gonna meet back at my car by the Walmart."
"Multiply that by five and that's been my night. Someone got shot up at the school, homeless dude tried to kill us, and then we was in that riot you talkin' about."
A louder crash makes me look up. A couple of guys about my cousin's age, with faces full of rage, swing chairs they must've taken from a patio, at those newspaper racks. They bolted down, so I don't get the point. One of the racks starts tilting over, and two guys kick 'til it dents in. Another guy takes a huge whack at the last rack standing, knocking off the bolts and—of course, it comes flying toward us.
"Watch out!"
Campbell shouts too, but she kicks out a leg real quick and knocks the rack out of the way.
"Go, Campbell!" I say, then stop when I realize she's whimpering and holding her ankle. "Campbell Soup, you okay?"
She nods and pushes her foot down. "It's okay. I think it's maybe just bruised. I can walk."
"What's goin' on?" Black's yelling into the phone.
"We under attack out here!"
"Tell me you safe, baby, tell me you okay."
"I'm not hurt, but I ain't okay, Black!"
"I can hear it, queen. It's my turn to hold you down."
God, please, yes. Finally. I'm exhausted. Someone else can be in charge for a minute so I can rest. I'm not the type that needs a knight in shining armor, but if Black wants to ride up on a white horse, I'm getting on.
"Just need you to get to me," he says.
Get to him? I sink. My hands bang against the wall. No more.
A heavyset guy comes running out of the store next to us with an armload of snacks. A strip of lotto tickets flutters down on me. He loaded his pockets with 'em too. Campbell picks up the string of tickets from my lap, eyes all big like she can't believe what she's seeing. She flings them away from her like a dead mouse. When he goes to move on, he trips over one of them busted newspaper racks and hits the ground. Ha! That's what his thieving behind gets! I turn to Campbell whose mouth is trapped between a laugh and a frown. "Black is down the street. Let's go."
Campbell doesn't look relieved. She look mad. "No. No way. I have to check on my dad's store."
"We can't waste time on that. Black said riot police comin'."
"Lena, you promised!"
I guess I did. I scootch to the edge of the step and lean around the door frame, looking south, toward her dad's place. Whoa. Plumes of black smoke billow out across the street, so thick it looks like a solid wall.
"What is that? What's down there?"
She hacks, burying her nose on my shoulder, choking.
"What?"
"Tires," she says, her voice scratchy.
Oh, right. Down the next corner is that mechanic shop Pops used to take his car to, back when he was still allowed to drive. They always had a mountain of old tires piled in back of the lot. Man, if they set those to burning, this whole place is probably about to melt down.
"Campbell," I say. "Put your wings back on."
# 21
Campbell
Carlson's Hardware Store
We're running again. Adrenaline courses through my legs, making them tremble, but I hold back. If I run flat out, I'll lose Lena. When I turned around earlier and couldn't see her face anywhere in crowd, I almost fainted. That was the worst moment of my life. I could be at the store already if I let go and fly, but we shouldn't separate. Besides, my ankle twinges every time I step, and I'm not sure it's as okay as I thought. Maybe I couldn't fly right now, even if I wanted to.
Sweat pours off my face. My backpack bangs hollowly against my side, lighter with all the water gone. I wish we hadn't emptied it completely. My throat aches from the smoke, and the burned stench clogs my nostrils. God, what if this fire spreads down to the store? What would be worse—finding out it's been robbed or burned to ashes?
A nasty pit forms in my stomach. When my dad quit paying child support a few years ago, my mom lost her house. What will happen if the store goes? Would he go bankrupt? I'm not sure I really know what that means, but I'm guessing he'd lose everything. Where would we go? Maybe he would get an apartment. Or his fishing cabin—does he own that? Would he want me to stay with him or would my mom have to take me? If the idea of transferring me to a foreign school before the year started made her melt down, imagine asking her to move me in the middle of the year. She'd hit the roof. And so would I.
I speed up. We can't lose the store. We just...can't.
Next to my dad's store is a pharmacy, and one before that is the little organic sandwich shop where my dad was hoping I'd get a job. My stomach swoops. We're close!
The sandwich place should be closed at this time of night, but the lights are on. A group of crying girls crowds around, all dressed up like they were at one of the clubs, limping around on bare feet, high heels in their hands. The owners—a young couple my dad told me quit their corporate lawyer jobs to open the shop—appear in the doorway, huddled together. After a second, the man flips the lock, pulls his apron up over his nose and mouth, cracks open the door enough to slide outside. He steps behind the girls, a fountain of dreadlocks pulled up on top of his head, bobbing around, and begins to shoo them in. As the girls squeeze through the miniscule opening, he raises his arms protectively, swiveling his head back and forth between the street and the door. His wife, still visible in the door frame, holds a gun. Jeez.
Before I see whether he gets all the girls safely inside, we're past his place and racing by the pharmacy, which looks hard hit. All the windows and the sliding doors are shattered. A steady stream of people stumbles over broken glass to get in and out.
My dad's place is next. I run past the alley between the pharmacy and his store, glancing briefly into it. Normally, my dad parks his truck there, but of course, he's at the cabin. His truck isn't there. A faded-blue sedan sits in that spot instead, and all I can think is how annoyed my dad gets when someone takes his space. If he were here, he'd have that old beater towed in a hot minute.
And then, I hear the burglar alarm yelping futilely.
I skid to a stop in front of our door and gasp.
"No," I whisper. My shoulders begin heaving.
It's...it's destroyed. The store is demolished.
The big glass window is shattered. There was a Halloween display I helped my dad create—some pumpkins and hay bales and a homemade scarecrow on a bench wearing a button-down shirt and a store apron. The pumpkins lay on the ground, some inside and some outside, all but one smashed to sticky, slippery bits. The scarecrow's tumbled from the bench and rests pathetically on its back, straw pant legs straight up in the air. One of the hay bales is gone, flung into the street and torn open. Straw litters the display and trails out onto the sidewalk.
And the stack of the supplies we used to create the display—drills, hammers and boxes of nails, twine balls—all gone.
"OMG," Lena says.
I stare at the destruction. The door hangs from the hinges, a huge splintery crack in the center, where someone must have kicked it in. A piece breaks off, thumping my shoulder as it falls. I was too stunned see it coming. I cry out, but not from the pain. I'm so numb, I can barely feel.
"What are you doing?" Lena grabs my shirt and pulls me back. "You can't go in there! What if they still inside?"
I yank away. I have to see.
"Dear God," she whispers and scrambles after me.
The lights are all on because selfish Nicky didn't bother to turn them off before he fled, so the place doesn't feel scary. But I'm crying so hard, everything looks blurry.
They ransacked the counter, strewed papers all over, bashed open the cash register. I don't need to go over to see it's empty. As empty as the shelves. They've torn down all the merchandise, pulled products from the hooks hanging on the walls. Packaging and trash litter the floor. An end cap of batteries has been knocked over. Most are gone, but there's a few still scattered around.
I step forward and hear the snap of plastic. Under my heel is a vanity license plate, the kind you hang on a kid's bedroom door. The bright orange plastic reads DANIEL. Now, it's cracked in two. The round wire display rack that used to stand by the register lays on its side, a rainbow of vanity plates spilling across the floor.
I slide over to the next aisle.
Someone's yanked out all the boxes of nails, all those neat, orderly, carefully divided little boxes have been flung open and spilled on the floor. They didn't even take the nails. They just wrecked whatever they could get their hands on.
There's a thunk, the clank of metal on the tile floor, and the sound of voices. Lena swears under her breath. I jump, slipping a little on all the debris.
"Campbell, no," Lena whispers.
She must think I'm going to head toward the noise. Am I? I don't know what I'm going to do, but they must have heard her because suddenly, feet are thundering toward us.
Lena and I both cry out and scramble backward. Two guys burst out of the paint aisle. They're wearing hoodies pulled over their heads. One guy has a bunch of shovels. The other cradles a load of spray paint cans in the pouch of his sweatshirt. A few slip out as he passes, hitting the ground with a clunk.
Suddenly, I. Am. Pissed. An angry wave swells, rising from my feet into my head, crashing through me.
"Hey!" I lunge forward. "Get the hell out of here!"
They're running. Lena's pulling on me, hollering, "Shut up, shut up!"
"Drop that," I shout.
The guys glance at me, kick an empty box in my direction, and jump out the broken window. I follow them into the display, but they're gone. Fleeing into the crowd of other jerks who've taken merchandise they didn't pay for. Jerks who've robbed people like me and my dad out of business.
"They had no right," I cry. "No right!"
I pick up the nearest, heavy thing I can reach—a pumpkin—and heave as hard as I can. The gourd smashes against the wall, leaving a sticky orange residue behind.
"Campbell, stop," Lena says.
"Stop? Stop? Is that all you can say? Look around!"
She does, but I don't follow her gaze to the empty shelves. I can't look. All I want to do is cover my eyes. So I do, pressing my fingers down hard enough to stem the tears. I'm having trouble breathing.
"It's all gone," I gasp.
# 22
Lena
Carlson's Hardware Store
I've never seen any place this tore up in my life. Man, I'd hate to be on the clean-up crew that has to deal with this.
For a while, we're quiet. I walk around, looking, shuffling carefully around the nails strewn on the floor and scout around. The candy rack—the only thing I really remember from stopping in here with Pops—is mostly empty. Except for those peanut-shaped marshmallow candies that look like cardboard and make you feel like you got a mouth full of Elmer's. Of course they left those. I snicker, but then shut up when I notice Campbell sobbing on the bench in the window display.
She's pressing on her eyes. If she don't stop, she might pop 'em out.
"Hey, Campbell. You gonna be all right. That's what insurance is for, right? You can rebuild. You know what, this might be what y'all needed. The insurance money will come through, and you make your store better." Far as I can tell, people only come here when they don't got transportation to a real store like Ace. Pops always says this place is too small and too expensive. "Or your daddy could open a cool place like a hookah bar."
"What do you know?" she snaps. "That doesn't make sense."
That's rude. I was trying to help, offer her some words of encouragement, but she's all in her feelings. She pulls her hands away from her eyes, and she's full-on crying. Like sobbing. I hope she gets this out of her system soon, because we really have to go. Outside the window, smoke keeps rolling down the street and people are moving like blurs, throwing bricks and trash cans, pushing shopping carts loaded with home goods. The fire across the street pops, and the sound of cracking glass is on a loop. A female reporter holding a Chanel 5 mic, with a finger to her ear, stands on the sidewalk with her cameraman beside her, trying to report the news. She's talking to a bunch of people, and a couple of 'em got their shirts pulled up over their noses. Behind them, some dude doing circus tricks with a shopping cart, clout-chasing. I want to laugh so freaking bad, but this ain't the time. The reporter don't even realize she got a whole show happening right behind her. She looks crazy to me—reminds me of that meme of the little dog sitting in the burning house saying, "This is fine." Lady, it is not fine. Right then, a guy comes and pulls the camera out of the cameraman's hands and chucks it into the street.
We gotta get back on track.
"We have to go," I say. "This is a done deal."
"Go where? There's no place to go."
"Home, Campbell. You can go home. Look, we saw what's out there. Helicopters, looters, this has turned into the Wild West. Won't be much longer before they start lockin' down the streets, and then we'll be trapped. We could get arrested. Or shot. We running out of luck, for real."
I pause, hoping my little pep talk is enough to get her going. This right here is about getting out.
"I can't abandon my dad's store."
"Abandon what? Look around you, fool. There ain't nothin' here left to protect!"
"You're right." She sobs harder. "We have nothing left."
"This can all be replaced. Can't replace us if someone comes in here and cracks our head open because they want a power tool or a hammer. Or if the cops run up in here and want to put my ass in jail because they think I'm the one takin' things."
"You don't get it," she says, tears running down her face. "This place is all my dad has."
"I don't understand? You got us sitting in a broken window like ducks at a carnival game lined up to get popped. Quit crying over a store! You so busy feeling sorry for yourself, we gonna get killed."
"Stop screaming at me."
"Stop whining like a two-year-old. Get your ass up."
"Why are you so angry?"
This girl got some nerve. Like she's the only person who had a rough night. "You haven't seen me angry yet."
"You know what, Lena? Go. Your only concern is getting to your worthless boyfriend, who clearly doesn't even care if you're safe or not, considering he's ditched you twice already!"
I. See. Red. "For the record, he did not ditch me. He was waiting for me."
"Whatever."
I spin toward the broken window. "I'm not dying with you tonight."
# 23
Campbell
Carlson's Hardware Store
Lena hops over the jagged glass left in the window frame and lands on the sidewalk outside. Her fury still boils in the air after she's gone.
She just doesn't get it. If she would get her head out of that guy's butt, she would see he's not the superhero she thinks he is.
But alone in the display area, with no window glass to dampen the sound, the roar of shouting and the crackling of the fire grow loud in my ears. My eyes sting from the smoke, and a heaviness settles on me. I kick at one of the remaining pumpkin shards, feeling scolded. My shoulders are weights, dragging me into a slump. My fingertips weigh a hundred pounds each, pinning my hands uselessly to the bench.
I hate everything. This washed-up store. My father, for being broke. My mother, for taking a job in Venezuela. This city and these fucked-up people for rioting. I mean, rioting! How the hell does tearing down my father's store help?
And Lena. Stuck-up, snobby Lena and her loser boyfriend who is never going to love her like she wants. Lena, who left me for him anyway.
A plume of black smoke drifts through the window, sending me into a hacking fit. I lift the collar of my shirt, wiping my face, my tears, my sweat, my snot. When I let the shirt flop back into place, it's wet and sticky against my skin. Ewww. A yell goes up outside. I close my eyes. I should probably check out what that is. Or get back inside the store and hide. Or take some action other than sit here, but I can't. When I open my eyes, the wreckage of my life will still be there, scattered on the floor among the shards of pumpkin and broken glass.
Actually, what I really want to do is turn over the reins of this whole terrifying, shambles of a night to a grown-up. Time to call my dad. I pat my pocket, and—oh, crap! Lena has my phone. I'm on my feet, jumping out the window, though I'll probably never catch up with her. She's probably halfway to that guy already, halfway home—
She's right outside. Hasn't gone ten feet. Before I stop to consider why that might be, I reach around and snatch my phone from her hand.
"I'll take that back, if you don't mind!"
She doesn't object, which surprises me, because that phone has been her life support all night. She's frozen, and as my brain catches up to my motion, I process the almost-hush that's fallen. I peek over Lena's shoulder.
Whoa.
A few blocks down, a human wall stretches across the street. Police officers, dressed in black, wearing helmets, standing four or five deep. Maybe more. They stretch so far back, I can't count them. Somewhere at the back, I see—Jesus. Horses?
The front line stands shoulder to shoulder, holding clear shields nearly as tall as their bodies, emblazoned with the word POLICE. The light from the streetlamps glints off the plastic. Each officer holds a long wooden stick that looks like a human-size baton. My breath catches.
Little noises pierce the quiet—one or two shouts, the crackle of flames—but that's all. Fire streaks along the road here and there. The wind shifts, blowing a cloud of smoke through and over the line of cops, turning them into indistinct silhouettes—like robot soldiers in a sci-fi movie.
I close my eyes. I don't want to see this. It's not happening. I'm not here.
I wish I were at home. In my old house, in my old neighborhood, with my old friends, where I didn't know what gunshots sound like in real life or how fire looks reflecting off riot gear.
I wish I were back at school, hiding in Ms. Marino's classroom.
Lena's warnings about ending up dead don't feel like drama anymore. Ending up dead feels...possible.
Even with my eyes closed, I can't imagine myself away from here. The horses' hooves clip-clop on asphalt as they shift around, and I hear that. Broken glass crunches beneath boots, and I hear that. A thousand chests heave and breathe heavily, and I hear all of them. Even with my eyes closed, I know exactly where I am.
A shout pierces the near hush. My legs start to shake. A roar of voices explodes. I snap open my eyes in time to see a trash can full of fire go flying through the air. Toward the police.
Oh God.
I scream. Lena does too, and we grab each other, pressing back into the shattered glass window display of my dad's store. My arm scrapes the edge. Blood begins to ooze.
The trash can hits the ground with a thud—nowhere near the cops—but that doesn't matter. I'm too afraid to poke my head out and look down the street, but I don't need to. Boots start hitting the asphalt—dozens. Hundreds. Marching forward. Pounding rhythmlessly.
The crowd surges too. Those protestors in their matching shirts hurtle toward the police, and I want to yell at them to stop. They're going to get hurt! Can't they see how dangerous this has gotten? But they don't look afraid. Every single face rushing past looks hard and determined.
No. Not every face. People are fleeing too—screaming and crying, running, falling, getting trampled.
My arm throbs. My heart pounds. My heads spins like I might faint.
"What do we do?" I shout, looking at Lena.
One look at her face tells me she's as frightened as I am, and she has no more idea what to do than me. She looks exactly like she looked when she saw the lights and sirens at school. Out on the street, the line of cops crashes into the line of rioters and protestors, shields smashing into bodies, knocking them down, sticks crashing on heads. A few people swing broken street signs at the shields, cracking them.
Lena screams again.
# 24
Lena
Seventh Ave
I'm gonna get hurt if I don't come up with a plan to get myself out of here. I been the answer queen all night, but I'm out of ideas. Maybe I used up every one I had in my head.
"We have to run."
There it is, my million-dollar plan. Run.
We lock eyes. I give Campbell a nod, and we start battling our way through. Seventh Ave looks like a war zone. Not too long ago, before we came into the hardware store, I could still sorta see cars, that pile of burning tires, people. The smoke has taken over. There's black at the edges of my vision, and all I can see is one tunnel right in front of me. My chest is tight, tears are forming in my eyes.
I grab Campbell's hand tighter, because our palms are so sweaty, we're slipping out of each other's grip. I can't do that. She would be lost if I did that. I'd be lost.
"Keep to the edges," Campbell shouts.
We try to, but people are running everywhere, getting knocked over. Someone bumps us, and we fall on the pile of people. I land on my back. My elbow drags along the pavement, skin ripping open and collecting gravel. I'm hollering, scrambling backward on my butt like some kinda crab trying to get away, but my shoe pops. The leather breaks, and now I just have a sole.
Campbell grabs me. "Come on. In a few blocks, we can get off Seventh—I think I remember where to turn." She takes off, pulling me behind her. Campbell's voice snaps me back into this universe, and I keep replaying one word in my mind: run.
I'm so focused on the direction I'm running—it's like I'm wearing blinders like the horses in those races Pops like to watch—I almost miss him. I almost miss Black.
Oh, my God, Black!
"Queen!" He catches hold of me, grabs me to keep me from running past him. The tears I've been trying so hard to hold back begin to flow. I mean, dear God, finally, finally! My knees buckle, and I fold. My hair falls over my face, and hopefully my tears.
"I can't believe we found each other," I say. "It's a miracle."
"Lena?" Campbell's shaky voice strains to get heard over the noise.
I forgot she was even here. My body had dumped out all that was weighing me down at one time. When I'm done, I stand up, face to face with Black, who's staring at me.
"You okay?"
I collapse in his arms.
"I got you," he says. "Let's get outta here."
I nod. "Come on, Campbell."
"If we go another couple minutes down that way," she says, pointing toward the south, "we can get off this street."
"Black!" Peanut yells. I look past Black and see all the usual suspects, Peanut's skinny tail always jumping around like he's an extra from a music video, Wink, scanning the street watching what's happening, and Big Baby, big silly grin, as usual.
"A'ight, man," Black says. "We comin'!"
"We?" Peanut looks from Black to me to Campbell and starts waggin' his head. "That's on you."
Black shrugs. "Who requested different?"
"Why we goin' south?" Big Baby says. "Peanut, your car closer."
Wink cuts him off with a shove. "Are you serious? Shut up."
"If Peanut's car is closer, then that's where we need to go," Black says.
"Whatever, Black, don't be feeling yourself around shorty," Peanut says.
I shake my head. These boys aren't good at keeping themselves organized, so I always have to do it for them. "Y'all, we really need to keep goin'," I say, being the voice of reason. "A lot is coming our way."
We maneuver to the outside of the crowd with Wink in the lead. Peanut walks almost in step with Wink, then Big Baby, then Black, keeping me and Campbell tucked between him and the buildings to our left. I try to keep pace with everybody even though my broken shoe flaps against my ankle and slows me down. Black has his arm around me and that feels amazing, and I'm focused on that. The soft fabric of his jacket cuff brushes my neck. Somehow this makes me feel good. With each swipe, I'm reminded that he's right there with me. And Campbell, she sticks close too. We're still holding hands.
Even with the relief of the moment, I can't help but notice these fools look kinda roughed up. Peanut is bleeding from a cut on his face. Big Baby eyes streaming and his T-shirt is ripped. They clearly been through some craziness tonight too. My heart jumps. Black might not have come through for me earlier when I first needed him, but he did not let them leave me. That means something, right?
In front of us, a lady is trying to get glass out her car so she can sit on the seat. She's got her sleeves around her hands, raking shards out. Blood starts to stain her baby-blue shirt. She's shaking. She looks kinda like the lady from the beauty supply store I go to. I look closer and—yup, that's her. She pretty cool, always helpful. She yells at her husband when he starts following me around the store like I'm gonna steal his damn nail polish. I want to help her, but I can't stop. Black's got ahold of me, and he ain't looking around like we at a carnival. He movin'.
Behind us, a bullhorn crackles, and then a loud voice is yelling at people to get off the street. I look over my shoulder and see the po po behind us too. They got more men up at the top of Seventh, got us barricaded in on both sides. They funneling us up the street toward the wagons they surely got waiting somewhere.
The crowd gets more hyped up and starts closing in on us, trying to get themselves up against the buildings like we are. One guy barrels right at Campbell. Black reaches around me and tries to grab her by the arm, but she pulls away and jumps aside. The man crashes past, but she got out of his way in time.
"My bad," Black says. He sounds shocked, and he lookin' at her like he can't believe she moves that fast.
Yeah, bet he didn't expect that, but he has no idea what we been through. We been almost killed a trillion times. We wide-awake and on full alert, and that's how we've made it through the night.
Then this black dude wearing a fly-ass green slouch beanie and a RESIST shirt jumps out of the crowd and stands in front of us. Campbell actually bumps into this one. "You Lena?" he yells at me.
I'm so shocked, I nod before I think about why I'm telling some stranger who I am.
Beanie man yells again, waving over my head at someone. "I got 'em! I found your cousin and the white girl."
Cousin? I spin around—and oh snap! Marcus! He's shoving his way through the crowd toward me. My cousin grabs hands with Beanie Man and daps him up. "Thanks, Rahim."
As Rahim takes off, Marcus grabs me in a hug, which is awkward because Black's still gripping my arm, so I don't get away from him. I'm crying all over again.
"Lena! Man, I'm glad I found you," Marcus says.
Black tugs on my arm, and I let go of my cousin. Black pulls me in closer.
"She's good, bruh," Black says. "I got her."
I'm loving this protective version of Black, but he might want to back down when Marcus is concerned. My cousin only went to jail because he got caught with a little weed in his car, but don't think because you see him preaching around the neighborhood, he won't whoop your ass, because he will.
"Oh, you got her, do you?" Marcus barks. "Where was you when this became a situation?"
Black shrugs. "Seems to me like you ain't have her then neither, 'cuz when she found me, she was alone."
"I ain't gotta explain myself to you," Marcus says. He puts a hand on Campbell's shoulder. "Lena, I got your little friend. Let's go."
"I'm going with Black," I say.
Campbell elbows me. "What? No, we should go with your cousin."
"You should listen to your girl." Marcus pats Campbell's shoulder like he's proud of her. "She seem to have more sense than you at the moment. Pops would want you with me."
Of course, Black responds to that. "Dude, you trippin'. She said she ain't going with you, so back up."
"Trust me when I tell you, this ain't what you want, playa," Marcus says.
"Try me."
Marcus pushes Black, and he falls over a bench onto his ass.
I scream. "What the hell, Marcus?"
Black jumps up quick, but his lips curl. He turns, and I see a tear in his pants. He reaches back to feel the flapping pocket fabric and then he charges Marcus like a bull, headfirst into Marcus's belly. They both hit the ground. These fools are rolling around on top of each other in the middle of the street, even though people are stampeding like a game of Jumanji started. I run over to split them apart, and Marcus accidentally punches me in the arm.
"Ouch!" I back up a step and rub my arm.
Black untangles himself from Marcus and stands. "You hit her, you loser!"
"Lena, cuz, I am so sorry," Marcus says. "I would never hit you on purpose."
"I know, we good," I say. But one look at Black's face, and I'm clear we are not good.
"They're coming with me," Black says.
I look over at Campbell's face, and she's terrified. All this time, we were running from wild situations, and now, she in another one, thanks to the crazy men in my life. I have to put a stop to this.
"Marcus, I'm going with Black. That's the end."
He stares at me. "I can't believe you. You gon' side with him after he put his hands on me?"
"Don't make it about that, Marcus. There are no sides. We have to move as a unit until this is over."
"You know what? I'm done participating in this fiasco. You wanna be up under this bum, that's on you." Marcus spins around and starts walking away. "I'm out."
# 25
Campbell
Seventh Avenue
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. He's going. Marcus is walking away. He just found us, and he's already leaving?
"Wait." The word emerges as a whisper, which fades away in all the noise around us.
I can't believe Lena's worthless boyfriend started this shouting match. Like there's not enough to worry about already? He wants to fight too? That is so not normal.
I want to run, but can't think where to go. The police have started thinning the crowd—throwing people to the ground and slapping zip ties on them. My jaw clenches as I scan a row of black guys sitting on the sidewalk, hands cuffed behind their back. All of them wear those protest shirts. What the hell? Who cares about their signs and the fact that they're blocking the road? What about the guys who looted my dad's store? What about the people on a stealing spree? They should find those people and arrest them.
Cops power through the crowd. When I've seen footage of a riot on TV, once the police arrive, it seems like they restore calm. I want so badly to see the riot squad marching down Seventh as a good sign. A sign all this is going to be over soon. But my knees won't stop shaking. Soon might not be soon enough for us. We're still in the middle of this story, and the ending doesn't feel close. This is an explosion that goes on and on and on. In reality, no one on this street is safe, no matter what they're doing out here.
No matter if they're just like us—trapped where they don't want to be.
An inferno rages on Seventh Avenue to the north of us. That patio, more cars, the tire place. I can't tell at this point what all's burning. I feel like everything is.
"We have to go," I say to no one. Because no one is listening to me.
Marcus steps off the curb into the street, shouting and gesturing wildly. Black follows him, hand stretched out to shove. Lena snatches the back of his shirt.
"Nah, baby," she yells. "Let him go."
Black strains against her hold, his shirt plastered against him. "If your cousin wasn't holdin' me back, I'd be on you."
Marcus slides back a step, taunting Black, smirking at him. "You gon' let your shawty control you?"
"You lucky she here!" He slaps his chest with his palm, all puffed up—but honestly he doesn't seem to be pulling away from Lena. He's probably a foot taller than she is. If he really pulled, he'd break her hold in a second.
The fight looks like a horribly choreographed scene in a school play. Like Lena realizes she doesn't need to really hold him because Black isn't really going to go after Marcus. And Marcus clearly feels the same because he doesn't have his fists up to defend himself. The whole episode pisses me off. I want to yell at them to stop being so awful, but then I notice three cops behind Marcus in the street. Fire reflects off their plastic masks. One holds a baton over his head.
"Look out!" I shriek.
Lena jolts. "Black!"
She yanks him back. Lena James has a surprising amount of strength. Black is five steps back in a second. Marcus isn't so lucky. He pivots, trying to see what's coming at him, but in that same moment, a rioter lunges into the street beside him, heaving a bent-up metal bike frame over Marcus's head—right at the cops. They jump and scatter but one's not quick enough. The bike smashes into his shins, felling him. Another goes after the rioter. The third cop comes at us. Marcus gets caught in melee. A baton crashes down on his shoulder, bringing him to his knees. Through the black-clad legs of the officers, I see his mouth open in a scream, his arms go up, swinging wildly. The baton comes down again. And again. Marcus's body falls forward, his forehead cracks against the asphalt, so loud I can hear it over all the other noise.
"No," Lena wails. She jumps toward him, but Black grabs her from behind, locking his arms around her waist. She fights against his hold. "Not my cousin!"
"Let's go," yells Black. "He'd want you to get somewhere safe."
"But he's hurt. We can't leave him."
"He'll be okay. They'll take him to the hospital," I say, hoping that's true more than knowing it. "They have to."
"Yeah, they will," Black says. "But we gotta get out of here or we'll be next."
The words are as sharp as the starter pistol at a track meet. My body coils, tensed and frozen for a second, then I'm running. My feet pound to the rhythm of the words that circle around in my mind: Get out, get out. I want to see what's happening to Marcus, but I can only focus on Black, who's in front of me, pushing Lena along. She's sobbing, but she doesn't pull away. She lets him shove her forward, though she keeps looking back.
"Where are we going?" I shout. "We can't just run!"
"My car down at the Walmart," Black replies.
Suddenly, I'm bursting with energy. We have a destination. Finally. Walmart. It's only a few blocks to the south, at the end of the commercial district. If we can get there, there will be a car. And we will get home. I lift my knees, sprint flat out, passing Lena and Black.
"Damn!" Black pants. "Lena, your girl some kinda Usain Bolt."
I don't stop. I dodge, sliding around people and cops and debris, until I hit the block before the Walmart. Until I see the parking lot.
I slam on the brakes. "Oh, hell."
They catch up quickly. I'm doubled over when they do, trying to get my breath back, but I can tell when they see it too. When they realize how colossally screwed we are.
"Damn!"
A helicopter hovers overhead with a spotlight sweeping over a mass of cop cars. SWAT vans. Command tents. Gear. All things Black is not going to want to run toward. Can't run toward. We're never going to be able saunter into that parking lot, say: Excuse me, officers, if we could get in that car and be on our way. Maybe I could do that. This black guy I'm with, though? Lena? No way.
"My car," Black moans.
"Come on!" Lena shrieks. She whirls around and starts moving back up the street. "Can't stand here! Can't stay here!"
I'm with her. This is a dead end—but where to instead?
We start back the way we came, but there's no way out up there. Nobody's thinking. Nobody's got a plan. We get two blocks up the street before a car screeches to a halt beside us.
"Peanut!" Black shouts, leaping toward the car.
The sedan is blue and vaguely familiar, but I can't think why. I can't think at all. Black's crew is in the car already. Black jumps into the front seat and pulls Lena onto his lap. Someone opens the back door for me. I duck and get caught. I struggle and strain, but I'm stuck. I can't move! I can't—
Hands yank my backpack from my shoulders. "Hey!" I try to turn, reaching for my disappearing bag.
"Move, white girl, move!"
"Get in!"
People are shouting at me, and I'm half in and half out of the car door, wedged. My backpack's gone, taken by one of the guys by the back of the car. The trunk opens. I give up worrying about that, join the scramble to pack in more bodies than can fit into the little sedan. Behind me, the trunk slams shut. Someone jumps into the driver's seat. Another guy, overweight and dressed in too-baggy clothes, wearing a bright white ball cap, shoves his way into the car next to me, and we take off with a squeal of tires, fishtailing wildly.
The crowd in the car stifles me. As does the smell. Of the seven people sardined in here, five are sweaty, smelly guys. Not even the air freshener labeled NEW CAR SMELL dangling from the rearview mirror overcomes the stench. I try to breathe through my mouth, but I only end up tasting the sourness of the sweat. My stomach rolls.
I sit sideways, half holding up my own weight on the console between the front seats and half sitting on this guy's knee. My arms shake with the effort of keeping my butt off a stranger's thigh. We take a sharp right and hit a pothole on one of the roads heading toward Grant Village. The car bounces, and my head slams against the ceiling.
"Whoa, Grand Theft Auto!" yells one of the guys in the back with me. "Take it easy there, killa!"
Everyone else laughs. Like they're not scared anymore. Like this is all some big adventure.
I have never hated any moment more than this one. I glare at Lena, and then my stomach sinks. She's buried her face in Black's neck, and she's silent, but the slight heaving of her shoulders gives her away. She's crying, and I think I can guess why. Poor Marcus. I want to reach through the seats and touch her shoulder, comfort her. A wave of nausea rolls through me when I think of the sound his head made hitting the pavement. We shouldn't have left him. I shouldn't have told her he was okay—I couldn't know that. That moment was wild, the noise, the smoke, the police, that bicycle flying straight for them. What could we have done? Getting away seemed like the smartest—the only—thing to do. But we left him. The blood drains from my head, leaving me dizzy. We left Marcus.
I watch helplessly as Lena cries, blinking fast to prevent my own waterfall, muzzled by my own confusion. There are no words to say.
The car never slows as we blaze through the streets of Grant Village. We streak past a crowd of people running from the riot, other cars that managed to get away, like us, speeding carelessly down the road. All that traffic thins to a trickle within a few streets. As crazy as Seventh was, just a few blocks over, and we're already safe. It doesn't seem real.
"Did you see how I took out that one Five-O with the stick, man?"
"What you talkin' 'bout, Big Baby? You was too busy runnin' to take out anyone."
"Yeah, Big Baby. Old po po probably trip on his boots."
"Nah, cuz, you just didn't see."
My stomach clenches. How can they laugh? How can they remember exactly what happened? The entire night blurs in my mind like a toddler's finger painting. Every memory I have since the pop pop pop of the gunshots at the football field is all shape and color with no form.
The guys go on laughing and blustering about what they did and didn't do during the riot. Lena's holding on to Black's arm, rhythmically zipping the zipper on the sleeve of Black's jacket. Soothing herself until her sobs slow, then stop.
I'm still too rattled to calm down. My muscles won't unclench, and my jaw hurts. Which means I've been grinding my teeth.
"Where you stay at, Campbell?" Lena asks softly.
I blink. "What?"
"Your house. Where we takin' you?"
"Takin' her?" Peanut demands. "What you mean, we takin' her to her house?"
"Don't be basic, Peanut." Lena puts a hand on her hip. "After all we went through, you gonna put a girl out on the street?"
"Chill out, red bone," Peanut says, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "She ain't my problem." He shoots a look right past Lena to Black that clearly says, Control your woman.
My nose wrinkles. I don't get why she puts up with these guys.
"I don't care," I say. The words come out slowly, a little runny at the edges. "Let me out. I can get home from here."
"Campbell," Lena says.
But she doesn't go on. What's she going to say—that I wouldn't be safe?
To my surprise, Black speaks up. "Take her to her place, Peanut." He slides the command reluctantly from the side of his mouth.
When Peanut doesn't object, I say, "Taylor Street. Just past Central."
Silence replaces the noise and laughter from a few minutes before, broken only by the rumbles of all of us breathing and waiting to see what's going to happen. Finally, Peanut nods. "Her place, then yo shawty place, then we done. Got me, Black?"
"Gotchu."
The drive takes another few minutes, and then we're pulling up to the curb of my father's dumpy little two-bedroom house. One of his neighbors has installed super-sensitive floodlights, which flash on as soon as we pull up.
Everyone flinches.
"Damn, yo. What's this all about?"
I don't bother to reply as I reach for the door handle. Which is hidden on the other side of a mile of flabby stomach.
"Let me out," I say.
"Aw, come on, white girl, you don't wanna hang around with us no more? Big Baby big all over. He real fun," teases the guy whose knee I'm on.
My face goes hot, and I clench my jaw, trying desperately not to react.
Lena's voice rings from the front seat. "Big Baby! Move yo behind out the way and let her out the car."
Big Baby does as she says, grumbling. I mutter thanks in Lena's direction and scramble out. Peanut's already revving the engine, about to take off. I'm glad to be rid of him—all of them—but I want my backpack. Only because Big Baby lumbers slowly back into the car do I have a second to grab the door handle.
"I need my things." The words dribble out in a whisper, and I have to try again. "I want my backpack."
The engine roars, and for a second, in which my heart pounds painfully, I think Peanut's going to ignore me and drive off. But then, Black says, "Pop the trunk, Peanut."
"It's broke," he says. "Don't open from here. Never mind, man."
I grab the handle like I'm going to be able to keep the car there by holding on. "No! I want my bag!" I must sound so silly, but I don't care.
"Lena'll bring it to you tomorrow."
"Get my name out yo mouth, Peanut. You don't speak for me," she says.
"Yo, get the girl her gear, man," someone says from the back seat. "We gotta leave."
With an angry growl, Peanut jumps out of the car and walks around to the back. Over the roof, he points the keys at me, and says, "Stay there."
He seems more tense than he did walking down Seventh. I shake my head. Guess the adrenaline is wearing off for everyone. I lean into Lena's window. "Hey. Thanks."
She nods. I pause. I don't know what I'm waiting for. But I guess that's all we have for each other. No hug. No big buddy moment. This is all. With a shrug, I make my way to the back of the car.
"Told you to stay there!" Peanut shouts as he pops the trunk.
God, he's uptight. "I just want my backpack."
I duck under his outstretched arm. He grabs the back of my shirt and jerks me away, but not before I catch sight of the contents of the trunk. My mouth goes dry. Boxes of drills. A wet/dry vacuum. A stack of hammers. A handsaw. Blue-and-white boxes of energy-saver light bulbs. Never-opened boxes, tools with price stickers—all brand new. All merchandise you'd find in a hardware store. In my father's hardware store. I flash back on one vivid memory from the chaos of the night—a light blue sedan parked in my father's usual space in the alley beside the store. I look from the looted goods to my backpack, dangling from Peanut's outstretched arm, to his furious face, and rage floods through me.
"That's our stuff!" I scream, rushing him. "You stole it!"
# 26
Lena
Campbell's House
Campbell yells, and Big Baby jumps out the car. I lean out the window to see what's going on, and Campbell's jumping at Peanut, and Big Baby holding her back. What is happening? Campbell's been a lot of things tonight, but drama for no reason? That she ain't been. If she's mad, there's a reason.
"Sounds like shawty givin' him the business," Wink says.
"Let's see what's up," I say to Black. He's not looking like he's trying to move, but I ain't gonna leave her out there like this. "Black, move!"
I get out and walk toward Campbell. "What's going on?"
She flips her hand in the direction of the car. "Just look."
I see the tools in the trunk. I'm not for sure-for sure, but I swear, this looks like what you'd get at a hardware store.
"Peanut," I say. "This better not have came from where I think it did."
"Oh, you a detective now, Lena?" He throws his hands in the air in frustration.
Black walks up behind me, and his mouth drops open. "Damn!"
If you put two and two together, these tools came from Campbell's dad store, and that's why she goin' off. I don't blame her either. She was messed up over seeing all that destruction, and to think she done rode in the car with the person that robbed her daddy's spot. I can't stop staring into the trunk, all that brand-new hardware junk. Gotta be worth a whole lot of cash, if Peanut bothered to steal it. Yeah, Campbell better than me because I might have busted him in the head if he jacked my pops.
"Damn, Peanut," Black says again. He never repeats himself like this. His hand finds the front of his shirt and crumples it up, which he only does when his spirit is hurting. "This what you was up to when you disappeared on us before?"
"I don't owe no explanation to you or this bitch!"
"Aw, hell nah." I suck in a breath. "How you callin' her a bitch, and you stole from her?"
"The whole damn town was stealin'."
I shake my head. "A thief believes everybody steals."
"Here comes Saint Lena again." Peanut rolls his eyes.
"Bruh," Black says in a warning tone.
Peanut focuses on Campbell, who's eyeing the tools in the trunk real hard. "Don't even think about it."
Her face turns red. "All of this is from my dad's store! You better give it back."
"White girl heated, ain't she?" Big Baby whispers. He shifts the brim of his cap around uncomfortably. That ain't no surprise. Big Baby kinda soft.
"You would be too if somebody got you for yo' stuff," I snap. "Peanut, I know for a fact you cracked a fool upside the head for jacking you. But you acting all shocked Campbell's mad? That ain't right."
"Bump this. I'm out," Peanut says.
"Black," I say.
He sighs like he can't believe what he's about to say next. "I can't let you pull off, homie."
"What?" Peanut side-eyes Black.
Black turns to Big Baby for backup, but he holds up his hands. "I didn't know this stuff belonged to my future baby mama."
Oh, lord. Big Baby too?
His joke don't go over with Campbell at all. She look like she got hit in the face by a door. "No way!" she cries.
He's trying to lighten the moment, but this boy never was good at knowing what would make a girl mad. "Nothing's funny, Big Baby."
"So y'all all did this?" Black shakes his head. "We make music. When did y'all become thieves?"
"What difference do it make, my dude?" Wink says, stepping out of the car. "Ain't yo stuff."
"This is whack, and it ain't what we do. Ain't suppose to be what we do."
While Black is arguing with them, I reach into the trunk, grab an armload, and march onto Campbell's porch. After I drop the first round, Campbell gets the hint and starts helping. A few times, I attempt a smile at her, but she don't smile back. I understand, she hot. I hope she don't think I would have put her in the car with these thieves if I knew they robbed her daddy. I wouldn't have put myself in this position. I'm not like those girls who're all ride or die, willing to catch a case for love.
"What are y'all doing?" Peanut yells when he catches sight of us. He starts toward Campbell, but she throws a heavy gizmo at him. She misses, but Peanut has to duck and stop.
"Stay back! This all belongs to my family!"
I'm kinda diggin' turnt Campbell. She right. It's hers. We ain't gotta feel no type of way about taking it back. Me and this girl been through hell tonight. This punk ain't gon' scare us. What they gon' do, jump us? No. So Imma keep moving boxes 'til they're all on the porch.
"Peanut, just let the girls get that shit out the trunk," Black says.
Peanut comes back around toward Campbell for a second time, revving up like a race car. My stomach tightens. Every time I seen him do that before, somebody got hit. He heads to the porch—following Campbell. Black moves too, snatching up a hammer. "I would hate to crack you in the head, bruh, but I will."
I sneak a glance at Campbell as she reaches the porch. She been pretty stone-faced since I got out the car, but she breaks a little at that, like she's as surprised as me and Peanut to hear Black talking like this. To be honest, I'm kinda proud too. Black don't back down, even when Peanut challenges him.
"Over some dumb-ass white girl?"
"This ain't about her. It's about you riskin' the music, everything we workin' for, our legacy, for a couple a bucks and some power tools."
Peanut starts shouting. "Oh, you wanna talk about how we fund the music? Where you think we get the stacks to spend a week in the studio? You think working yo' Best Buy minimum-wage job gonna get us more than a minute in there, fool? It ain't! You worry 'bout the beats. I worry about the cash flow."
"This don't make you a baller. You're gonna wind up a guest of the state," Black says, gesturing with the hand holding the hammer. He's so mad, spit's flying out as he talks. "Ain't no recording studios in jail."
"You already been takin' that risk whether you knew it or not," he says. "You're guilty by association." He lifts a foot like he gonna get closer.
I see a couple people walking this way. They look a little torn up, like they just came from where we did. Maybe once Peanut realizes he has an audience, he'll shut this down. But he ain't that smart.
"Another step," Black warns. "And Imma rock yo' skull."
"Oh, yeah? That gonna be before or after I put a bullet in yours?" Peanut lifts the corner of his undershirt and pulls out a gun.
I scream and jump toward Black, but Campbell grabs me. She's screaming too. Those people I saw coming up the street, they scatter.
"Don't, don't, don't," Campbell begs. "You'll get shot!"
"Stay back, baby." Black's voice trembles. I never heard him sound that way and that freaks me out so bad because I don't know what any of 'em could do next. They friends; they don't never treat each other this way.
I scan the windows of all the houses I can see, hoping people looking. This can't go like this. But even if somebody did call 911, nobody coming. The police are all down at Seventh.
Campbell tucks her arm into mine and squeezes. She pulls back harder. "Lena, please. Come on!"
I fade back, but Peanut hollers, waving the heat. "Everybody be still! Next person that moves is gettin' popped."
Me and Campbell freeze. He sounds wild. All the boys are talking over top of each other too. They sound scared.
"Peanut, man, you trippin'," Big Baby says. "Put the gun down."
"You gon' shoot me, Peanut?" Black asks. "That's how this night gon' end?"
"No!" I'm crying. Bawling, really. I can't get more words out. Please, God, don't let this be happening.
"Shut up, Lena," Peanut says.
Black steps up to block Peanut from mean-mugging me.
"Milton Samuels," Wink says, speaking for the first time in a while. Him using Black's government name makes me stop breathing. "You don't wanna get no closer, Milton."
"Please don't," I whisper. "Please."
"See, Milton? You got your girl all in tears. You let us walk away with this lick, and she can stop cryin'."
"You're not going anywhere with our crap!" Campbell shouts.
Big Baby grunts and slices his hand across his throat, his eyes real wide. "Girl, be quiet, you tryna die?"
Black spreads his hand out. "No one gotta die tonight."
"Nobody know that yet," Peanut says.
Over a buncha hammers and nails? It doesn't have to go this way. Campbell's got every right in the world to take all this back. Yet my man got some fire at his head? My heart about to pound right out of my chest. Everybody's frozen. Suddenly, the street goes dark. That neighbor's lights go off.
"What happened?"
There's more yells, and Black hollers. I can make out the shape of him going flying toward where Peanut was standing.
"Black, don't!" I scream.
A gunshot. Me and Campbell drop to the ground. The security lights flash back on. I peek up, and Black and Peanut are wrestling. Black goes for the steel. Peanut sticks him in the jaw, but Black is still able to knock the pistol away. It slides across the grass. Big Baby leans over, trying to separate the boys. He ends up with an elbow hooked around Peanut's neck. Wink jumps in, grabbing Big Baby's bicep. Black starts to slide loose and go after the gun.
"Wink," Big Baby yells. "Stop."
He lets go of Peanut, reaches out an arm, and pushes Wink so hard he goes down. Big Baby don't go back after Black and Peanut. Instead, he lunges for the banger.
"That's enough!" he yells, snatching up the piece. He cryin'. Hell, we all cryin'. "We done."
They listen to him, like they always do when it really matter. Thank God. Black and Peanut ease off each other and stand up. Everybody breathing hard.
Black wipes some blood off his mouth and says, "Lena, get whatever is left out the trunk."
Big Baby releases the clip and lowers the steel to hang by his side. Campbell and I scramble to put the last boxes on the porch. There's not much left, and we get done quickly once Black starts helping us. Peanut so mad he can't talk, but he don't press up on us no more. Wink's on the ground, groaning. He rolls over onto his knees and struggles to his feet. As Campbell and I wait on the steps, Black walks to the end of the sidewalk, to Big Baby. They stare at each other.
"We brothers," Black says. "This ain't how we do each other."
"Black," Big Baby pleads.
He shakes his head.
Wink hauls himself into the passenger seat, still kinda in pain from going down. Peanut looks at Big Baby. "Where you stand?"
Big Baby looks at Black again, his big, sweet face all wet from crying. Then he moves toward the car.
"Don't do it, man," Black says.
"C'mon, Big Baby," I say. "You don't have to go with them."
"Yeah, I do," he says, shaking his head. He wipes his face with his collar, scrubbing off all the tears and sweat and leaving a stain on his T-shirt. "Somebody gotta talk to them."
He follows Peanut into the car, and they drive off. Black stands there, watching them go like he a statue.
Campbell's back up on her porch, messing with her keys.
"Campbell," I say.
"Go away, Lena."
The porch is dark since those security lights don't really reach here. I get close to try to see her face. She hides it from me.
"We can help you bring this in," I whisper.
"No."
# Part V
Aftermath
# 27
Campbell
Campbell's House
The screech of tires in the street signals Peanut's exit, with the rest of his gang. They're gone. I'm home, but somehow I don't feel the relief I expected.
I'm so numb, I can barely process where I'm standing. Outside my house. On the porch. The weathered floorboards beneath my feet are familiar, as is the milk crate full of my dad's old newspapers beside the door. And all around that, the remains of his store, the scraps of merchandise we salvaged from Peanut's car. The getaway car of the thieves who robbed him. The getaway car I just rode home in.
That is so messed up. Not more messed up than a fight over a gun in my front yard, though.
God, this night.
"Campbell Soup, let us help you move these packages inside, okay?"
I glance over my shoulder. Lena clutches an armload of tools against her stomach. Black stands behind her with a look I can't quite figure out. Mad and scared and maybe a little sheepish. Like he's embarrassed by his friends.
Well, he should be. The sight of the store's inventory in their hands sends me into a rage again.
"My dad didn't have anything to do with all this!" I shout. "He worked so hard, and that place was all he had! He had nothing to do with the governor or the police or the fight at school or any of it. That place, his store—it's just there."
"People be mad, Campbell," Lena says. "They gotta express that somehow. They ain't thinkin'. You gotta understand—"
"I don't," I hurl back. "I'll never understand why people think stealing is the answer. And I can't believe you're defending looters!"
She drops the tools she's carrying, then clutches her head, like she's about to tear her hair out. "I'm sorry about what happened to your store. But you were there. It didn't start out about looting or all that. Did them news people show up before, when they was having a peaceful protest? Was anybody listening when they tried to approach things in a civil manner? No. But when shops start burning down, here they come. I'm not defending looters, but you're not even trying to understand. When you push people to their breaking point, and they ain't got no power, they'll find a way to take it. What's so wrong with that?"
I've got no answer. Because I don't know what's wrong and what's right. I don't get this neighborhood or how people here feel. I don't understand Black's friends stealing or pulling guns on each other. I don't get those white guys with their Confederate flags antagonizing everyone. Me and my dad, we're both caught up in circumstances neither of us understand—something about wrong place, wrong time comes to mind. My father has lived here for twenty years, and I realize I've never seen him be friendly with his neighbors or his customers or other shop owners on Seventh, except the Wellses, and he doesn't invite them to hang out at his house or anything. Maybe he wouldn't be so surprised to find people think of him as an outsider. I don't know how he feels. It never occurred to me to ask.
Lena's right—I haven't tried to understand this place at all.
The shout that had been winding up inside me dies. There's no one here to yell at but Lena and Black, and I'm not mad at them. Underneath my fury, I get that them standing up for me is a big deal. They could have let Peanut rob us. They owe me nothing, but they still helped. They're still here with me, not driving away with their friends.
I don't know what I would have done if our roles were reversed.
I only know I've never wanted to be alone so much in my life. For once, somebody stuck around, and I can't enjoy it. My body is coiled tight enough to snap, trying to keep me on my feet, and I don't think I'll be able to relax until I can close myself inside my dad's house, lie on the couch in the dark, and cry. I need Lena and Black to go home.
"Forget it," I say. I reach for the tools at Lena's feet. She bends, arms outstretched, wanting to help, but I jerk away the boxes before she can touch them. My eyes rise to meet hers. She blinks and backs off. I start dragging boxes into our living room. Lena hesitates on my porch for another second, watching me. Black shakes his head, grabs her hand, and heads down the steps into the yard, pulling her after him.
I'm sticking my foot in the screen door to hold it open so I can maneuver the jackhammer through, when the squealing of car tires makes me jump. The door thwacks closed, and the heavy tool falls from my hands. A car bumps over the curb and screeches to a stop on our grass. My father jumps out, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He races across the lawn, flinging himself toward Lena and Black.
"Get outta here, you punks!"
Black pushes Lena behind him and starts yelling back. "Dude, back up! Tonight ain't the night."
I'm trembling. How much more drama before we're finally safe? My father digs his phone from his pocket, and I register the words calling the cops.
Oh, God. No. Whatever he's thinking, no. No cops. No more trouble.
"Dad, don't," I call.
"Get inside, Campbell."
For the space of one breath, I consider turning my back and doing as he says. How do I even begin to explain all that's happened tonight? I can't. I imagine curling into a ball, closing my eyes, and leaving this for someone else to deal with. I can't do that either. This isn't Lena's fault—or Black's. None of tonight is their fault. And I've had my eyes closed long enough.
I jump down the steps and take the phone from my dad's hands.
"Campbell, I said go inside," my dad spits. He's more agitated than I've ever seen.
"No. They're my friends. Leave them alone."
"What? But Nicky called. He told me you were at his grandparents' place. And these things"—he glances around the porch at the remnants of his store—"he said they were looting! These people—"
"Not them, Dad."
He shakes his head. "I don't understand. How did all this end up here? What happened to dinner after the football game and your teacher?"
My stomach drops. I start spitting out words, not sure they make sense, but filling the air so he can't interrupt. "A bunch of people started fighting during the game, and it got out of control. We couldn't stay there, and Ms. Marino couldn't get to me, so Lena and I went down to Seventh, because Black—"
My father frowns. Man, I should have used his real name! Milton sounds so much less threatening.
"I mean, Milton has a car. But Seventh..." I shake my head. "When we saw what happened to the store, we saved what we could. Without their help, we wouldn't even have this."
Lena's mouth falls open. She catches my gaze, and I shrug. She didn't expect me to lie. I didn't expect to either. But my dad calling the cops on Lena and Black would be one more wrong in the longest night of wrongs in my entire life.
For once, she doesn't know what to say. That's probably for the best. Whatever she says will just draw my dad's attention to her.
"I'm—I'm—" He blinks fast, like he's holding back tears. I cringe because I have never seen my father cry. "The store?"
A tear drips down my nose. "It's bad, Dad."
"I should be down there, standing guard."
"No! Seventh is not safe. And there's nothing left to save."
"Nothing?" he whispers. When I don't respond, he heaves a shaky breath and staggers toward the front steps, flopping down with his head in his hands, repeating, "Nothing. Nothing."
The three of us, Black and Lena and me, watch my father break down.
I lean toward Lena and whisper, "You should go."
Before my father recovers and starts the interrogation. Questions like, where's that car Black supposedly drove us home in, for starters. Lena hesitates, but Black doesn't. He grabs her hand and pulls her toward the street. She resists for a second, looking back at me.
"Campbell," she says.
I know the words that are getting stuck in her throat. They're the same ones that won't come out of mine.
So I nod. "Text me you got home okay."
She nods back.
I sit on the steps besides my father, watching as Black and Lena disappear into the night. My dad is not much of a hugger, but to my surprise, he slides an arm around my shoulders and tucks me to his side.
"I'm sorry about the shop, Dad."
"I'm sorry I wasn't here tonight."
I thought my tears had run completely dry, but more swell in my eyes. I wipe them away with my knuckle. "It's okay."
"We have a lot to talk about," he says. "But not tonight."
I nod. The night is still too chaotic for the questions he wants to ask, and I'm not ready to form the answers in my own mind. Maybe by morning I will be. For the moment, we sit in silence as hours pass, and the helicopters hovering in the sky dwindle to a few, and then none. The sirens fade into the distance. Smoke from the last-burning fires over on Seventh still drifts through the air as the sun rises. Not until the sky is fully light and the nighttime chill has burned off does my father finally seem ready to climb off the porch. A million phone calls await him, to his landlord and insurance brokers and my mom, as does a visit to the shop that will shatter him as thoroughly as the display window was shattered. He moves slowly, maybe trying to ward off reality for a few more minutes. Or maybe he's as tired and broken as I am.
As I stand to follow him back inside, my phone chimes with a text message from an unknown number—two words I know must be from Lena.
# 28
Lena
Lena's House
As we walk toward my home, neither me or Black talk. With all the adrenaline gone, pain shoots through me. My feet are swollen, and every strap of my remaining sandal feels like a razor blade. I stop to take the shoes off. One is so busted, and they're both dirty and scratched. These sandals are tired and through. I dump them in the first trash can I see, adding to the long list of tragic events of the night. Now, I'm barefoot, trying to lift my feet in a way that they don't hit the pavement so hard, but that's not helping. I probably look goofy. I don't care. I'm just trying to drag across the finish line.
We're on my block. There are a few houses lit up along the street, all the ones I expect, like Ms. Arnold who keeps her porch light on for her son who gets off work late. And Pops who never turns off that front light until he knows I'm inside. That light coming through our picture window is a welcoming arm, pulling me home.
"Lena," Black says. "I didn't know they did that."
Is he looking for something to say? 'Cuz I was okay with the silence. I'm tired. Too tired to talk, to explain, to understand, to go off, to care, to think at all.
"I know that."
If he wants to talk, he can discuss how, when that scuffle went down at my school, he could have come and got me. Had he done that, so much of this night would be different. Because I had to try to get to him, Marcus got hemmed up, and he's already on probation. I've gotta figure out how I'm going to deal with that. Black wants to ask questions, he can ask me why I'm walking like a circus clown. Ask me why I'm bloody. Ask me what happened between the time we talked and the time he saw me, because I know I was looking rough when I got to him. So ask me why.
I stand in the moist grass of my front yard and take a deep breath, letting it out as the cool grass squishes under my feet, soothing the cuts and easing the throbbing. With that relief, the noise around me turns back on, and I hear the sounds I'm used to, like the dog next door that's always barking and nobody knows why.
Black steps in front of me. We've done this before. From where Pops sits in his chair in the front room, he won't see us. Black leans in to kiss me, but I turn my head and his lips land on my cheek. I'm not feeling him right now.
"What's good?" he says.
"I'm cool."
"Then why you actin' funky toward me?"
I want to vomit up all of my emotions, but with the state I'm in, I may say something I can't take back. I stare off into space, and Black pulls me in to his chest.
"Lena, I'm sorry, baby."
I gently pull myself away from him. "The number I was callin' you from, can you text it to me?"
"Yeah."
"Go ahead. I don't want you to get home and forget."
I wait for him to send the text, then head up our front steps as Black's footsteps crunch away. There's no point in turning my key quietly in the lock. Pops is waiting for me.
"Hey, Pops."
"Yeah, come on in here," Pops says. "Beverly called, she said Marcus—"
I don't think Pops was expecting me to look like death warmed over, because his frown quickly turns into concern. Whatever speech he had prepared has left him. He stands, rushes across the room to grab my shoulders and spin me around to get a one-eighty look at me.
"Lena, you got blood on your clothes. What on God's green earth happened to you tonight?"
"A big fight broke out at my school."
"You were in the fight?"
"No, no, no, no, no. I was around, but I got myself out of there quick."
"How did you end up with Marcus?" Pops asks.
"The streets was blocked off. I couldn't get straight here. I passed him along the way, and he came with me for a while."
"How did he end up at the hospital while you came back here? I need to know the full story, Lena, 'cuz right now full of malarkey is the best description of you."
"I'm telling you the truth, Pops." Only part of it, but Imma see what I can get away with. Not much.
"This might be the truth, but it ain't the whole story."
"You're right, Pops. Can I promise to tell you everything tomorrow? I'm so tired. May I please take a shower and lie down?"
"No. There will be no showering, no relaxing, no nothin' 'til I get some answers."
I wish I could tell Pops a story he would be proud of—that I was marching with Black Lives Matter, like he did with King, or that I was down there trying to keep Marcus out of trouble instead of the opposite. But I'm too beat to lie.
"After the fight at school, I walked with a friend to meet up with Black to give us a ride."
"I should have known that thug was involved."
"Lemme finish, Pops. Marcus saw us and came with us. We walked into a protest that turned into a riot. Marcus got slammed on the ground by the police, and that's how he ended up in the hospital. Black and his boys got me and my friend outta there and to her house. After that, Black walked me home. A lot went on. I don't think this blood is mine. Other than sore feet, I'm okay. I just want to lie down, Pops. Please."
He lets out a long sigh. "All right, we'll finish this up in the morning."
"'Night, Pops."
Pops grabs me by the shoulders and kisses my forehead, and he examines me one more time.
"I'm okay," I say. "I promise."
The throbbing returns to my feet, and I stop by the linen closet and get down the foot tub, then go to the bathroom. Pieces of the night come flying back into my head as I fill the tub with hot water. I reach under the sink for some Epsom salt, 'cuz you know Pops can always be trusted to have that on hand, and sprinkle extra salts in the tub. A little water splashes on the floor as I head to my room, probably from the wobble in my walk because I hurt.
I sit on the edge of the bed, put my feet in the tub, and melt. Nothing has ever felt so amazing, not even those fancy bath bombs I love so much. I plug my phone into the extra charger by my bed and fall back.
I close my eyes. I can't even believe this night started with me watching the Dolls body their routine during the game and me begging Black for his attention. A quadrillion risings and settings of the sun have passed since then. And I lived 'em with Campbell of all people. I definitely wouldn't have picked her, but we gave this night the business. We held each other down. I hate that Black's friends stole me and Campbell's high-five moment. We earned that.
A few moments later, my phone comes on and dings like twenty times. I sit up and notice all the missed voice mails, texts, social media alerts, but I don't open them. I go to Black's text, but only to get the number I need.
Home safe.
# Discussion Guide
Lena
1. How does Lena's familiarity with the neighborhood drive her decisions when she realizes it is not safe to remain at school during the fight? How does she use her instincts to judge decisions?
2. How would you describe Lena's relationships with Pops? Why doesn't she want to call him when the fight breaks out at the high school? How do you think Pops's view of the world affects Lena's view of the world?
3. Lena demonstrates extreme loyalty to the people she cares about. What examples of Lena's loyalty can you find? Is her loyalty always a positive quality?
4. Do you think Lena's relationship with Black will survive after the riot? Why or why not?
Campbell
5. How would you characterize Campbell's relationship with her mother and her father? How does that impact her actions during the night of the riot?
6. Does Campbell's attitude toward the police evolve over the course of the novel? If so, how?
7. Lena says Campbell hasn't tried to get to know the neighborhood and walks around like she doesn't live there. What do you think she means by that? What does Campbell realize about herself, if anything, in that conversation?
8. Is Campbell racist?
Pivotal Moments
9. How do the Lena and Campbell perceive each other upon first meeting? Do they idealize or stereotype each other?
10. What is the racial epithet that starts the fight at the high school? How do each of the characters perceive it?
11. Would the events of this night have transpired the same way if one or both of these characters had been male or male presenting? What might have changed?
12. What do you think happens the day after the riot to Campbell and Lena? To the school? To the city?
# Acknowledgments
When we sat down to write these acknowledgements, we were overcome and humbled to realize how full our writing village is. A book is an enormous labor of love, and we are profoundly appreciative of all the love we've been shown. In gratitude for that, we promise we will strive to put as much and more back into the world. To our enormous regret, we can't name every single person, or this would be longer than the book, but please know how grateful we are for everyone who supported this story and us along the way.
Special thanks in particular to:
Everyone who gave so generously their time, experience, and expertise to help us render the events that take place in I'm Not Dying with You Tonight plausibly, thoughtfully, and gently, including: law enforcement officers Captain Tait Sanborn and James Steffens (ret.) of the Pasco Sheriff's Office, firefighter Tamala Watkins, as well as real-life riot survivors Matt Melvin, Tory Russell, and Robin Seeherman.
Our beta readers, Kate Goodwin, Rachael Allen, Nic Stone, David Arnold, Ash Parsons, J. D. Myall, Robyn and Hannah Lucas, Lashunda Simpson, and Breanna McDaniel. Lena and Campbell's story is infinitely better for your thoughts.
Nicole Castroman, who introduced us to the best thing to ever happen to us, which brings us to...
Tracey Adams and the entire aLit team. Your fierce belief in and advocacy for this book is the reason we're seeing our publishing dream come true. We're so grateful and thrilled we get to go on this wild ride with you.
Sourcebooks and the amazing team there who helped hone this story into the book it has become and escort it onto bookshelves, including: Steve Geck, Sarah Kasman, Cassie Gutman, Beth Oleniczak, and Stefani Sloma.
Christa Desir: You took such care with the voices in this book, we couldn't have dreamed of a more thoughtful, careful, or kind copy editor. Grateful to have had your eyes on these pages.
Annette Pollert-Morgan, who was among the first to fall for and champion Lena and Campbell's story.
The coffee shops and pizza joints around East Atlanta that gamely let us use their counter tops and patio tables as our "office," but most especially Urban Pie and Joe's East ATL.
Little Shop of Stories and its incredible crew helmed by Diane Capriola and Dave Shallenberger: you're an indefatigable and invaluable supporter of the kidlit community, the best kids bookstore in the universe (no shade to any of the other awesome bookshops), and the place where we first met.
Our friends and family and the fabulous community of YA writers in Decatur and beyond, all of whom endlessly plot-talked and brain-picked and writing-retreated and chitchatted and slang-educated us as we wound our way through this story, including: Vicky Alvear Shecter, Marie Marquardt (who gives the BEST hugs in YA literature), Lucille Rettino, Mayra Cuevas, Jenn Woodruff, Maryann Dabkowski, Mark Oshiro, Vania Stoyanova, Jessi Esparza, Laurel Snyder, Dede Nesbitt, Connie Morrison, Tamika Newhouse, the Not So YA Book Club, YATL, Judy Schachner, Gerron Rose, hair wizard Rebecca Hardin, Cory Mo, Lem Collins, T-Dawg DaDon, IRL Milton, the real Wink Woodall, Emily and Izzy, and Uber passengers Scott and Mike.
We'd also like to add the following thanks:
From Gilly:
To my mother and father, Susan and Mickey, who let me read every book I got my hands on, who presided over epic dinner table debates about topics far bigger than my teenage self was mature enough to engage in but who, nevertheless, listened and took my thoughts seriously, and who made sure I always knew how utterly and deeply they believed in me. Every ounce of confidence I have stems from your love and support. Thank you.
To my children, Noam, Nadav, and Shalev, who are my everything, who shared their time with me with the kids who live in my head, who cheered my writing journey with all their strength, and who bring more joy and love into my world than I ever could have dreamed. I strive with everything I do to make you proud and to let you know how utterly and deeply I believe in you.
To my sister, Stacey, cheerleader and confidant, who I know I can count on always. I'm so grateful we have each other. Thank you for being the best sister I could have asked for.
From Kim:
To my supportive siblings, Audra and Darin.
To my mom, Lula, who introduced me to a love of reading with frequent visits to the library and never said no to the purchase of a book.
To my biggest fan and cheerleader, Duprano Martin.
To my mentor, Wanda Shelley, who taught me the importance of nurturing the minds of teen girls.
To my best friends, Reasha, Alvin, and Ciara, who have an unyielding faith in me and have shown me what love looks like when it truly comes with no conditions.
Last but not least, to the people who make my heart beat, Drake Williams, Tobias Truvillion, The Superwoman Squad, Akilah Coleman, and Khalimah Gaston.
# About the Authors
Kimberly Jones is the former manager of the bookstore Little Shop of Stories and currently works in the entertainment industry.
Gilly Segal spent her college years in Israel and served in the IDF. She is currently a lawyer for an advertising agency. Visit gillysegal.com.
Thank you for reading this Sourcebooks eBook!
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Books. Change. Lives.
#
## Contents
1. Front Cover
2. Author Letter
3. Title Page
4. Copyright
5. Contents
6. Part I: Mass Disturbance
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
7. Part II: All Call
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8. Part III: The First Brick
1.
2.
3.
9. Part IV: Fatal Funnel
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
10. Part V: Aftermath
1.
2.
11. Discussion Guide
12. Acknowledgments
13. About the Authors
14. Back Cover
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{"url":"http:\/\/ciclodecineypsicoanalisis.com\/fehve\/phase-of-wave-7244c3","text":"Yamaha Ns-sw100 Specs, Bariatric Liquid Diet Pre Op, Folk Art Multi Surface Paint On Fabric, Kicker 8'' Marine Tower Speakers, Staples Vartan Gaming Chair Reddit, Ms Viking Grace, Fireclay Farmhouse Sink, Chateau 4 In Centerset 2-handle Utility Faucet In Chrome, Python Print Csv Column Names, 350z Headlights Led Strip, \"\/>\nPrograma Psicoan\u00e1lisis, Narrativas y Discurso Audiovisual Contempor\u00e1neo\n\nphase of wave\n\nphase of wave\n\nWhen the two gray waves become exactly out of phase the sum wave is zero. You can thing of this as the number of complete cycles the wave is doing in one second. When the two individual waves are exactly in phase the result is large amplitude. So, is a second wave inevitable? Its symbol is Vph. When two waves cross paths, they either cancel each other out or compliment each other, depending on their phase\u2026 Phase. Wave A leads wave B by 45\u00b0 The shift between these two waveforms is about 45 degrees, the \u201cA\u201d wave being ahead of the \u201cB\u201d wave. A sampling of different phase shifts is given in the following graphs to better illustrate this concept: Figure below. Or we can measure the height from highest to lowest points and divide that by 2. Phase is not a property of just one RF signal but instead involves the relationship between two or more signals that share the same frequency. It is the frequency which cannot be \u2026 Phase can be measured in distance, time, or degrees. The Amplitude is the height from the center line to the peak (or to the trough). The phase velocity of a wave is the rate at which the wave propagates in some medium.This is the velocity at which the phase of any one frequency component of the wave travels. See figure below. For such a component, any given phase of the wave (for example, the crest) will appear to travel at the phase velocity.The phase velocity is given in terms of the wavelength \u03bb (lambda) and time period T as Some functions (like Sine and Cosine) repeat forever and are called Periodic Functions.. The phase shift \u03d5 \\phi \u03d5 in solutions to the wave equation at first glance seems unimportant, since coordinates may always be shifted to set \u03d5 = 0 \\phi = 0 \u03d5 = 0 for one particular solution. Cut Off Frequency. To calculate phase angle between two sine waves we need to measure the time difference between the peak points (or zero crossing) of the waveform. When two or more waves of the same frequency are interfering in a medium or made to travel in the same path, then the \u201cphase\u201d of [\u2026] Wave phase is the offset of a wave from a given point. 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if (c.term || c.type) {
model.addDefinition({name: c.term || c.type, type: c.tpe, cell: c.cell});
}
});
});
// hide/unhide sidebar
$('a#toggle-sidebar').click(function(){
$('#sidebar').toggleClass('hidden');
// expand the notebook when sidebar is hidden
$('#notebook').toggleClass('col-md-9').toggleClass('col-md-12');
});
}
});
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 9,489 |
{"url":"https:\/\/www.snapxam.com\/problems\/12590370\/dy-dx-3-xy-1-x-2\/formulas","text":"# Related formulas\n\nGo!\n1\n2\n3\n4\n5\n6\n7\n8\n9\n0\na\nb\nc\nd\nf\ng\nm\nn\nu\nv\nw\nx\ny\nz\n.\n(\u25fb)\n+\n-\n\u00d7\n\u25fb\/\u25fb\n\/\n\u00f7\n2\n\ne\n\u03c0\nln\nlog\nlog\nlim\nd\/dx\nDx\n|\u25fb|\n=\n>\n<\n>=\n<=\nsin\ncos\ntan\ncot\nsec\ncsc\n\nasin\nacos\natan\nacot\nasec\nacsc\n\nsinh\ncosh\ntanh\ncoth\nsech\ncsch\n\nasinh\nacosh\natanh\nacoth\nasech\nacsch\n\n## Basic Integrals\n\n\u00b7 Power Rule of Integration\n\nApplying the power rule for integration, $\\displaystyle\\int x^n dx=\\frac{x^{n+1}}{n+1}$, where $n$ represents a number or constant function, in this case $n=1$\n\n$\\int xdx=\\frac{1}{2}x^2+C$\n$\\frac{dy}{dx}+\\frac{3}{x}y=\\frac{1}{x^2}$\n\n### Main topic:\n\nDifferential equations\n\n### Time to solve it:\n\n~ 0.07 s (SnapXam)","date":"2020-11-26 13:28:49","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.9078730344772339, \"perplexity\": 5370.01526142659}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 5, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2020-50\/segments\/1606141188146.22\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20201126113736-20201126143736-00656.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
using System;
using System.Collections.Generic;
using System.IO;
using System.Reflection;
using OpenRiaServices.DomainServices.Server.Test.Utilities;
using OpenRiaServices.DomainServices.Tools.SourceLocation;
using OpenRiaServices.DomainServices.Tools.SharedTypes;
using Microsoft.VisualStudio.TestTools.UnitTesting;
using ServerClassLib;
namespace OpenRiaServices.DomainServices.Tools.Test
{
/// <summary>
/// Tests PdbReader
/// </summary>
[TestClass]
public class PdbReaderTests
{
public PdbReaderTests()
{
}
[DeploymentItem(@"ProjectPath.txt", "PDB")]
[Description("PdbReader finds files defining properties in server assembly")]
[TestMethod]
public void PdbReader_Finds_Method_Files()
{
string projectPath = null;
string outputPath = null;
TestHelper.GetProjectPaths("PDB", out projectPath, out outputPath);
using (ISourceFileProvider pdbReader = new PdbSourceFileProviderFactory(/*symbolSearchPath*/ null, /*logger*/ null).CreateProvider())
{
string serverProjectPath = CodeGenHelper.ServerClassLibProjectPath(projectPath);
Type testEntityType = typeof(TestEntity);
PropertyInfo pInfo = testEntityType.GetProperty("TheKey");
Assert.IsNotNull(pInfo);
// Must find TheKey in only TestEntity.cs -- it is readonly and has no setter
string actualFile = pdbReader.GetFileForMember(pInfo.GetGetMethod());
string expectedFile = Path.Combine(Path.GetDirectoryName(serverProjectPath), "TestEntity.cs");
Assert.AreEqual(expectedFile.ToUpperInvariant(), actualFile.ToUpperInvariant());
// Must find TheValue in only TestEntity.cs
pInfo = testEntityType.GetProperty("TheValue");
actualFile = pdbReader.GetFileForMember(pInfo.GetGetMethod());
expectedFile = Path.Combine(Path.GetDirectoryName(serverProjectPath), "TestEntity.cs");
// Must find TheSharedValue in only TestEntity.shared.cs -- validates we locate shared files
pInfo = testEntityType.GetProperty("TheSharedValue");
actualFile = pdbReader.GetFileForMember(pInfo.GetGetMethod());
expectedFile = Path.Combine(Path.GetDirectoryName(serverProjectPath), "TestEntity.shared.cs");
// Must find ServerAndClientValue in only TestEntity.linked.cs -- validates we locate linked files
pInfo = testEntityType.GetProperty("ServerAndClientValue");
actualFile = pdbReader.GetFileForMember(pInfo.GetGetMethod());
expectedFile = Path.Combine(Path.GetDirectoryName(serverProjectPath), "TestEntity.linked.cs");
}
}
[DeploymentItem(@"ProjectPath.txt", "PDB")]
[Description("PdbReader finds all files for a type")]
[TestMethod]
public void PdbReader_Finds_Types_Files()
{
string projectPath = null;
string outputPath = null;
TestHelper.GetProjectPaths("PDB", out projectPath, out outputPath);
string serverProjectPath = CodeGenHelper.ServerClassLibProjectPath(projectPath);
string clientProjectPath = CodeGenHelper.ClientClassLibProjectPath(projectPath);
ConsoleLogger logger = new ConsoleLogger();
FilenameMap filenameMap = new FilenameMap();
using (SourceFileLocationService locationService = new SourceFileLocationService(new[] { new PdbSourceFileProviderFactory(/*symbolSearchPath*/ null,logger) }, filenameMap))
{
List<string> files = new List<string>(locationService.GetFilesForType(typeof(TestEntity)));
Assert.AreEqual(4, files.Count);
CodeGenHelper.AssertContainsFiles(files, serverProjectPath, new string[] { "TestEntity.cs", "TestEntity.shared.cs", "TestEntity.linked.cs" });
CodeGenHelper.AssertContainsFiles(files, clientProjectPath, new string[] { "TestEntity.reverse.linked.cs" });
}
}
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 4,580 |
{"url":"https:\/\/tidyselect.r-lib.org\/reference\/faq-selection-context.html","text":"Functions like starts_with(), contains() or matches() are selection helpers that only work in a selection context.\n\nExamples of valid selection contexts are:\n\n\u2022 Inside dplyr::select().\n\n\u2022 The cols argument of tidyr::pivot_longer().\n\nUsing a selection helper anywhere else results in an error:\n\nstarts_with(\"foo\")\n#> Error: starts_with() must be used within a *selecting* function.\n#> i See <https:\/\/tidyselect.r-lib.org\/reference\/faq-selection-context.html>.\n\nmtcars[contains(\"foo\")]\n#> Error: contains() must be used within a *selecting* function.\n#> i See <https:\/\/tidyselect.r-lib.org\/reference\/faq-selection-context.html>.\n\nsubset(mtcars, select = matches(\"foo\"))\n#> Error: matches() must be used within a *selecting* function.\n#> i See <https:\/\/tidyselect.r-lib.org\/reference\/faq-selection-context.html>.\n\n\nIf you see this error, you\u2019ve probably used a selection helper in the wrong place, possibly as the result of a typo (e.g.\u00a0misplaced comma or wrong argument name).","date":"2020-02-20 05:06:15","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.3282019793987274, \"perplexity\": 11450.900770855493}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 20, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2020-10\/segments\/1581875144637.88\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20200220035657-20200220065657-00221.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
namespace System.Reflection
{
#if !ECMA_COMPAT
using System;
using System.Configuration.Assemblies;
[AttributeUsage(AttributeTargets.Assembly, AllowMultiple=false)]
public sealed class AssemblyDefaultAliasAttribute : Attribute
{
// Internal state.
private String alias;
// Constructors.
public AssemblyDefaultAliasAttribute(String defaultAlias)
: base()
{
alias = defaultAlias;
}
// Properties.
public String DefaultAlias
{
get
{
return alias;
}
}
}; // class AssemblyDefaultAliasAttribute
#endif // !ECMA_COMPAT
}; // namespace System.Reflection
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 5,157 |
{"url":"https:\/\/zbmath.org\/?q=an:1074.14013","text":"# zbMATH \u2014 the first resource for mathematics\n\nThree-dimensional flops and noncommutative rings. (English) Zbl\u00a01074.14013\nThis paper gives a new proof, based on noncommutative rings, of T. Bridgeland\u2019s theorem [Invent. Math. 147, No. 3, 613\u2013632 (2002; Zbl 1085.14017)] that says that two three dimensional smooth varieties $$Y$$, $$Y^+$$ related by a flopping transformation $$Y\\to X\\leftarrow Y^+$$ have equivalent bounded derived categories of coherent sheaves. There are extensions of this result for normal varieties with isolated smooth singularities, due to J.-C. Chen [J. Differ. Geom. 61, No. 2, 227\u2013261 (2002; Zbl 1090.14003)] and for some non-Gorenstein singularities, due to Y. Kawamata [in: Algebraic geometry, de Gruyter, Berlin, 197\u2013215 (2002; Zbl 1092.14023)]. The proof in this paper is really nice, and is based in the construction of vector bundles $$\\mathcal P$$ and $$Y$$ and $$\\mathcal Q^+$$ on $$Y^+$$ such that the direct image on $$X$$ of the endomorphism sheaves algebras of $$\\mathcal P$$ and $$\\mathcal Q^+$$ are isomorphic. If $$\\mathcal A$$ is this noncommutative algebra, then the author proves that the bounded derived categories of coherent sheaves on $$Y$$ and on $$Y^+$$ are both equivalent to the bounded derived category of right $$\\mathcal A$$-modules, being thus equivalent. The bundles $$\\mathcal P$$ and $$\\mathcal Q^+$$ are related to certain categories of perverse sheaves associated with the flop which appear also in the original Bridgeland proof. The author also describes the projective generators of these categories of perverse sheaves. Actually, some more general results are proven, among them, some higher dimensional generalizations (also considered by Chen).\n\n##### MSC:\n 14E05 Rational and birational maps 14E30 Minimal model program (Mori theory, extremal rays) 18E30 Derived categories, triangulated categories (MSC2010) 14A22 Noncommutative algebraic geometry\n##### Keywords:\nflops; flips; derived category\nFull Text:\n##### References:\n [1] M. Artin and J.-L. Verdier, Reflexive modules over rational double points , Math. Ann. 270 (1985), 79-82. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00553.14001 \u00b7 doi:10.1007\/BF01455531 \u00b7 eudml:182944 [2] M. Auslander and O. Goldman, Maximal orders , Trans. Amer. Math. Soc. 97 (1960), 1-24. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00117.02506 \u00b7 doi:10.2307\/1993361 [3] A. I. Bondal and M. M. Kapranov, Representable functors, Serre functors, and reconstructions (in Russian), Izv. Akad. Nauk SSSR Ser. Mat. 53 , no. 6 (1989), 1183-1205., 1337; English translation in Math. USSR-Izv. 35 , no. 3 (1990), 519-541. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00703.14011 \u00b7 doi:10.1070\/IM1990v035n03ABEH000716 [4] A. Bondal and D. Orlov, \u201cDerived categories of coherent sheaves\u201d in Proceedings of the International Congress of Mathematicians, Vol. II (Beijing, 2002) , Higher Ed., Beijing, 2002, 47-56. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00996.18007 [5] \u2014-, Semiorthogonal decomposition for algebraic varieties , \u00b7 arxiv.org [6] A. Bondal and M. Van den Bergh, Generators and representability of functors in commutative and noncommutative geometry , Moscow Math. J. 3 (2003), 1-36. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a01135.18302 [7] T. Bridgeland, Flops and derived categories , Invent. Math. 147 (2002), 613-632. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a01085.14017 \u00b7 doi:10.1007\/s002220100185 [8] T. Bridgeland, A. King, and M. Reid, The McKay correspondence as an equivalence of derived categories , J. Amer. Math. Soc. 14 (2001), 535-554. JSTOR: \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00966.14028 \u00b7 doi:10.1090\/S0894-0347-01-00368-X \u00b7 links.jstor.org [9] E. Brieskorn, Die Aufl\u00f6sung der rationalen Singularit\u00e4ten holomorpher Abbildungen , Math. Ann. 178 (1968), 255-270. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00159.37703 \u00b7 doi:10.1007\/BF01352140 \u00b7 eudml:161748 [10] K. A. Brown and C. R. Hajarnavis, Homologically homogeneous rings , Trans. Amer. Math. Soc. 281 (1984), 197-208. JSTOR: \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00531.16019 \u00b7 doi:10.2307\/1999529 \u00b7 links.jstor.org [11] J.-C. Chen, Flops and equivalences of derived categories for threefolds with only terminal Gorenstein singularities , J. Differential Geom. 61 (2002), 227-261. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a01090.14003 [12] H. Clemens, J. Koll\u00e1r, and S. Mori, Higher-Dimensional Complex Geometry , Ast\u00e9risque 166 , Soc. Math. France, Montrouge, 1988. [13] R. M. Fossum, The Divisor Class Group of a Krull Domain , Ergeb. Math. Grenzgeb. (2) 74 , Springer, New York, 1973. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00256.13001 [14] A. Grothendieck and J. Dieudonn\u00e9, \u00c9l\u00e9ments de g\u00e9om\u00e9trie alg\u00e9brique, III: \u00c9tude cohomologique des faisceaux coh\u00e9rents, I , Inst. Hautes \u00c9tudes Sci. Publ. Math. 11 (1961). [15] D. Happel, I. Reiten, and S. O. Smal\u00f8, Tilting in abelian categories and quasitilted algebras , Mem. Amer. Math. Soc. 120 (1996), no. 575. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00849.16011 [16] R. Hartshorne, Residues and Duality: Lecture Notes of a Seminar on the Work of A. Grothendieck, Given at Harvard 1963\/64 , appendix by P. Deligne, Lecture Notes in Math. 20 , Springer, Berlin, 1966. [17] \u2014-, Algebraic Geometry , Grad. Texts in Math. 52 , Springer, New York, 1977. [18] M. Kapranov and E. Vasserot, Kleinian singularities, derived categories and Hall algebras , Math. Ann. 316 (2000), 565-576. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00997.14001 \u00b7 doi:10.1007\/s002080050344 [19] Y. Kawamata, \u201cFrancia\u2019s flip and derived categories\u201d in Algebraic Geometry: A Volume in Memory of Paolo Francia , de Gruyter, Berlin, 2002, 197-215. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a01092.14023 [20] D. S. Keeler, Ample filters of invertible sheaves , J. Algebra 259 (2003), 243-283. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a01082.14004 \u00b7 doi:10.1016\/S0021-8693(02)00557-4 [21] B. Keller, Deriving DG categories, Ann. Sci. \u00c9cole Norm. Sup. (4) 27 (1994), 63-102. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00799.18007 \u00b7 numdam:ASENS_1994_4_27_1_63_0 \u00b7 eudml:82359 [22] J. Koll\u00e1r, Flops , Nagoya Math. J. 113 (1989), 15-36. [23] J. Koll\u00e1r and S. Mori, Birational Geometry of Algebraic Varieties , Cambridge Tracts in Math. 134 , Cambridge Univ. Press, Cambridge, 1998. [24] A. Neeman, The Grothendieck duality theorem via Bousfield\u2019s techniques and Brown representability , J. Amer. Math. Soc. 9 (1996), 205-236. JSTOR: \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00864.14008 \u00b7 doi:10.1090\/S0894-0347-96-00174-9 \u00b7 links.jstor.org [25] M. Reid, \u201cYoung person\u2019s guide to canonical singularities\u201d in Algebraic Geometry (Brunswick, Maine, 1985) , Proc. Sympos. Pure Math. 46 , Part 1, Amer. Math. Soc., Providence, 1987, 345-414. \u00b7 Zbl\u00a00634.14003 [26] I. Reiner, Maximal Orders , London Math. Soc. Monogr. 5 , Academic Press, London, 1975. [27] M. Van den Bergh, Non-commutative crepant resolutions , to appear in the Proceedings of the Abel Bicentennial Conference, \u00b7 Zbl\u00a01082.14005 \u00b7 arxiv.org\nThis reference list is based on information provided by the publisher or from digital mathematics libraries. Its items are heuristically matched to zbMATH identifiers and may contain data conversion errors. It attempts to reflect the references listed in the original paper as accurately as possible without claiming the completeness or perfect precision of the matching.","date":"2021-01-15 19:21:35","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.823127269744873, \"perplexity\": 1204.1562036335424}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2021-04\/segments\/1610703495936.3\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20210115164417-20210115194417-00648.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
<?php
$_pluginInfo=array(
'name'=>'Freemail',
'version'=>'1.0.5',
'description'=>"Get the contacts from a freemail.hu account",
'base_version'=>'1.8.0',
'type'=>'email',
'check_url'=>'http://freemail.hu/',
'requirement'=>'email',
'allowed_domains'=>array('/(freemail.hu)/i'),
'imported_details'=>array('first_name','email_1'),
);
/**
* Freemail.hu Plugin
*
* Imports user's contacts from Freemail.hu AddressBook
*
* @author OpenInviter
* @version 1.0.0
*/
class freemail extends openinviter_base
{
private $login_ok=false;
public $showContacts=true;
public $internalError=false;
protected $timeout=30;
public $debug_array=array(
'initial_get'=>'userwithoutdomain',
'login_post'=>'auth=ok',
'url_adressbook'=>'first',
);
/**
* Login function
* fr
* Makes all the necessary requests to authenticate
* the current user to the server.
*
* @param string $user The current user.
* @param string $pass The password for the current user.
* @return bool TRUE if the current user was authenticated successfully, FALSE otherwise.
*/
public function login($user,$pass)
{
$this->resetDebugger();
$this->service='freemail';
$this->service_user=$user;
$this->service_password=$pass;
if (!$this->init()) return false;
$res=$this->get("http://freemail.hu/levelezes/login.fm");
if ($this->checkResponse("initial_get",$res))
$this->updateDebugBuffer('initial_get',"http://freemail.hu/levelezes/login.fm",'GET');
else
{
$this->updateDebugBuffer('initial_get',"http://freemail.hu/levelezes/login.fm",'GET',false);
$this->debugRequest();
$this->stopPlugin();
return false;
}
$userStriped=str_replace("@freemail.hu","",$user);
$form_action="http://belepes.t-online.hu/auth.html";
$post_elements=array('.formId'=>'commands.PlusAuth',
'backurl'=>'http://freemail.hu/levelezes/auth.fm?cmd=checkuser&page=levelezes',
'cmd'=>'plusauth',
'remoteform'=>1,
'user'=>$user,
'userwithoutdomain'=>$userStriped,
'pass'=>$pass,
);
$res=$this->post($form_action,$post_elements,true);
if ($this->checkResponse('login_post',$res))
$this->updateDebugBuffer('login_post',$form_action,'POST',true,$post_elements);
else
{
$this->updateDebugBuffer('login_post',$form_action,'POST',false,$post_elements);
$this->debugRequest();
$this->stopPlugin();
return false;
}
$url_redirect=$this->getElementString($res,'url=','"');$url_adressbook=str_replace(array('levelezes/auth.fm?cmd=checkuser&page=levelezes&status=ok&auth=ok&','tid','email','freul_Id.hu'),array('cc/fsAddressBook.do?','ul_Tid','ul_Id','freemail.hu'),$url_redirect);
$this->login_ok=$url_adressbook;
return true;
}
/**
* Get the current user's contacts
*
* Makes all the necesarry requests to import
* the current user's contacts
*
* @return mixed The array if contacts if importing was successful, FALSE otherwise.
*/
public function getMyContacts()
{
if (!$this->login_ok)
{
$this->debugRequest();
$this->stopPlugin();
return false;
}
else $url=$this->login_ok;
$res=$this->get($url,true);
if ($this->checkResponse("url_adressbook",$res))
$this->updateDebugBuffer('url_adressbook',$url,'GET');
else
{
$this->updateDebugBuffer('url_adressbook',$url,'GET',false);
$this->debugRequest();
$this->stopPlugin();
return false;
}
$contacts=array();
$doc=new DOMDocument();libxml_use_internal_errors(true);if (!empty($res)) $doc->loadHTML($res);libxml_use_internal_errors(false);
$xpath=new DOMXPath($doc);$query="//tr[@class='data']";$data=$xpath->query($query);
foreach($data as $node)
{
$names=trim(preg_replace('/[^(\x20-\x7F)]*/','',utf8_decode((string)$node->childNodes->item(2)->nodeValue)));
$emails=trim(preg_replace('/[^(\x20-\x7F)]*/','',(utf8_decode((string)$node->childNodes->item(4)->nodeValue))));
if (!empty($emails)) $contacts[$emails]=array('first_name'=>(!empty($name)?$name:false),'email_1'=>$emails);
}
foreach ($contacts as $email=>$name) if (!$this->isEmail($email)) unset($contacts[$email]);
return $this->returnContacts($contacts);
}
/**
* Terminate session
*
* Terminates the current user's session,
* debugs the request and reset's the internal
* debudder.
*
* @return bool TRUE if the session was terminated successfully, FALSE otherwise.
*/
public function logout()
{
if (!$this->checkSession()) return false;
$res=$this->get('http://freemail.hu/levelezes/main.fm?page=logout',true);
$this->debugRequest();
$this->resetDebugger();
$this->stopPlugin();
return true;
}
}
?> | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 8,983 |
I read this in one sitting. Just a few hours. Not that it was short. Nope I was that absorbed in the story.
Okay I can't really say too much cause well it will give everything away.
This was a really really really sweet heartbreaking book. Two kids in foster care fall in love. Like for real love. The boy, Leo, gets adopted and has to move away. He promises to return. 8 years later Jake comes to give Evie news on Leo. You see Jake was Leo's friend. Now Evie has to figure out how to let Leo go and really move on. And Jake is right there to help her. She fights with herself because she really doesn't want to Leo go but she has to. I'd like to say she moved on in those 8 years but she didn't. She's made a life for herself but she's waiting for Leo. Always waiting for Leo. So how does Jake fit in to her new world without Leo?
Now Jake is here….and he's hot…and sweet…and well available. He brings out things in Evie that she didn't know she would feel again. She's pretty sure she can move on with Jake. She's pretty sure she wants to. He's successful, he's hot, he's sweet and he has secrets.
Boy does he have secrets.
And for Evie there are some loose ends….some unanswered questions. Questions she needs the answers to. She gets those answers and holy moley!!! You've got to read it you won't be disappointed!
Seriously though the epilogue. I LOVED IT! I want to know what happens in between the end of the book and the epilogue and I really really really hope the next book takes us there. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 6,435 |
# Il libro
La carriera di novelliere di Giovanni Verga cominciò quasi per caso nel 1874 quando, pressato dalle difficoltà economiche e sollecitato dall'editore Emilio Treves, diede alle stampe _Nedda_ , un testo chiave nell'evoluzione della narrativa verghiana che, come scrisse Luigi Capuana, aprì «un nuovo filone nella miniera quasi intatta del romanzo italino». Non è infatti solo la straordinaria produzione breve del Verga a trarre inizio da questo racconto, ma la sua intera stagione verista. Come un graduale processo d'avvicinamento ai _Malavoglia_ e al _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ , dunque, le novelle di Verga acquistano un ulteriore valore e si rivelano, con i loro esperimenti narrativi e stilistici, il più genuino laboratorio creativo del grande scrittore.
# L'autore
GIOVANNI VERGA Catania 1840-1922. Dopo i primi romanzi ispirati a un romanticismo eroico e passionale, tra cui _Storia di una capinera_ , con _Nedda_ (1874) inaugurò la stagione del Verismo, di cui fu il principale esponente. Tra le sue operele novelle di _Vita dei campi_ e _Novelle rusticane_ e i romanzi _I Malavoglia_ e _Mastro-don Gesualdo_.
Giovanni Verga
# Tutte le novelle
Introduzione di Carla Riccardi
# Introduzione
di Carla Riccardi
## Gli inizi della novellistica verghiana: da «Nedda» a «Padron 'Ntoni»
Dal caso o, meglio, da una crisi immediatamente rientrata nasce Verga novelliere: nel gennaio 1874, dopo un anno di infruttuoso soggiorno milanese e al ritorno dal consueto viaggio natalizio in Sicilia, lo scrittore entra in una fase negativa, di scoraggiamento grave al punto da fargli meditare il rientro definitivo in famiglia e l'abbandono della carriera letteraria. Nel giro di pochissimi giorni, verso la fine del mese, il momento di sconforto, dovuto in parte al rifiuto di Treves di pubblicare _Tigre reale_ e _Eros_ , è superato per lasciare il posto a una combattiva e risoluta coscienza di sé, del proprio coraggio e della propria volontà di riuscire, suscitata o forse rafforzata da varie offerte di collaborazione a riviste e giornali con scritti brevi e, in particolare, novelle. Verga accetta, anche e soprattutto per risolvere i problemi economici causati dalle spese affrontate per ben comparire nell'alta società milanese. Nel pieno del carnevale, nell'atmosfera delle feste e dei teatri scrive in tre giorni _Nedda_ , abbandonandosi a una «fantasticheria» da caminetto e recuperando quasi per contrasto scene e personaggi del mondo isolano.
La novella è pubblicata nella «Rivista italiana di Scienze, Lettere e Arti» il 15 giugno 1874 e ristampata alla fine dello stesso mese in opuscolo presso l'editore Brigola di Milano (con il sottotitolo «Bozzetto siciliano»).1
Il successo di _Nedda_ provoca richieste di altri racconti da parte degli editori: già nel luglio '74 Verga progetta di scriverne per le riviste di casa Treves, sempre esclusivamente attirato dalla possibilità di facile guadagno e ben lontano dal pensare a un'originale ricerca narrativa, tanto da confermare le parole di Luigi Capuana nella recensione, apparsa nel «Corriere della Sera» del 20-21 settembre 1880, a _Vita dei campi_ :
> Quando il Verga scrisse la _Nedda_ forse non credeva d'aver trovato un nuovo filone nella miniera quasi intatta del romanzo italiano.2
In realtà _Nedda_ è una sperimentazione inconsapevole: un soggetto originale, affiorato da ricordi lontani, è realizzato in una struttura narrativa canonica: premessa – sfondo paesistico – presentazione generale dei personaggi – messa a fuoco della protagonista e della sua vicenda personale (si veda la minuta descrizione fisica di Nedda, quasi manzoniana, come manzoniana è la sequenza del ritorno a casa) – fasi evolutive della storia d'amore con Janu. L'esperimento è consegnato all'impacciata e faticosa mimesi dei dialoghi di personaggi «plebei» (battute a botta e risposta, senza didascalie introduttive, uso del proverbio e della parola generatrice di discorso, in minima percentuale, però), negli incerti accenni di discorso indiretto libero, evidenziato con la punteggiatura o con il corsivo, nel lessico sostanzialmente normale (con parecchi toscanismi, residuo dello sforzo di formarsi uno strumento linguistico regolare) in cui si inseriscono nomi e parole siciliani (anche i versi di una canzone popolare), corpi estranei, segnalati come tali dal corsivo.
Nell'estate del '74, tornato in Sicilia, Verga prepara le novelle che formeranno il volume di _Primavera_ , qualcosa forse recuperando da un tentativo fallito del '73:3 _Le storie del castello di Trezza_ (pubblicato nell'«Illustrazione italiana» dal 17 gennaio al 7 febbraio 1875), in particolare, sono indicate come un racconto «giovanile, primitivo, e vecchio diggià», «un vero peccato di gioventù» in due lettere del 1887 a Édouard Rod, ma la stessa definizione si può adattare a _X_ (uscita nella «Strenna italiana» 1874) e a _Certi argomenti_ (scritta nell'autunno '75 e pubblicata nella «Strenna italiana» 1876), testi «vecchia maniera», sia nei temi sia nello stile, assai probabilmente, quindi, ricavati da vecchi materiali giacenti nel cassetto ( _X_ , in particolare, da una primitiva stesura di _Tigre reale)._
Più nuovi, invece, _Primavera_ e _La coda del diavolo_ (ambedue pubblicati nell'«Illustrazione italiana», rispettivamente il 1º e 7 novembre 1875 e il 16 e 23 gennaio 1876), l'uno un presentimento di _Per le vie_ , l'altro un tentativo di «dramma intimo».
Se _La coda_ è interessante per il recupero di paesaggi e riti isolani (Catania, la festa di Sant'Agata, l'usanza della _'ntuppatedda_ ), iniziato già nelle _Storie_ con una sequenza descrittiva, forse aggiunta durante i ritocchi, del mare e dei pescatori di Aci Trezza,4 _Primavera_ è un esperimento anche stilisticamente e linguisticamente nuovo di inserire la parlata milanese della protagonista femminile, la Principessa, e di filtrare in discorso indiretto libero le chiacchiere delle compagne di lavoro:
> si ciarlava sottovoce [...] del nuovo _moroso_ della Principessa, e si rideva molto di _quest'altro_ , il quale aveva un soprabitino _che sembrava quello della misericordia di Dio_.
I termini dialettali e i frammenti di discorso riferiti sono ancora segnalati dal corsivo, come in _Nedda_ (si ricordino le «rose _che si sarebbero mangiate»_ del fazzoletto di Nedda), mentre più riuscito è il racconto in indiretto libero della storia con _l'altro_ :
> A casa non erano ricchi, per dir la verità; [...] e allora la Principessa era entrata in un magazzino di mode per aiutare alquanto la famiglia. Colà, un po' le belle vesti che vedeva, un po' le belle parole che le si dicevano, un po' l'esempio, un po' la vanità, un po' la facilità, un po' le sue compagne e un po' quel giovanotto che si trovava sempre sui suoi passi, avevano fatto il resto. [...] il babbo era un galantuomo, la mamma una santa donna; sarebbero morti di dolore se avessero potuto sospettare _la cosa_ , e non l'aveano mai creduto possibile, giacché avevano esposto la figliuola alla tentazione. La colpa era tutta sua... o piuttosto non era sua; ma di chi era dunque? Certo che non avrebbe voluto conoscer _quell'altro_ , ora che conosceva il suo Paolo, e quando Paolo l'avrebbe lasciata non voleva conoscer più nessuno...
Elementi originali sono mescolati a residui scolastici, tipici dei testi di formazione, forme letterarie o toscane, interventi diretti nella narrazione, come l'allocuzione finale al «povero grande artista da birreria», preceduta dal patetico addio della Principessa, concluso dall'altrettanto patetico e incongruo commento pietistico dell'autore.
Il volume esce nell'autunno 1876 (il 25 ottobre secondo un «Preventivo» autografo) presso il Brigola di Milano, che Verga sceglie dopo il raffreddamento dei rapporti con Emilio Treves a causa delle difficoltà nelle trattative per _Tigre reale_ e _Eros_.5
Contemporaneamente Verga lavora a un altro filone tematico, quello, per così dire, intravvisto nell'alba marina osservata da Nata e Giorgio in _Tigre reale_ e nella citata sequenza descrittiva delle _Storie del castello di Trezza_ :
> il cielo era di un azzurro cupo, striato di vapori lattiginosi, e leggermente rosato verso l'oriente; sul mare ancora grigio e fosco si vedeva per l'ampia distesa la lunga fila delle vele dei pescatori.6
>
> Il mare era levigato e lucente; i pescatori sparsi per la riva, o aggruppati dinanzi agli usci delle loro casipole, chiacchieravano della pesca del tonno e della salatura delle acciughe; lontan lontano, perduto fra la bruna distesa, si udiva ad intervalli un canto monotono e orientale, le onde morivano come un sospiro ai piedi dell'alta muraglia, la spuma biancheggiava un istante, e l'acre odore marino saliva a buffi, come ad ondate anch'esso. La baronessa stette a contemplare sbadatamente tutto ciò, e sorprese sé stessa, sé posta così in alto nella camera dorata di quella dimora signorile, ad ascoltare con singolare interesse i discorsi di quella gente posta così in basso al piede delle sue torri. Poi guardò il vano nero di quei poveri usci, il fiammeggiare del focolare, il fumo che svolgevasi lento lento dal tetto; [...] guardò di nuovo la spiaggia, il mare, l'orizzonte segnato da una sfumatura di luce, l'ombra degli scogli che andava e veniva coll'onda.
È la disposizione psicologica in cui Verga si trova nel maneggiare la materia di una novella che già nell'autunno '74 progetta di scrivere per i giornali di Treves e della quale il 18 dicembre invia all'editore una prima parte, sottolineandone la novità sotto tutti gli aspetti:
> Eccovi la Novella; anzi una e mezza. Vi ho mandato anche il principio della seconda perché possiate farvi un'idea del genere diverso, e vedere liberamente se fa per voi. Il seguito della seconda ve lo porterò io stesso, quando l'avrò finita, venendo fra breve a Milano.7
Del racconto non si avrà, invece, notizia fino al settembre successivo, quando, il 25, Verga annuncia a Treves:
> Vi manderò presto _Un sogno_ per l'Ill.e Un.e e in seguito _Padron 'Ntoni_ , il bozzetto marinaresco di cui conoscete il principio, per il Museo d. Fam.e. Avrei potuto finirlo e mandarvelo anche prima, ma vi confesso che rileggendolo mi è parso dilavato, e ho cominciato a rifarlo di sana pianta, e vorrei riuscire più semplice, breve ed efficace.
L'identificazione della «mezza novella» del dicembre '74 con il bozzetto _Padron 'Ntoni_ ci sembra, pur da questi pochi dati, sicura (si pensi che le altre novelle scritte in quel periodo o erano già pubblicate o avevano comunque una collocazione editoriale). Nel fondo dei microfilms di autografi verghiani si è rintracciato, inoltre, un manoscritto dei _Malavoglia_ che dati interni e esterni indicano come una primitiva stesura, anzi una copia in pulito di una redazione più antica e notevolmente più ridotta del romanzo: esso è acefalo, manca cioè delle prime 44 carte (forse quelle già spedite all'editore), e incompiuto come il bozzetto marinaresco; il racconto è tradizionale, tutto in discorso indiretto, con pochissimi dialoghi, rivela uno stile immaturo, una struttura schematica, tipici degli abbozzi verghiani (si vedano, ad esempio, quelli del _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ ), è, insomma, una elaborazione provvisoria del materiale narrativo in tutto corrispondente all'autocritica espressa nella lettera del '75 all'editore. L'evoluzione del bozzetto sarà assai diversa e quasi tutto il vecchio racconto resterà lettera morta; ne sopravviverà solo una parte, l'episodio degli amori di 'Ntoni con la gnà Peppa o Pudda e con Grazia che sarà utilizzato per costruire _Cavalleria rusticana_. Questa la trama del bozzetto: 'Ntoni, non ancora Malavoglia, ma Piedipapera, soprannome di Indilicato, torna da soldato ed è abbandonato dalla gnà Peppa o Pudda perché è diventato povero dopo l'affare dei lupini. Insieme al nonno e ai fratelli è costretto a lavorare a giornata nella barca di padron Cipolla. Corteggia la figlia di questi, Grazia, con cui si fidanza. Arriva la notizia della battaglia di Lissa. 'Ntoni rompe il fidanzamento e vuole andar via dal paese. Scoppia il colera, muore la Longa.
Il rapporto tra l'autografo malavogliesco e quello di _Cavalleria_ è di parentela strettissima: la novella nasce dall'episodio degli amori di 'Ntoni con la gnà Peppa o Pudda (corrisponderà in parte a Lola) e con la gnà Grazia (corrisponderà a Santa) ed è elaborata parzialmente sul testo stesso del bozzetto.
## L'epos rusticano: «Vita dei campi»
La storia di _Padron 'Ntoni_ è legata così intimamente, in un rapporto di tipo genetico, a quella di _Vita dei campi_ , una raccolta tutta proiettata verso le soluzioni tematiche e stilistiche del romanzo. I testi di _Vita dei campi_ sono elaborati contemporaneamente ai _Malavoglia_ : non si è in grado di dire se _Cavalleria_ nasca già nel '75 dal bozzetto scartato poiché troppo più tarda è la prima edizione in rivista (nel «Fanfulla della Domenica» del 14 marzo 1880).8 Certo tra l'agosto '78 e l'agosto '79 sono scritti e pubblicati _Rosso Malpelo_ e _Fantasticheria_ , indicati come già pronti, insieme a _Il come, il quando ed il perché, «_ per un volume di novelle da dare a Treves» in un «preventivo» autografo datato «9 Novembre 79», mentre il 15 novembre ha inizio la stesura di _Jeli il pastore_ , come risulta dalla data apposta dall'autore in capo al primo abbozzo e curiosamente ripetuta nel secondo e nel terzo quasi per corredarli di un atto di nascita, dato che è fuor di discussione che le tre stesure e per la loro ampiezza e per la quantità delle correzioni non furono scritte in un sol giorno. Tutti gli altri racconti sono composti e pubblicati in riviste e periodici tra il febbraio e i primi di luglio dell'80.9
Nel raccoglierli in volume il Verga li sottopone alla consueta revisione lessicale volta a eliminare imprecisioni o eccessi di letterarietà, intervenendo pochissimo sulla sintassi. Modifica profondamente, invece, _L'amante di Gramigna_ , dilatando le poche e stringenti pagine della redazione in rivista, banalizzandola, rompendo il ritmo quasi epico del racconto. È probabile che l'ampliamento sia dovuto all'esigenza di ingrossare il volume, piuttosto esile, tanto che il Treves propone di aggiungervi _Il come, il quando ed il perché_ , novella del genere «dramma intimo» decisamente dissonante rispetto alle altre. Verga riesce a evitare «quel pasticcio del _Come_ » sottolineando l'unità d'ispirazione, tema e stile delle «novelle di argomento rusticano», sicché il libro esce alla fine d'agosto aperto da _Fantasticheria_ , racconto programmatico, seguito da _Jeli il pastore, Rosso Malpelo, Cavalleria rusticana, La Lupa, L'amante di Gramigna, Guerra di Santi, Pentolaccia_ (lo indichiamo con la sigla _T1)._
Il volume incontra il favore dei critici, influenzati forse dalla lusinghiera recensione del Capuana apparsa nel «Corriere della Sera» del 20-21 settembre, e soprattutto del pubblico, e in pochi mesi è esaurito, se nella primavera del 1881 l'editore si accinge a ristamparlo, tornando alla carica per inserirvi _Il come, il quando ed il perché._
Verga, pur di non inquinare la raccolta con una novella così dissonante ed estranea, offre al Treves in cambio di quella tre racconti nuovi, _La roba, Cos'è il Re_ e _Storia dell'asino di S. Giuseppe_ , non preoccupandosi di sprecare e di far passare probabilmente sotto silenzio il primo nucleo dell'altro volume di _Vita dei campi_ (che in seguito avendo cambiato editore intitolerà _Novelle rusticane_ , il secondo della serie progettata che si sarebbe conclusa con una _Vita d'officina_ , poi _Per le vie)._10
_Vita dei campi_ esce, quindi, nel 1881 ( _T2_ ) recando in coda la novella incriminata, ma senza nessun'altra modifica: anzi la composizione del volume era stata fatta evidentemente sugli stessi piombi del 1880, poiché non solo è identica l'impaginazione, ma non vi sono neppure corrette le numerose sviste tipografiche di cui il Verga si era lamentato già l'anno precedente col Treves, senza poi prendersi la briga di correggerle.
Della raccolta non si hanno altre ristampe fino al 1892, anno in cui esce sempre pei tipi del Treves col titolo mutato di _Cavalleria rusticana ed altre novelle_ e con l'originario _Vita dei campi_ confinato a sopratitolo ( _T3_ ). Motivi commerciali conseguenti la fortuna di _Cavalleria rusticana_ in versione teatrale e musicale dovettero essere la causa del cambiamento, come pure della diversa disposizione delle novelle: prima _Cavalleria rusticana_ e _La Lupa_ (i due drammi di successo), poi _Fantasticheria, Jeli il pastore, Rosso Malpelo, L'amante di Gramigna, Guerra di Santi, Pentolaccia, Il come, il quando ed il perché._ Ancor più del nuovo titolo è questa diversa collocazione dei racconti che falsa la raccolta, ponendola in un'ottica sbagliata, e che compromette i rapporti non tanto effettivamente cronologici, quanto di successione ideale dei racconti. A parte la diversa disposizione, la stampa del 1892 non muta la situazione del testo, riproducendo fedelmente le due precedenti, compresi i refusi e l'impaginazione.
Un fatto nuovo si verifica nel 1893, quando Verga pubblica nel «Numero speciale di Natale e Capodanno dell'Illustrazione italiana» (siglato _Ill.) Jeli il pastore, Fantasticheria_ (col titolo mutato in _Fantasticherie_ ) e _Nedda_ , accompagnate da illustrazioni a colori di Arnaldo Ferraguti.
_Jeli_ e _Fantasticheria_ presentano qui rispetto a _T1_ varianti lessicali e interpuntive in numero rilevante, ma non tali da incidere in modo decisivo sulla fisionomia delle novelle, tanto che non passeranno neppure nella edizione del 1897 ( _T4_ ), rimanendo, tranne pochissime, lettera morta.
Il «Numero speciale dell'Illustrazione», se ha poche conseguenze sul testo, si dimostra tuttavia importante per altri motivi: anzitutto perché sottolinea una volta di più un comportamento costante del Verga, il tornare sui propri testi, anche se a grande distanza dalla prima edizione; rivela, inoltre, l'intenzione dello scrittore di correggere _T1_ quando gli si offre l'occasione e, infine, fatto più interessante ai fini della storia del testo, prova che tra il 1880 e il 1893 l'autore non aveva mai messo mano a _T1_ per apportarvi modifiche sostanziali.
La vera svolta nella storia del testo di _Vita dei campi_ avviene nel 1897 quando Treves fa uscire un'edizione di lusso della raccolta (la già citata _T4_ ) interamente illustrata da Arnaldo Ferraguti: per _Jeli, Fantasticheria_ e _Nedda_ sono naturalmente riprodotte le illustrazioni già preparate per il «Numero speciale», la cui ottima riuscita dovette convincere l'editore ad affrontare l'impresa di un volume completamente illustrato, giacché l'autore ne aveva in mente il progetto da quasi dieci anni.
Nel nuovo volume è ripristinato il titolo originale di _Vita dei campi_ , espunto _Il come, il quando ed il perché_ e aggiunta _Nedda_ , il cui recupero iniziato nel 1893 diventa qui definitivo, ragione non ultima forse l'esistenza di illustrazioni già pronte e la solita esigenza editoriale di rendere più consistente il libro, in quanto stupisce l'inserimento qui di un testo estremamente significativo sì, ma assai lontano come soluzioni narrative e stilistiche dal gruppo più omogeneo e compatto delle altre otto novelle. Non muta, invece, rispetto all'edizione del 1892, l'ordinamento delle novelle, a parte l'aggiunta di _Nedda_ dopo _La Lupa._ E il Verga dovette lagnarsene con Giuseppe Treves, se questi gli rispondeva piuttosto seccamente il 14 gennaio 1897: «La disposizione è tua. Non ti hanno forse mandato le bozze?».11
Le novità vanno oltre i mutamenti esteriori e riguardano soprattutto il testo che subisce notevoli trasformazioni a livello stilistico ( _Jeli, Rosso Malpelo, Pentolaccia_ ) e strutturale ( _L'amante di Gramigna)._ La rielaborazione delle novelle, esclusa da quanto detto sopra per il «Numero speciale» l'ipotesi di correzioni attuate nel decennio '80-'90 e tenute nel cassetto fino al 1897, dovette avvenire quasi interamente durante la fase di rilettura delle bozze, se il proto dei Treves, Enrico Brunetti, scriveva al Verga il 26 novembre 1896:
> Il signor Emilio, avendo osservato ch'Ella negli ultimi bozzetti ha fatto moltissime correzioni, ha creduto bene di fargli rispedire le bozze corrette, nel dubbio che le possa sfuggire qualche errore. Spero anche che ora Ella non avrà però che a riscontrare il già fatto, ma non a fare molte nuove correzioni.12
L'edizione, tuttavia, scarsamente accessibile per il prezzo e la tiratura limitata passa sotto silenzio (non raccoglie neppure una recensione), cosicché per 43 anni si continua a pubblicare senza turbamenti il testo del 1892,13 finché nel 1940 escono presso l'editore Mondadori due volumi comprendenti tutte le novelle pubblicate dal Verga, per le cure di Lina e Vito Perroni.
_Vita dei campi_ appare nel primo volume in una redazione diversa da quella conosciuta (mentre la disposizione è la stessa del 1892, è esclusa cioè _Nedda_ e aggiunto _Il come_ all'ultimo posto), senza una riga di spiegazione da parte dei curatori sulla provenienza del nuovo testo, né sulle ragioni critiche della loro operazione.
Nel 1957, infine, Giovanni Cecchetti nell'articolo _Il testo di «Vita dei campi» e le correzioni verghiane_14 rivela l'esistenza dell'edizione illustrata del 1897, sostenendo che l'edizione Mondadori 1940 (siglata _M1_ ) era stata esemplata su quella.
In realtà, _M1_ , se a una prima lettura si presenta come la copia fedele di _T4_ , a un raffronto più puntuale dimostra la sua infedeltà, poiché, pur essendo assai prossimo a _T4_ , se ne discosta conservando in parecchi punti la lezione di _T1_ e introducendone in pochissimi altri di nuove. L'ipotesi più probabile è che _M1_ riproduca bozze o altro materiale preparato per l'edizione illustrata, contaminati dai curatori con la ristampa Bemporad del 1929, la quale presenta numerosi e non sempre giustificati interventi redazionali.
Fin qui la storia del testo di _Vita dei campi_ :15 in questa sede basti dire che la soluzione da noi proposta è di pubblicare come testo base _T1_ , in quanto documento di una fase essenziale nell'evoluzione della narrativa verghiana, sia dal punto di vista tematico che stilistico, riportando in apparato le varianti di _T4_ , testimonianza dell'ultima crisi espressiva del Verga, che, riprendendo in mano a distanza di diciassette anni il libro chiave della sua esperienza di scrittore, ne smonta l'originario sistema linguistico e sintattico, attuando una normalizzazione del testo, e vi sovrappone soluzioni stilistiche più recenti, ad esempio del _Mastro-don Gesualdo._
Si determina cioè il passaggio da una sintassi coordinata, anormale, a una struttura rigidamente subordinante, attraverso la soppressione dei nessi irrazionali: i «che» e gli «e» verghiani sono svolti negli avverbi che introducono avversative, causali, consecutive, temporali, mentre spariscono i continui cambiamenti di soggetto che spostano l'attenzione da un argomento all'altro con la irrazionale casualità tipica del parlato popolare. I periodi lunghi e avvolgenti di _T1_ che coagulavano e filtravano diversi motivi si frantumano, la narrazione distesa e ampia si frammenta con l'uso di pause più nette come il punto e virgola, i due punti, il punto, i trattini in aggiunta alle virgole per isolare gli incisi, e soprattutto con l'adozione del passato remoto a scapito dell'imperfetto, tempo della narrazione distesa e evocatrice. Sulla linea della normalizzazione si colloca anche la preferenza accordata al modo congiuntivo, cioè al modo della lingua scritta, colta, normale, piuttosto che all'indicativo. La regolarizzazione della sintassi comporta una regolarizzazione a livello linguistico e, spesso, anche una banalizzazione semantica.
Ecco alcuni esempi da _Jeli il pastore, Rosso Malpelo_ e _Pentolaccia_ , le novelle su cui il Verga interviene più decisamente:
> _T1_
>
> Non poteva persuadersi che si potesse poi ripetere sulla carta quelle parole che egli aveva dette, o che aveva dette don Alfonso, ed anche quelle cose che non gli erano uscite di bocca, e finiva col fare quel sorriso furbo [...] con quel sorriso ostinato che voleva essere furbo.
>
> Il figlio di massaro Neri pareva che li sentisse, e accendesse i suoi razzi per la Mara, facendo la ruota dinanzi a lei; e dopo che i fuochi furono cessati si accompagnò con loro e li condusse al ballo, e al cosmorama, dove si vedeva il mondo vecchio e il mondo nuovo, pagando lui per tutti, anche per Jeli il quale andava dietro la comitiva come un cane senza padrone, a veder ballare il figlio di massaro Neri colla Mara, la quale girava in tondo e si accoccolava come una colombella sulle tegole, e teneva tesa con bel garbo una cocca del grembiale, e il figlio di massaro Neri saltava come un puledro.
>
> Egli veniva perché la cavalla che il padrone aveva lasciata al pascolo s'era ammalata all'improvviso, e si vedeva chiaro che quella era cosa che ci voleva il maniscalco subito subito, e ce n'era voluto per condurla sino in paese, colla pioggia che cadeva come una fiumara, e colle strade dove si sprofondava sino a mezza gamba.
>
> _T4_
>
> capacitarsi
>
> talché lui finiva per tirarsi indietro, incredulo, e con un sorriso furbo [...] con quel sorriso ostinato che voleva essere malizioso.
>
> che sentisse quei discorsi, e
>
> tanto che dopo i fuochi si accompagnò
>
> pagando lui, beninteso, anche per Jeli,
>
> una colombella in amore
>
> grembiale. Il figlio di massaro Neri, lui, saltava come un puledro
>
> Una notte da lupi, che proprio il lupo gli era entrato in casa, mentre lui andava all'acqua e al vento per amor del salario, e della giumenta del padrone ch'era ammalata, e ci voleva il maniscalco subito subito.
Nella descrizione del rapporto Jeli-Alfonso la consecutiva spezza il ritmo del periodo, eliminandone la coordinata-clausola «e finiva col fare», e l'aggettivo «furbo» attraverso lo sdoppiamento con «incredulo» (e la successiva variante «malizioso» che rompe l'iterazione) perde la connotazione di incertezza e di sospetto che producevano la qualità del sorriso di Jeli. La scena del ballo subisce attraverso quei pochi e apparentemente insignificanti ritocchi una normalizzazione totale: la precisazione «quei discorsi» è superflua poiché è Jeli che guarda e descrive («a veder ballare») e non un narratore esterno, così come la macchinosa consecutiva (dal fatto che il figlio di massaro Neri accenda i razzi per farsi notare da Mara non consegue direttamente che egli vada con loro al ballo); l'espressione «colombella in amore», gli incisi «beninteso» e «lui» sono incongruamente ironici e risentiti (oltre che mutuati dallo stile «gesualdesco»), perché il personaggio-narratore osserva con meraviglia e piacere tutta la festa («Arrivando in piazza, Jeli rimase a bocca aperta dalla meraviglia») che diventerà per lui motivo di amarezza solo quando capirà di aver perso Mara («Quando scapparono nel cielo gli ultimi razzi in folla, il figlio di massaro Neri, si voltò verso di lei, verde in viso, e le diede un bacio. / Jeli non disse nulla, ma in quel punto gli si cambiò in veleno tutta la festa che aveva goduto sin allora»).
Nell'ultimo esempio viene sorprendentemente inserita (caso unico) un'immagine «rusticana», già sfruttata nell' _Amante di Raja_ («Ma la lupa aveva sentito il bosco, e non volle più stare nel villaggio, ella se ne andò in città, col suo lupacchiotto in collo») e ripresa in _La caccia al lupo_ (1897), un acquisto semantico pagato tuttavia a caro prezzo con la soppressione del discorso indiretto libero di _T1_.
Gli stessi esiti danno le correzioni, sia pur meno intensive, di _Rosso Malpelo_ :
> _T1_
>
> un sabato aveva voluto terminare certo lavoro preso a cottimo, di un pilastro lasciato altra volta per sostegno nella cava, e che ora non serviva più, e s'era calcolato così ad occhio col padrone per 35 o 40 carra di rena.
>
> Ma Malpelo non aveva nemmeno chi si prendesse tutto l'oro del mondo per la sua pelle, se pure la sua pelle valeva tutto l'oro del mondo; sua madre si era rimaritata e se n'era andata a stare a Cifali, e sua sorella s'era maritata anch'essa. La porta della casa era chiusa, ed ei non aveva altro che le scarpe di suo padre appese al chiodo; perciò gli commettevano sempre i lavori più pericolosi, e le imprese più arrischiate, e s'ei non si aveva riguardo alcuno, gli altri non ne avevano certamente per lui.
>
> _T4_
>
> dell' _ingrottato_ , e dacché non serviva più, s'era
>
> valeva tanto: sicché pensarono a lui.
Nel primo esempio la relativa lascia il posto alla temporale, cioè a un movimento sintattico nettamente subordinante, ed è eliminato il polisindeto (operazione frequentissima in _Rosso_ ), mentre la seconda sequenza è drasticamente eliminata da una secchissima consecutiva, e con essa scompare il bilancio finale di Malpelo, già accennato nella pagina precedente (e per ciò forse tolto in linea con la tendenza a eliminare ogni ripetizione o iterazione), dei suoi rapporti con la famiglia e con il ristretto gruppo sociale della cava.
Sempre nella direzione di scorciare il Verga riduce, ma con risultati più coerenti, l'attacco di _Pentolaccia_ :
> Adesso viene la volta di «Pentolaccia» ch'è un bell'originale anche lui, e ci fa la sua figura fra tante bestie che sono alla fiera, e ognuno passando gli dice la sua. Lui quel nomaccio se lo meritava proprio, ché aveva la pentola piena tutti i giorni, prima Dio e sua moglie, e mangiava e beveva alla barba di compare don Liborio, meglio di un re di corona.
>
> Uno che non abbia mai avuto il viziaccio della gelosia, e ha chinato sempre il capo in santa pace, che santo Isidoro ce ne scampi e liberi, se gli salta poi il ghiribizzo di fare il matto, la galera gli sta bene.
Lo si confronti con le quasi due pagine di _T1_ , dove è accentuato il motivo della rassegna di personaggi eccezionali, devianti dalla norma (come sono tutti i protagonisti di _Vita dei campi, «_ tanti matti che hanno avuto il giudizio nelle calcagna, e hanno fatto tutto il contrario di quel che suol fare un cristiano il quale voglia mangiarsi il suo pane in santa pace») di cui Pentolaccia chiude la serie. La disquisizione sulla gelosia è, inoltre, un esempio di discorso indiretto libero costruito con massime o, meglio, luoghi comuni, credenze popolari, come mette in rilievo l'uso del presente indicativo, ed è anche il trionfo della struttura sintattica a coordinate, tutti elementi persi in _T4_ , dove pure l'anacoluto del secondo capoverso rappresenta un notevole acquisto.
L'influsso dell'esperienza del _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ si esercita sul discorso diretto e sull'indiretto libero, che in _T1_ compare anche con soluzioni di tipo malavogliesco, come in _Guerra di Santi_ , primo tentativo di racconto corale nella descrizione dello stendardo
> uno stendardo nuovo, tutto ricamato d'oro, che pesava più d'un quintale, dicevano, e in mezzo alla folla sembrava «una spuma d'oro» addirittura
nella presentazione del delegato di monsignore
> un uomo di proposito, che ci aveva due fibbie d'argento di mezza libbra l'una alle scarpe [...] ci aveva l'assoluzione plenaria per ogni sorta di peccati, come se fosse stata la persona stessa di monsignore
negli effetti della siccità
> i seminati gialli, che scoppiettavano come l'esca, «morivano di sete». Bruno il carradore diceva invece che quando San Pasquale esciva in processione pioveva di certo. Ma che gliene importava della pioggia a lui se faceva il carradore, e a tutti gli altri conciapelli del suo partito?...
nei dialoghi, fitti di proverbi come nella scena del battesimo (v. pp. 216-7).
Nel '97 discorso diretto e indiretto libero sono profondamente modificati dagli inserti improvvisi di parlato, dall'ellissi del verbo, dall'uso di imprecazioni «gesualdesche», dalle brevi e rapide proposizioni esclamative o interrogative, dalle sospensioni, dalle pause decise, tipiche di questi costrutti sintattici nel romanzo.
> _T1_
>
> – Io non ci ho creduto, perché con don Alfonso eravamo sempre insieme, quando eravamo ragazzi, e non passava giorno ch'ei non venisse a Tebidi, quand'era in campagna lì vicino.
>
> Ma la prima volta che per sua disgrazia rivide don Alfonso, dopo tanti anni, Jeli si sentì dentro come se lo cuocessero. Don Alfonso s'era fatto grande da non sembrare più quello; ed ora aveva una bella barba ricciuta al pari dei capelli, e una catenella d'oro sul panciotto. Però riconobbe Jeli, e gli batté anche sulle spalle salutandolo.
>
> Se gliela avessero fatta vedere coi suoi occhi, avrebbe detto che non era vero. O fosse che per la maledizione della madre la Venera gli era cascata dal cuore, e non ci pensasse più; o perché standosene tutto l'anno in campagna a lavorare, e non vedendola altro che il sabato sera, ella si era fatta sgarbata e disamorevole col marito, ed egli avesse finito di volergli bene; e quando una cosa non ci piace più, ci sembra che non debba premere nemmeno agli altri, e non ce ne importa più nulla che sia di questo o di quell'altro; insomma la gelosia non poteva entrargli in testa neanche a ficcarcela col cavicchio, e avrebbe continuato per cent'anni ad andare lui stesso, quando ce lo mandava sua moglie, a chiamare il medico, il quale era don Liborio.
>
> _T4_
>
> – No! non voglio crederci ancora!... perché con don Alfonso
>
> _Tebidi_ , proprio come due fratelli...
>
> don Alfonso già uomo fatto, Jeli sentì come una botta allo stomaco. Come s'era fatto grande e bello! con quella catena d'oro sul panciotto, e la giacca di velluto, e la barba liscia che pareva d'oro anch'essa.
>
> Niente superbo poi, tanto che gli batté sulla spalla salutandolo per nome.
>
> vero, grazia di Santa Lucia benedetta. A che giovava guastarsi il sangue? C'era la pace, la provvidenza in casa, la salute per giunta, ché compare don Liborio era anche medico; che si voleva d'altro, santo Iddio?
Siamo, dunque, di fronte a due testi diversi, che riflettono esperienze e posizioni diverse, ambedue con un valore loro proprio e con un significato ben preciso nell'evoluzione della narrativa e del verismo verghiani: _Vita dei campi_ dell'80 è l'ormai sicura base di partenza per la ricerca tematica e stilistica guidata dal nuovo metodo (la premessa teorica dell' _Amante di Gramigna_ testimonia la totale fiducia del Verga negli strumenti di indagine scelti), _Vita dei campi_ del '97 è l'approdo di quella, il punto di arrivo, in cui si manifesta la crisi determinata dal fallimento del metodo, già rivelato in _Don Candeloro e C. i_ e, in seguito, confermato dalla rinuncia a proseguire nel «Ciclo dei Vinti».
Non si tratta, né si è mai trattato, di superiorità di una redazione sull'altra, ma di diversa qualità, che non impedisce di scegliere la prima come testo base per la sua importanza storica nello sviluppo della narrativa verista e di rendere leggibile l'evoluzione del libro riportando in apparato (il che non vuol dire abbassare a ruolo inferiore) le varianti della seconda.
## La società provinciale siciliana: «Novelle rusticane»
Dopo l'agosto '80 il programma di lavoro del Verga è ancora assai fitto: il secondo semestre dell'anno e tutto il successivo sono impegnati nella laboriosa revisione dei _Malavoglia_ (il 9 agosto '81 ne invia la prima parte all'editore), cui si aggiunge la stesura del _Marito di Elena_ ,protrattasi fino all'estate (il 30 luglio '81 scrive al Capuana: «Intanto, per pagare la casetta dove sto, do mano a terminare quel cornuto _Marito di Elena»)._16
In un clima di estrema tensione creativa nasce, dunque, il primo nucleo delle _Novelle rusticane: La roba, Cos'è il Re, Storia dell'asino di S. Giuseppe_ , proprio quelle proposte al Treves per la seconda edizione di _Vita dei campi_ per evitare ancora una volta il recupero del _Come_. L'editore rifiuta giustamente di sprecare i nuovi testi, suggerendo l'idea di un altro volume:
> Le tre novelle che mi proponete faranno parte quando che sia di qualche altro volume e qui sarebbero sacrificate. Si può sacrificare la roba mediocre come _Il come_ , non le cose buone.17
E nel giugno '81 Verga progetta, infatti, una nuova raccolta:
> Durante l'estate darò mano a mettere insieme delle altre novelle da raccogliere in un secondo volume della vita dei campi.18
Nel giro di otto mesi scrive e pubblica in varie riviste tutte le future _Rusticane_ , tranne _Di là del mare._19 Il nuovo libro non sarà pubblicato dal Treves, ma dal Casanova di Torino, col quale già dal marzo '82 sono concluse le trattative, se il 24 lo scrittore annunciando al primo il numero dei testi di _Per le vie_ dichiara:
> Le novelle che mi obbligo a darvi pel volume saranno 12, due in più di quelle che formeranno il volume Casanova.20
In realtà le _Rusticane_ diventeranno poi dodici, per l'inclusione di _Pane nero_ e _Di là del mare_ , non previste nel progetto primitivo. _Pane nero_ , dopo la pubblicazione a puntate nella «Gazzetta letteraria», esce in volumetto presso l'editore Giannotta di Catania in redazione ampliata, forse per esigenze editoriali, con l'aggiunta di tre sequenze narrative: la dichiarazione di Santo a Nena (pp. 303-5), la malattia e il licenziamento di Carmenio (pp. 314-6: il collegamento tra l'aggravarsi della malattia della madre e il suo trasferimento in campagna è nella rivista assai più rapido e non provocato da don Venerando il quale, fra l'altro, nelle pagine seguenti compare genericamente come «il padrone»: «Ma siccome la vecchierella perdeva sempre terreno di giorno in giorno, Carmenio venne dalla mandra una domenica, e disse che voleva portarsela al Camemi. / Ella lasciava fare. Santo sapeva almeno che alla mandra ecc.», cfr. pp. 316-7), la capitolazione di Lucia e la descrizione dei suoi nuovi rapporti con Brasi (p. 324). Le aggiunte risultano perfettamente funzionali al racconto: la prima e l'ultima perché ricostruiscono più sottilmente l'esperienza di Santo e Nena e di Lucia, ponendole in contrasto come due facce della stessa realtà, quella centrale in quanto con la vicenda di Carmenio, terza _tranche de vie_ , e con l'individuazione di don Venerando come motore delle azioni successive dei personaggi crea un legame di causa-effetto tra la prima e la seconda parte del racconto.
Le novelle subiscono un'accurata revisione stilistica nel passaggio dalle riviste al volume, tesa soprattutto a scorciare la narrazione (intervento che porta spesso alla normalizzazione della sintassi) e a ridurre ogni eccesso di dialettalità o «di colore locale» (in linea con il carattere di recupero di un mondo memoriale e, quindi, intellettuale, non oleograficamente realistico, delle _Rusticane)._ Il libro è pronto verso la fine del 1882 ed esce ai primi di dicembre (ma con i millesimi del 1883).21
Con le _Rusticane_ il Verga giunge a una vera e propria analisi della realtà storica e sociale della provincia siciliana nella seconda metà dell'800: il potere religioso, politico, giudiziario, economico, immutabili strumenti di oppressione, così come la natura inesorabile poiché distribuisce ciecamente vita e morte («Il lago vi dà e il lago vi piglia!», _Malaria_ , p. 265), insensibile all'azione umana («Solo rimaneva solenne e immutabile il paesaggio, colle larghe linee orientali, dai toni caldi e robusti. Sfinge misteriosa, che rappresentava i fantasmi passeggieri, con un carattere di necessità fatale.», _Di là del mare_ , p. 353). Tutti i personaggi sono il simbolo dell'impotenza contro le leggi naturali e umane e perciò «larve» destinate a passare senza lasciare il segno:
> Così erano scomparsi il casolare del gesso, e l'osteria di «Ammazzamogli» in cima al monticello deserto. [...] Il Biviere si stendeva sempre in fondo alla pianura come uno specchio appannato. Più in qua i vasti campi di Mazzarò, i folti oliveti grigi su cui il tramonto scendeva più fosco, le vigne verdi, i pascoli sconfinati [...]. Nessuno sapeva più di Cirino, di compare Carmine, o di altri.
La sola possibilità di sopravvivenza è nel ricordo che si perpetua nella
> mesta cantilena siciliana, che narrava a modo suo di gioie, di dolori, o di speranze umili, in mezzo al muggito uniforme del mare, e al va e vieni regolare e impassibile dello stantuffo.
e nella parola scritta, unica testimonianza di quelle esperienze:
> Allora gli tornava in mente il nome di quei due sconosciuti che avevano scritto la storia delle loro umili gioie sul muro di una casa davanti alla quale tanta gente passava. [...] E allora avrebbe voluto mettere il nome di lei su di una pagina o di un sasso, al pari di quei due sconosciuti che avevano scritto il ricordo del loro amore sul muro di una stazione lontana.
In questi brani di _Di là del mare_ sta la giustificazione teorica della raccolta, sicché la novella, apparentemente così dissonante, si pone come racconto-epilogo, mentre ribadisce il contrasto tra le due realtà dell'Italia unita, già accennato in un pezzo lirico attribuito in _Malaria_ ad «Ammazzamogli», affascinato dal treno:
> Ah, come si doveva viaggiar bene lì dentro, schiacciando un sonnellino! Sembrava che un pezzo di città sfilasse lì davanti, colla luminaria delle strade, e le botteghe sfavillanti. Poi il treno si perdeva nella vasta nebbia della sera, e il poveraccio, cavandosi un momento le scarpe, seduto sulla panchina, borbottava: – Ah! per questi qui non c'è proprio la malaria!
Due mondi, uno primitivo, violento, soggetto al potere, l'altro apparentemente libero e evoluto, ma ugualmente drammatico che si osservano senza incontrarsi.
Esemplare, a proposito dei rapporti tra «galantuomini» e contadini, è _Libertà_ , oltre a essere un caso singolare nella novellistica verghiana per lo strettissimo aggancio alla realtà storica del risorgimento siciliano, nonostante la mancanza di espliciti riferimenti a luoghi e persone (ma nell'autografo del _Reverendo_ si legge: «i villani volevano fargli la festa come a Bronte che in una giornata avevano fatto volar via tutte le teste ai cappelli»). Verga doveva conoscere assai bene i fatti sanguinosi svoltisi nella ducea di Nelson alle falde dell'Etna tra il 2 e il 5 agosto 1860,22 ma non è improbabile che si sia servito di fonti giornalistiche e di diari di ex garibaldini, come il libro di Giuseppe Cesare Abba (presente nella sua biblioteca), in quanto cronaca di un testimone oculare della rivolta.23 Certo, se le pagine dell'Abba e i resoconti dei giornali furono presenti allo scrittore, risultano ancor più sospette certe lacune o modificazioni della trasposizione narrativa (notate da Leonardo Sciascia nel saggio _Verga e la libertà_ , in _La corda pazza_ , Torino, Einaudi, 1970): Verga elimina, infatti, una delle figure più importanti, l'avvocato Lombardo, capo dei ribelli e legato ai circoli liberali di Catania, e modifica la menomazione mentale di un altro personaggio in menomazione fisica (il _pazzo_ , Nunzio Fraiunco, la cui esecuzione costituì uno dei momenti più atroci della repressione garibaldina, diventa il _nano_ ), in quanto personaggi troppo inquietanti per la sua coscienza civile ed artistica (si veda in proposito l'articolo di Sciascia).
_Libertà_ è, comunque, l'unico testo in cui un fatto storico è calato in forme narrative e non fa semplicemente da sfondo, come nei romanzi o in altre novelle i moti del '21, del '48 o le guerre di indipendenza.
Notevoli legami hanno tutte le _Rusticane_ sia con i testi di questo periodo, ad esempio con _Il marito di Elena_ (soprattutto _Il Reverendo_ e _La roba_24), sia con testi di cui costituiscono in seconda istanza i cartoni preparatori come il _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ : in particolare _Il Reverendo_ , prefigurazione del canonico Lupi e in parte di Gesualdo, _La roba_ , per le analogie con la carriera e la fine di Mazzarò, _Libertà_ , per le scene di folla ammutinata, _Don Licciu Papa_ , per il personaggio del poliziotto, _I galantuomini_ , per la decadenza delle classi nobiliari e l'episodio di Marina, ascendente di quello di Bianca Trao nel primo capitolo del romanzo. Vi sono inoltre contatti con gli abbozzi del _Mastro_ , stesi appunto tra il 1881 e il 1884.
Le _Rusticane_ segnano, infatti, e documentano il passaggio dall'esperienza di _Vita dei campi_ e dei _Malavoglia_ a _Vagabondaggio_ e a _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ , in particolare _Pane nero_ è il testo che ci dà la misura del mutato clima narrativo e delle nuove direzioni di ricerca stilistica.
Il rapporto non è solo genericamente tematico, quasi le novelle fossero una prova generale di fatti e personaggi, ma anche stilistico, poiché Verga sperimenta qui elementi narrativi (similitudini, metafore, proverbi, modi di dire) che riprenderà nel romanzo, abbozza le soluzioni stilistiche necessarie a far parlare i nuovi personaggi. Ecco, ad esempio, la ricerca, in _Pane nero_ e in _I galantuomini_ , sul monologo reso attraverso un discorso indiretto libero costruito con interrogative, esclamative, sospensive, con larga utilizzazione di termini e costruzioni sintattiche dialettali o comunque proprie del parlato:
> Ora lo sapeva com'erano fatti gli uomini. Tutti bugiardi e traditori. Non voleva sentirne più parlare. Voleva buttarsi nella cisterna a capo in giù; voleva farsi Figlia di Maria; voleva prendere il suo buon nome e gettarlo dalla finestra! A che le serviva, senza dote? Voleva rompersi il collo con quel vecchiaccio del padrone, e procurarsi la dote colla sua vergogna. Ormai!... Ormai!...
>
> Ah! quel che aveva trovato! lì, a casa sua! in quel camerino di sua figlia che nemmeno c'entrava il sole!...
Ecco l'uso di un dialogo di tipo teatrale, a botta e risposta (si pensi ancora a _Pane nero_ e non, invece, a _Gli orfani_ , dove il dialogo è ancora di impianto malavogliesco), ed ecco ancora la descrizione di paesaggi e ambienti e il ritratto in chiave ironica e grottesca.25
Una seconda edizione delle _Novelle rusticane_ uscì a Roma nel 1920,26 per conto della casa editrice «La Voce» e per iniziativa di Giuseppe Prezzolini. Per recuperare probabilmente i diritti d'autore, il Verga corregge il testo dell'83 tra il febbraio e l'ottobre 1920; il 15 ottobre, infatti, scrive a Luigi Russo: «Ho spedito oggi al nostro caro Croce il volume delle _Novelle Rusticane_ (edizione riveduta, ma zeppa, ahimè, d'errori)».27
La revisione, a quasi quarant'anni dalla prima redazione, è condotta sulla falsariga delle correzioni del volume illustrato di _Vita dei campi_ : anzi gli interventi che sconvolgono la struttura sintattica e la veste linguistica originarie sono ancor più clamorosi. Sin dalle prime novelle si registra la tendenza a sostituire il racconto indiretto del narratore anonimo con lo squarcio lirico del ricordo o del rimpianto che richiama la tecnica degli ultimi capitoli del _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ :
> Ah! se si fosse rammentato del tempo in cui gli toccava lavare le scodelle ai cappuccini, che gli avevano messo il saio per carità, ora che poteva andare pei suoi campi e le sue vigne colla pipetta in bocca e le mani in tasca, si sarebbe fatta la croce colla mano sinistra, in fe' di Dio! ( _Il Reverendo_ , cfr. p. 229)
>
> Ah! la sua casuccia, dove si stava stretti, ma si sentivano i muli rosicar l'orzo dal capezzale del letto! Avrebbe pagato quelle due onze che doveva buscarsi dal Re per trovarsi nel suo letto, con l'uscio chiuso, e stare a vedere, sotto le coperte, mentre sua moglie sfaccendava col lume in mano a rassettare ogni cosa... ( _Cos'è il Re_ , cfr. p. 240)
Nelle due stesse novelle e nella successiva, _Don Licciu Papa_ , viene trasformato il finale, che risulta giocato sulle battute in discorso diretto del protagonista, quasi una serie di massime sulla situazione contemporanea. Il discorso diretto è costruito con tecnica gesualdesca, con proposizioni esclamative e interrogative, con incisi e imprecazioni tipici del protagonista del romanzo:
> – Erano altri tempi, è vero. Ma farmi pignorare le mie bestie, ora, santo e santissimo! E venire a far le strade carrozzabili per togliere il pan di bocca a me povero lettighiere!... Il collo doveva rompersi, lui e la sua Regina invece! – ( _Cos'è il Re_ , cfr. p. 245)
>
> – A me la contate? Io non sono più nulla da che ci hanno messi quelli del cappellaccio a tre punte. Io fo il pensionato e il benestante. – ( _Don Licciu Papa_ , cfr. p. 253)
La stessa trasformazione subiscono un po' ovunque il dialogo e il discorso indiretto libero i cui elementi vengono divisi dai punti esclamativi, interrogativi, da puntini di sospensione:
> – Il pane... come lo faceva la buon'anima!... E ora mi toccherà comprarlo a bottega, il pane! No! Lasciatemi piangere, che non ne posso più! ( _Gli orfani_ , cfr. pp. 274-5)
>
> – Che cosa state facendo? [...] – Non vedete che non mi resta nulla ormai? Lasciate bruciare! – ( _I galantuomini_ , cfr. p. 336)
>
> Per compare Cosimo fu un pugno nello stomaco, quello. Il suo mestiere era di fare il lettighiere, è vero; e il Re non era uno di quelli che stanno a lesinare per un tarì di più o di meno, come tanti altri. Ma se gli sdrucciolava un mulo per le viottole di Grammichele o di Fildidonna, col Re in lettiga?... ( _Cos'è il Re_ , cfr. pp. 239-40)
>
> Carmenio accese il fuoco, fra i due sassi, per riscaldarla almeno... Anche le frasche, a volte, dicono qualche cosa, se fanno la fiammata in un modo o in un'altro. Quanti fantasmi! Le storie che soleva narrare quello di Francofonte a veglia nelle mandre del Resecone... di streghe che montano a cavallo delle scope e fanno scongiuri sulla fiamma del focolare... [...] Oh, Signore! Che notte! Che turbinìo di sogni in quel dormiveglia penoso!... Il sabato sera quando tornava a casa... Il campanile del villaggio che vi chiamava e vi chiamava... ( _Pane nero_ , cfr. pp. 329-30)
Così le descrizioni sono ritoccate in base alla tecnica del romanzo: si vedano, ad esempio, l'inizio di _Cos'è il Re_ , dove ciò che più colpisce sono l'eliminazione delle coordinate, l'ellissi del verbo, le domande retoriche della folla:
> Nel paese, una folla che sembrava la festa di San Giacomo, gente che andava e veniva guardando di qua e di là. – Viene? – Non viene? – Di dove viene? – Da Napoli, dal suo paese. – (cfr. p. 239)
l'eruzione dell'Etna in _I galantuomini_ , realizzata con gli stessi espedienti
> Il custode della vigna portava via gli attrezzi del palmento, le doghe delle botti, tutto quello che si poteva salvare. Ma la vigna? Le donne mettevano sul limite reliquie e immagini di santi infilate alle cannucce.
>
> – Sant'Agata! – Santa Barbara! – Ma sì! aspetta! Quando don Marco arrivò trafelato, di faccia alla rovina, si cacciò le mani nei capelli, bestemmiando come un turco, invece. (cfr. p. 336)
e in _Pane nero_ la già citata notte della tempesta vissuta da Carmenio, qui estremamente scorciata, impoverita per di più di tutti gli elementi fantastici, sia terrorizzanti sia idilliaci, filtrati attraverso il personaggio, la sua angoscia, il ricordo delle sue esperienze, mentre la soluzione stilistica è, come già visto, sempre quella dell'accumulo di proposizioni esclamative, sospensive.
Il caso è, dunque, analogo a quello di _Vita dei campi_ , con l'aggravante, se così si può dire, poiché la valutazione è sull'importanza storica, mai sulla superiorità estetica, di un'ancor maggiore distanza di tempo tra le due redazioni. Il comportamento dell'editore non potrà essere diverso: testo base sarà quello dell'edizione Casanova 1883, mentre in un apparato evolutivo confluiranno le varianti dei materiali preparatori dell'edizione vociana e quelle della stampa del 1920.
Ancora alcuni aspetti singolari della seconda redazione delle _Rusticane_ : le due novelle più famose, _La roba_ e _Libertà_ , subiscono minimi interventi: dal punto di vista sintattico è intaccata sporadicamente la coordinazione, il lessico è appena ritoccato. _Libertà_ , tuttavia, presenta due varianti «ideologicamente» notevoli: il «fazzoletto rosso» sciorinato dal campanile e non più a «tre colori» e la reazione delle donne di Bronte all'arrivo dei garibaldini guidati da Bixio:
> Si vedevano già i suoi soldati salire lentamente per il burrone, verso il paesetto; sarebbe bastato far rotolare dall'alto delle pietre per schiacciarli tutti. Ma chi? Gli uomini erano già fuggiti in gran parte, al monte o al piano; e le donne, quelle che prima erano più feroci, ora facevano festa ai giovanetti colle camicie rosse che arrivavano stanchi e curvi sotto il fucile; e battevano le mani a quel generale che sembrava più piccolo sopra il gran cavallo nero, innanzi a tutti, solo, con certi occhi che si mangiavano la gente. (cfr. p. 344)
La prima è una correzione antistorica, poiché è paradossale che il simbolo delle lotte proletarie affermatosi con la Comune di Parigi nel 1871 venga assunto nel 1860 dai contadini della ducea di Bronte (certo ignari del fatto che la bandiera rossa era stata emblema delle rivolte dei contadini tedeschi nel '500 e della Parigi rivoluzionaria del 1792). Quella di _Libertà_ è una _jacquerie_ risorgimentale, scatenata dalle promesse di Garibaldi e non sostenuta da un contenuto ideologico, politico. Verga nel 1920 cade nella contraddizione storica che aveva evitato nell'83, sovrapponendo esperienze successive.
La seconda è un'incongruenza rispetto al comportamento degli stessi personaggi poco più innanzi:
> Le loro donne dietro, correndo per le lunghe strade di campagna, fra le stoppie, in mezzo alle vigne, trafelate, zoppicando, chiamando a nome i loro uomini ogni volta che la strada faceva gomito, e si potevano vedere in faccia. (cfr. p. 345)
Non solo, è un troppo immediato e perciò impossibile ristabilimento di uno _status quo_ dove i garibaldini sono, comunque, gli eroi, i liberatori, cui tributare il trionfo, mentre qui, invece, hanno la funzione di reprimere sanguinosamente una rivolta scatenata da speranze da loro stessi alimentate. In ciò sta l'interesse di Verga per i fatti di Bronte nell'83, nella contraddizione storica, insomma, mentre nel '20 ha perso di vista la motivazione originaria e indulge a un giudizio negativo. E basterebbe a dimostrarlo una significativa aggiunta al primo ordine di esecuzione di Bixio: «E subito ordinò che gliene fucilassero cinque o sei» diventa, quarant'anni dopo, «cinque o sei di quei manigoldi».
## Le novelle milanesi: «Per le vie»
Composte tra l'82 e l'83, quasi contemporaneamente alle _Rusticane_ , dovevano essere raccolte sotto il titolo _Vita d'officina_ , secondo il progetto esposto dal Verga al Treves nella lettera del 10 aprile 1881.28 Ma al momento di raccoglierle in volume lo scrittore muta il titolo in _Per le vie_ , più coerente con l'ambientazione e la tematica ovvero l'indagine sul proletariato urbano, quello in particolare della «città più città d'Italia», suggerita evidentemente dalla ricca letteratura degli anni '70-80 sull'argomento, dalla moda quasi dei «ventri» delle città. Si pensi alla produzione della Scapigliatura democratica da _Paolina. Misteri del coperto dei Figini_ (1866) di Igino Ugo Tarchetti a _Milano sconosciuta_ (1879-80) di Paolo Valera, passando attraverso le analisi degli intellettuali milanesi legati a riviste quali «Il Gazzettino rosa», «La Plebe», i libri inchiesta come _La plebe di Milano_ di Ludovico Corio (apparsa in «La Vita nuova» nell'agosto 1876, poi ristampata nel 1885 col titolo _Milano in ombra. Abissi plebei_ ), filoni inaugurati dal Sue dei _Mystères de Paris_ (1824-43), dall'Hugo di _Les misérables_ (1862), filtrati attraverso le _Scènes de la vie de Bohème_ di Murger (1848, tradotto in Italia nel 1872) e _Les réfractaires_ (1865, versione italiana del 1874), _La rue_ (1866) di Jules Vallés, e, soprattutto, attraverso il ciclo zoliano dei Rougon-Macquart.
Entrano anche la suggestione descrittiva di libri come _Napoli a occhio nudo_ del Fucini (1878), quasi una traduzione narrativa della prima seria indagine sulla questione sociale _Le lettere meridionali_ di Pasquale Villari (edite nel 1875 nella rivista «L'Opinione», nel 1878 in volume), le squallide storie della piccola borghesia milanese del De Marchi, la polemica antimilitarista inaugurata già nel 1867 dal Tarchetti con _Una nobile follia. Drammi della vita militare_.
La ricerca verghiana non è, tuttavia, in direzione strettamente sociale: oltre a studiare i rapporti all'interno del quarto stato cittadino e con le classi borghesi e aristocratiche, allo scrittore preme evidenziare l'idea del «vagabondaggio», della vita come «via crucis» o quanto meno itinerario incessante, doloroso o incoerente, che sarà motivo guida della raccolta successiva.
E di grande importanza è, altresì, la nuova ricerca stilistica in relazione all'ambiente e ai personaggi diversi: anticipazioni erano state, sia sul piano tematico che stilistico, _Primavera_ del 1876 per il tentativo di riprodurre la parlata milanese e per la storia della Principessa, prototipo delle Gilde, Olghe, Santine, Carlotte che si perdono dietro il miraggio dell'amore e della ricchezza, e _I dintorni di Milano_ , scritto nel 1881 per _Milano 1881_ , pubblicazione celebrativa dell'Esposizione Nazionale industriale e artistica. _I dintorni_ è una prima individuazione d'ambiente, il centro di Milano visto in una connotazione positiva («nella vita allegra della grande città, in mezzo alla folla che si pigia sui marciapiedi, davanti ai negozi risplendenti di gas, sotto la tettoia sonora della Galleria, nella luce elettrica del Gnocchi, nella fantasmagoria di uno spettacolo alla Scala») e la campagna circostante, come luogo di fuga e di idillio, e di motivi ideologici che sorreggeranno l'ispirazione di _Per le vie_ e _Vagabondaggio_ : «uno strano sentimento della vanità dell'arte e della vita, un incubo del nulla che vi si stringe attorno da ogni parte» e il rimpianto o il ricordo del passato, di «tutte le cose care e lontane che ci avete in cuore, e dalle quali non avreste voluto staccarvi mai».
Anche il racconto-riepilogo delle _Rusticane, Di là del mare_ , annuncia in chiusura il tema conduttore di _Per le vie_ :
> Lontano lontano, molto tempo dopo, nella immensa città nebbiosa e triste, egli si ricordava ancora qualche volta di quei due nomi umili e sconosciuti, in mezzo al via vai affollato e frettoloso, al frastuono incessante, alla febbre dell'immensa attività generale, affannosa e inesorabile, ai cocchi sfarzosi, agli uomini che passavano nel fango, fra due assi coperte d'affissi, dinanzi alle splendide vetrine scintillanti di gemme, accanto alle stamberghe che schieravano in fila teschi umani e scarpe vecchie. Di tratto in tratto si udiva il sibilo di un treno che passava sotterra o per aria, e si perdeva in lontananza, verso gli orizzonti pallidi, quasi con un desiderio dei paesi del sole.
Uno stretto rapporto si instaura con il racconto-prologo della nuova raccolta, _Il bastione di Monforte_ , per il parallelismo tra la stazione e i bastioni della città, come punto d'incontro di storie umane, accompagnate dal fischio del treno, dalla musica dell'organetto, dal frastuono dei carri, rumori della strada, simbolo dell'eterno vagabondare della vita.
A differenza delle precedenti novelle oggetto del racconto non è un passato mitico o un mondo chiuso e immutabile, ma il presente vissuto nel sofferto contrasto tra la ricchezza palpabile della città e la miseria dei protagonisti, da esorcizzare con l'amore e l'osteria, «La gaiezza dolorosa di chi non vuol pensare al domani senza pane» (e si veda tutta la festa campagnola di _L'ultima giornata_ ).
Il problema sociale è affrontato più esplicitamente in _In piazza della Scala_ e _Al veglione._ Il primo è un esterno visto dal vetturino che sogna l'interno confortevole e impenetrabile del mondo dei ricchi, il teatro, il Cova, il caffè Martini, il club:
> Il caffè Martini sta aperto sin tardi, illuminato a giorno che par si debba scaldarsi soltanto a passar vicino ai vetri delle porte, tutti appannati dal gran freddo che è di fuori; così quelli che ci fanno tardi bevendo non son visti da nessuno, e se un povero diavolo invece piglia una sbornia per le strade, tutti gli corrono dietro a dargli la baia. Di facciata le finestre del club sono aperte anch'esse sino all'alba. Lì c'è dei signori che non sanno cosa fare del loro tempo e del loro denaro.
riuniti intorno alla Galleria, che da scenario mondano ed elegante si trasforma in luogo di pena dei miserabili: la donna che vende il caffè, i «poveri diavoli» che dormono «nel vano di una porta, raggomitolati in un soprabito cencioso» (e si veda anche Santina ridotta a fare «la dolorosa _via crucis_ della Galleria e di via Santa Margherita» nella novella omonima e si confronti la descrizione analoga e opposta insieme del cuore di Milano).
Anche i sussulti di ribellione sociale («Aveva ragione il giornale. Bisognava finirla colle ingiustizie e le birbonate di questo mondo! Tutti eguali come Dio ci ha fatti.») si spengono nella amara constatazione della propria totale solitudine, di un ineluttabile emarginamento:
> Anche colui che predica di giorno l'eguaglianza nel giornale, a quell'ora dorme tranquillamente, o se ne torna dal teatro, col naso dentro la pelliccia.
Ma l'interno, rappresentato da _Al veglione_ , prima meraviglioso e incomprensibile («una lanterna magica») per Pinella, protagonista-narratore, diventa meno desiderabile («Ah, la Carlotta aspettava di fuori, al freddo, è vero; ma Pinella era più contento così.»), non appena rivela il suo volto squallido e volgare sia nel padrone di casa, un borghese arricchito, ansimante «pel grasso, rosso come un tacchino dentro il suo zimarrone di pelliccia, tastando i biglietti nel portafogli colle dita corte», sia nella sfrenata danza finale, una specie di sarabanda grottesca, dove il grottesco è usato per esprimere il giudizio morale negativo.
Significativamente subito dopo è collocato _Il canarino del N. 15_ , ancora un racconto giocato sull'esterno/interno, dove il dentro predomina ed è ora sinonimo di malattia e infelicità. Il simbolo si estende a indicare i quartieri popolari, sfondo costante di tutti gli altri racconti, una struttura chiusa e oppressiva in contrasto con l'esterno, la campagna, in realtà presente solo in _Il canarino, L'ultima giornata_ e _Camerati_ e soprattutto importante in quest'ultima, in cui Malerba disorientato e incapace nella città e nella caserma, ritrova se stesso nella campagna e nella guerra.
Quanto allo stile, la caratteristica saliente è ancora una volta il discorso indiretto libero, usato ormai con grande abilità per riferire i discorsi dei personaggi, ma ciò che manca è la struttura del dialetto milanese che il Verga non possiede: si limita così ad inserire sporadicamente locuzioni dialettali, ad esempio «La ci casca!», «La ci va!», «l'è ora», «farci festa», «La sta bene?», «far San Michele» e addirittura una battuta in dialetto, «Ohè, Gostino! Cosa l'è sta storia?». Più spesso il «colore locale» è cercato solo attraverso l'uso di nomi propri e di rari elementi lessicali milanesi: es. «la Luisina» (si noti l'articolo indicativo davanti al nome), «la sora Gnesa», «il sor Battista», «il Basletta», «il Gaina», «cappelloni», «cucchiarino», «caldaro», e di imprecazioni gergali eufemizzate: «porca l'oca», «anima sacchetta» e via dicendo.
La maggior parte delle novelle è dapprima edita in rivista,29 secondo la consuetudine, dovuta soprattutto a motivi economici, dello scrittore; solo _Al veglione_ e _Semplice storia_ costituiranno la novità del volume, concretamente progettato nei primi mesi dell'82, quando l'unica novella scritta e pubblicata era _In piazza della Scala._ Treves, che ne sarebbe stato l'editore, scrivendo al Verga il 22 marzo '82, lo prega di stabilire il numero delle novelle del nuovo libro che «non sarà inferiore al _Marito di Elena_ », pregandolo di consegnargli il già fatto.
I testi sono scritti nel giro di un anno, dal maggio 1882 al maggio 1883. Rapidissima, invece, la composizione del volume avvenuta tra il maggio e il giugno 1883, poiché l'ultimo racconto è consegnato dopo il 13 maggio (come risulta da una lettera al Treves in quella data) e già l'8 luglio appare la prima recensione nell'«Illustrazione italiana».
Il Verga, dopo una rapida revisione dei testi editi in rivista, non segue fino in fondo la stampa, che, infatti, non risulta esente da errori: alla metà di giugno ha già lasciato Milano. Il 3 giugno scrive al Capuana:
> [...] vado in Sicilia stanco di capo e d'animo a ringiovanirmi un po' se mi riesce. [...] Quando verrai in Sicilia? Io parto il 15.
Certo gli anni '82-83 non erano stati molto sereni: le preoccupazioni finanziarie, la cattiva salute e i molti impegni di lavoro dovevano averlo estenuato. Oltre alla lunga elaborazione delle _Rusticane_ aveva anche iniziato la stesura del nuovo romanzo, il _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ , che si era rivelata subito particolarmente impegnativa.
Anche le novelle di _Per le vie_ gli erano costate fatica: dagli autografi relativi alla raccolta risulta chiaramente, come già detto, che il Verga non si muoveva così disinvoltamente nel mondo narrativo milanese quanto in quello siciliano. La ricerca doveva ripartire, a tutti i livelli, da zero; gli ambienti, i personaggi e la loro parlata gli dovevano essere ormai familiari dopo dieci anni di soggiorno milanese, ma non appartenevano abbastanza al suo passato per essere sottoposti al vaglio, al filtro di una ricostruzione intellettuale. Ecco perché _Per le vie_ è una raccolta, si può dire, tutta al presente, dove prevale il _fait divers_ , la registrazione quasi immediata delle cose, è, insomma, la più verista delle raccolte verghiane. Perciò tra i commenti, scarsissimi, sulle recensioni, apparse all'indomani dell'uscita del volume e tutte favorevoli, risulta particolarmente significativo quello all'articolo di Francesco Torraca, espresso in una lettera di ringraziamento al critico:
> Vorrei dirle tutto il piacere che mi ha fatto il suo articolo sul mio ultimo volumetto. Ne sono lieto per questo e più ancora per l'altro studio che farò delle nostre classi popolari quando ci arriverò colla serie dei _Vinti_. Le confesso che non ero certo di essere riuscito a delineare le linee principali di questi altri tipi che sono caratteristici anch'essi per chi ben guardi [...]. I miei bozzetti sono proprio gli schizzi e le prove con cui preparo alla mia maniera i quadri.30
## Verso il «Mastro-don Gesualdo»: «Vagabondaggio»
Dopo la grande stagione degli anni '80-84 la produzione narrativa verghiana subisce una battuta d'arresto: l'esordio teatrale con _Cavalleria rusticana_ nell'84 e il successo ottenuto spingono lo scrittore a continuare sulla nuova strada, un vecchio amore in realtà, se si pensa che nel 1865 sperava di affermarsi con una commedia d'ambiente borghese, _I nuovi tartufi_ , presentata al Concorso Drammatico Governativo.
Sempre nei primi mesi dell'84 si conclude la prima fase elaborativa del _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ con un nulla di fatto: i sette abbozzi stesi seguendo uno schema assai diverso dal definitivo sono riutilizzati per la prima redazione di _Vagabondaggio_ , uscita nel «Fanfulla della Domenica» in due puntate successive, la prima il 22 giugno col titolo _Come Nanni rimase orfano_ , la seconda il 6 luglio col titolo definitivo, e per una seconda novella, _Mondo piccino_ , un vero paragrafo staccato dal romanzo costruito con i materiali non ancora usufruiti degli abbozzi.31 Dalla fusione delle due novelle nascerà nell'87 il _Vagabondaggio_ che apre la raccolta omonima.
_Drammi intimi_ , il volume uscito nello stesso anno dall'editore Sommaruga di Roma, raccoglie il resto della produzione novellistica verghiana. Dei sei racconti che lo compongono tre, _I drammi ignoti, Ultima visita, Bollettino sanitario_ ,32 sono perfettamente coerenti col genere «dramma intimo», mai del tutto abbandonato dal Verga, come dimostra la contemporanea stesura di alcuni testi di _Vita dei campi_ e di _Il come, il quando ed il perché_ , e saranno ripresi e in parte rielaborati in _I ricordi del capitano d'Arce_ , forse per rendere meno esile il «romanzo di Ginevra»; gli altri sono di ispirazione opposta: _La Barberina di Marcantonio_ , d'ambiente veneto, è legata tematicamente a due scritti occasionali del 1883, _Nella stalla_ e _Passato!_ ,33 _Tentazione!_ è un _fait divers_ , una storia di violenza di rara efficacia, stranamente non inserita in _Per le vie_ data l'ambientazione nel milanese, mentre _La chiave d'oro_ è un perfetto racconto «rusticano».34
_Drammi intimi_ raccoglie, insomma, testi legati al passato, ma anche in parte rivolti al futuro, in quanto cartoni preparatori di ambienti e personaggi dei successivi romanzi del «Ciclo dei Vinti».
L'interesse per lo studio della psicologia delle classi borghesi e aristocratiche è portato avanti anche nel teatro. Contemporaneamente a _In portineria_ , ricavato da _Il canarino del N. 15_ («Io sto scrivendo un drammettino in due atti che mi sembra di qualche effetto; e calcolatamente ho voluto che non sia di argomento siciliano.» confida il 17 gennaio 1885 a Salvatore Paola Verdura35), Verga lavora a «un altro dramma della così detta _società»_ , il cui argomento, come si deduce dalla stessa lettera, è desunto da _I drammi ignoti_ , poi _Dramma intimo._
Ma nel maggio la fredda accoglienza alla _pièce_ milanese lo scoraggia al punto da abbandonare per molti anni il tentativo di fondare un teatro verista. La prefazione a _Dal tuo al mio_ , romanzo, scritta molti anni dopo, nel 1906, testimonia la progressiva perdita di fiducia nel mezzo teatrale, mentre riassume le linee teoriche della produzione narrativa dall'87 in poi, sia pure in modo schematico e semplicistico (ma Verga fu sempre un mediocre teorico):
> Pubblico questo lavoro, scritto pel teatro, senza mutare una parola del dialogo, e cercando solo di aggiungervi, colla descrizione, il colore e il rilievo che dovrebbe dargli la rappresentazione teatrale – se con minore efficacia, certamente con maggior sincerità, e in più diretta comunicazione col lettore, miglior giudice spesso, certo più sereno, faccia a faccia colla pagina scritta che gli dice e gli fa vedere assai più della scena dipinta, senza suggestione di folla e senza le modificazioni – in meglio o in peggio poco importa – che subisce necessariamente l'opera d'arte passando per un altro temperamento d'artista onde essere interpretata. Al lettore non sfuggono, come non sfuggono al testimonio delle scene della vita, il senso recondito, le sfumature di detti e di frasi, i sottintesi e gli accenni che lumeggiano tante cose coi freddi caratteri della pagina scritta, come la lagrima amara o il grido disperato suonano nella fredda parola di questo metodo di verità e di sincerità artistica – quale dev'essere, perché così è la vita, che non si svolge, ahimè, in belle scene e in tirate eloquenti.
Ad aggravare la crisi si aggiungono le difficoltà economiche che assilleranno lo scrittore fino al 1889: le lettere di questi anni agli amici Gegè Primoli e Mariano Salluzzo sono una continua richiesta di prestiti, garantiti appunto dalla pubblicazione di _Vagabondaggio._ Alla realizzazione della raccolta non è estraneo il motivo economico, più determinante, anzi, che in altre operazioni editoriali: non casuale la scelta del dinamico editore fiorentino Pietro Barbèra, col quale già nell'85 dovevano essere concluse le trattative per il contratto, se il Verga il 20 gennaio '86 gli scrive da Catania:
> Sto mettendo in ordine le novelle pel volume, ritoccandole e migliorandole ove occorra, ché desidero la nostra pubblicazione abbia il sapore di cosa nuova e il libro qualche maggior valore di una semplice raccolta, e poiché siamo a stagione inoltrata, il meglio è farlo uscire in primavera. Ad ogni modo in febbraio le manderò i materiali pel volume.36
L'edizione non è pronta che alla fine dell'aprile 1887,37 mentre l'editore si dimostra già incerto del buon esito tanto che tocca all'autore incoraggiarlo:
> La prima messa in vendita di un mio libro, a detta di Treves e Ottino Brigola, non è stata mai inferiore alle 1600 copie. Spero di non essere andato indietro, e soprattutto di non farlo constatare a lei. Si faccia animo dunque e spinga avanti il libro. (Roma, 19 aprile '87)
Il libro non ha, però, grande risonanza e non è più ristampato dal Barbèra, ma due volte, nel 1901 e nel 1920, dal Treves. Ripubblicandolo presso il suo vecchio editore il Verga ne attua una revisione limitata a minimi interventi lessicali e interpuntivi.
Concepita in un momento difficile, _Vagabondaggio_ è il documento dei problemi narrativi in direzione del _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ : non esiste all'origine un'idea informatrice, un tema o comunque la scelta di un campo narrativo ben individuato come per le precedenti raccolte. L'idea del «vagabondaggio» come fuga dal reale o come movimento inarrestabile e negativo della vita è presente in tutta la narrativa verghiana: a parte la mitica staticità dei personaggi di _Vita dei campi_ (l'unico che si distacca è forse Gramigna), si rintraccia nei _Malavoglia_ attraverso 'Ntoni e compar Alfio, nelle _Rusticane_ come _Malaria, Storia dell'asino di S. Giuseppe, Pane nero, La roba_ , mentre domina ormai in _Per le vie._ È un motivo in crescita che si realizzerà compiutamente nel _Mastro-don Gesualdo._ E i testi della raccolta sono delle vere e proprie tappe d'avvicinamento al romanzo, la cui seconda stesura o comunque la seconda fase di ideazione inizierà proprio negli anni '86-87.
Basterebbe la novella eponima a dimostrare sia che l'idea del volume è posteriore alla composizione dei testi, sia che essi sono legati alla vicenda elaborativa del _Mastro_ , ma se ne trovano altre prove anche se meno esemplari e complesse.
_L'agonia d'un villaggio_ , uscito per la prima volta in «L'imparziale» nell'agosto 1886, ha una lontana origine nelle pagine di _Un'altra inondazione_ , pubblicato nel 1880. Il breve scritto aveva già fatto da modello a un episodio di _I galantuomini_ : la distruzione della vigna di don Marco bruciata durante un'eruzione dell'Etna. Per _L'agonia_ , composto in occasione della colata lavica che nel maggio 1886 raggiunse le case di Nicolosi, l'autore rielabora, invece, la prima parte del testo del 1880, riprendendo, in particolare, e ampliando due sequenze narrative: la fuga degli abitanti terrorizzati e l'accorrere di una folla elegante e curiosa, interessata non al dramma delle vittime, ma all'eccezionale spettacolo dell'eruzione.
Così _Quelli del colèra_ è realizzato sulla base di un bozzetto dal titolo _Untori_ , apparso in «Auxilium», un numero unico a favore dei colerosi dell'ottobre 1884. Il bozzetto viene eccezionalmente dilatato: il riscontro più puntuale si ha con l'ultima parte della novella in cui l'anonimo narratore paesano racconta il diverso e drammatico esito dei fatti in un altro villaggio.
_Quelli del colèra_ ha, inoltre, un rapporto molto stretto col _Mastro_ essendo il diretto antecedente della descrizione degli effetti dell'epidemia nei capitoli II e III della Parte terza del romanzo: l'arrivo del merciaiolo portatore del contagio, la morte fulminante di una donna incinta, lo stravolgimento del paesaggio notturno del paese impestato, la fuga degli abitanti, l'uccisione della giovinetta del piccolo circo ambulante (elemento già presente in _Untori_ ), le scene di folla tumultuante, già apparse in _Libertà_ , sono le funzioni narrative riutilizzate, sia pure attraverso soluzioni stilistiche più raffinate, nel _Mastro._
Allo stesso modo Nanni Volpe, protagonista dell'omonima novella, una delle ultime uscite in rivista (nell'«Illustrazione italiana» del 17 aprile 1887), è un precursore di Gesualdo: se ne veda la descrizione in apertura di racconto e si confronti il monologo sulla scelta della moglie con il bilancio che Gesualdo fa della propria vita affettiva all'inizio del capitolo I della Parte terza, con le caute riflessioni sull'infatuazione sentimentale di Isabella o con tutto il capitolo finale del romanzo, realizzate, tra l'altro, con gli stessi espedienti stilistici.
Anche altre novelle subiscono una notevole rielaborazione nel passaggio dalla rivista al volume: _Artisti da strapazzo_ e _Il maestro dei ragazzi_ sono quasi completamente rifatte sulla base delle redazioni uscite nel «Fanfulla della Domenica» dell'11 gennaio '85 e del 26 marzo '86.
_Artisti da strapazzo_ nella prima stesura è un vero e proprio _fait divers_ , anche nelle proporzioni assai ridotte (tre sole colonne del «Fanfulla»). La relazione di Assunta-Edvige con il tenore (sostituito nel volume con il baritono) è descritta in poche righe di stile giornalistico, come pure il passato della donna, mentre il rapporto con il pianista, il «maestro», è accennato brevemente. La soluzione finale è rapidissima e tragica, come si conviene al genere. Assunta entra nel caffè per l'ultima volta e assiste all'esibizione volgare di una ballerina, esce, dopo l'arrivo della polizia, e rendendosi conto del suo destino umiliante si uccide.
Nel _Maestro dei ragazzi_ manca la storia d'amore della sorella del maestro, cioè tutta la parte centrale del racconto, cosicché il personaggio non ha una propria autonomia narrativa, ma fa da spalla al protagonista. Anche stilisticamente il racconto è più povero: l'indiretto tradizionale domina sul dialogo, ridottissimo, mentre è del tutto assente il discorso indiretto libero largamente usato in seguito proprio nella sezione dedicata a Carolina nella redazione definitiva.
Interventi stilistici, ma non strutturali, attua il Verga in _Un processo_ e _Il segno d'amore_ , pubblicati nel «Fanfulla della Domenica», rispettivamente il 3 agosto 1884 e il 1º marzo 1885, ambedue novelle di gelosia che fanno gruppo insieme a _Il bell'Armando_ («Fanfulla della Domenica», 6 dicembre 1885); ancora legata al genere «rusticano», _Il segno d'amore_ , più nuove per il tentativo d'analisi psicologica le altre due, soprattutto _Il bell'Armando_ , in bilico tra il fatto di cronaca e l'autoanalisi della protagonista.
Restano, a parte _... e chi vive si dà pace_ che riprende il tema del soldato, le due novelle teoriche: _La festa dei morti_ e _Lacrymae rerum_ , in cui il Verga mette a fuoco quello che dovrebbe essere il motivo conduttore del libro, il movimento inutile e doloroso della vita, destinato a non lasciare neppure il ricordo di sé.
_La festa dei morti_ è il rifacimento di un precedente bozzetto _La camera del Prete_ , pubblicato il 4 maggio 1884 nella «Cronaca rosa» (una rivista domenicale napoletana di tono mondano-letterario) e preceduto da una presentazione-ritratto dell'autore ad opera di Federico Verdinois. La rielaborazione trasforma completamente il racconto che da bozzetto verista intessuto su una leggenda diventa una funerea e quasi surreale fantasia, interrotta bruscamente dal materialistico finale.
Più interessante _Lacrymae rerum_ (uscito nel «Fanfulla della Domenica» il 14 dicembre 1884) che fa da riscontro a _Il bastione di Monforte_ : nel racconto d'apertura di _Per le vie_ il narratore osserva da un interno il «movimento» delle strade anticipando i temi e i personaggi della raccolta; qui, alla fine del libro e da un opposto punto di vista, annota «l'andare e il venire» incessante dentro una casa (e la metafora, la stessa della strada, è chiarissima), registrando «il passaggio delle solite ombre che correvano all'impazzata, in un affaccendarsi disperato».
Una raccolta estremamente composita, dunque, che risente della distanza di composizione tra novella e novella o tra gruppi di novelle, senza un'ispirazione unitaria alla base, anche se nella rielaborazione ogni racconto viene arricchito di nuovi elementi di contenuto e, soprattutto, di stile che danno al libro una sua unità.
## Lo studio delle «classi alte»: «I ricordi del capitano d'Arce»
Nella primavera-estate del 1889, mentre il _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ è in ultima fase di revisione, il Verga riprende a scrivere racconti sul «bel mondo», abbandonato da tempo dopo la stesura dei _Drammi intimi._ Il ritorno a questa tematica rientra nel programma del «Ciclo dei Vinti», nel tentativo cioè di
> cogliere il lato drammatico, o ridicolo, o comico di tutte le fisionomie sociali, ognuna colla sua caratteristica, negli sforzi che fanno per andare avanti in mezzo a quest'onda immensa che è spinta dai bisogni più volgari o dall'avidità della scienza ad andare avanti, incessantemente, pena la caduta e la vita pei deboli e i maldestri
partendo dalle «classi infime» per
> finire nelle varie aspirazioni, nelle ideali avidità de _L'uomo di lusso_ (un segreto), passando per le avidità basse alle vanità del _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ , rappresentante della vita di provincia, all'ambizione di un deputato.38
Al _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ , dove per altro le classi aristocratiche già entrano sia nella veste di piccola e gretta nobiltà di provincia sia di gruppo ai vertici della società, ma borioso e incapace, deve, infatti, seguire il terzo tempo della progettata _Marea_ ovvero _La duchessa di Leyra_ , storia dell'«intrusa nelle alte classi». Ecco, dunque, lo studio di ambienti diversi, salotti, teatri, tutti i punti d'incontro delle alte sfere, ecco le conversazioni mondane, l'analisi dei rapporti assai più sottili e sfuggenti, poiché qui la molla dell'azione non è più solo economica, i drammi dell'amore vissuti come su una scena, e, soprattutto, lo scandaglio della psicologia femminile per costruire il carattere della nuova protagonista, Isabella di Leyra.
A questo serve, in seconda istanza, il cosiddetto romanzo di Ginevra ovvero i primi sette racconti della raccolta dove agiscono una protagonista, Ginevra, appunto, la seduttrice, e due personaggi maschili fissi, d'Arce che si fa narratore in prima persona sull'onda del ricordo (si veda il titolo e l'inizio del racconto d'apertura), Casalengo, l'amante fedele sino alla fine, e, in due soli testi, _Carmen_ e _Prima e poi_ , un terzo uomo, l'ultima passione della donna, Riccardo Aldini.
Dal punto di vista stilistico è notevole la sperimentazione del dialogo amoroso, dalla schermaglia superficiale alla confessione della passione (si vedano, in particolare, _Giuramenti di marinaio_ e _Né mai, né sempre!_ ), all'effusione epistolare ( _Prima e poi)._
Come lavoro preparatorio, tuttavia, _I ricordi_ non servì a molto, poiché, come è noto, la stesura della _Duchessa_ non avanzerà oltre i primi capitoli, nonostante che dal 1890 in poi ritorni insistentemente nelle lettere fino alla rinuncia definitiva, databile al 1908.
Ai sette racconti, scritti e pubblicati in rivista nel giro di un anno,39 cui si consegnano i ricordi di d'Arce, seguono tre «drammi intimi» recuperati dal volume dell'84, _I drammi ignoti, L'ultima visita_ (con nuovi titoli, _Dramma intimo, Ultima visita_ ), _Bollettino sanitario_ , probabilmente ripresi per dar maggior spessore al libro.
In particolare i primi due vengono rivisti nel passare nella nuova raccolta: il primo subisce interventi soprattutto a livello sintattico e lessicale, tesi a eliminare i toni esteriormente drammatici e quasi plateali che nella prima redazione dovevano esprimere il conflitto tra amore materno e amore sensuale, tra altruismo ed egoismo, e il complicato intreccio dei rapporti tra Anna, Bice e Danei.
Nel secondo avviene un radicale cambiamento di struttura: del tutto nuova la scena iniziale della festa, solo accennata in _flash back_ nella stesura del 1884, e dell'esibizione canora di donna Vittoria, inserita per creare contrasto con la descrizione della malattia, mentre altre sequenze narrative della prima stesura vengono smembrate e poi ricucite diversamente per ottenere effetti più drammatici (nuova è pure la scena del gioco al circolo mentre la protagonista sta morendo).
Anche questi personaggi femminili, Anna, Bice, Vittoria si configurano, nella revisione, come prototipi di Isabella di Leyra.
Da _Dramma intimo_ , secondo il consueto scambio tra novellistica e teatro, il Verga intendeva già dal 1885 ricavare un testo teatrale e ne esponeva il progetto nella lettera del 17 gennaio 1885 a Salvatore Paola Verdura:
> Ho poi nel telaio un altro dramma della così detta _società_ , di cui l'argomento mi piace assai, ma pel quale schiettamente ho bisogno di una tua franca autorizzazione perché l'argomento mi è ispirato da un racconto quasi confidenziale che tu mi facesti una volta
(strano scrupolo tardivo in quanto la vicenda era già stata sfruttata per _I drammi ignoti)._ E proseguiva presentando nei minimi particolari il contenuto dei due atti. La materia della novella veniva ripensata in funzione scenica, l'azione drammatizzata con l'inserimento di un nuovo personaggio, il marito di Anna, e capovolto il finale con la morte della figlia anziché della madre.
Anche se ancora nel '90 il Verga continuava a lavorarci, pur senza progressi, il dramma non fu realizzato, sicché _I drammi ignoti_ poté essere ripreso e rielaborato come _Dramma intimo._40
Le novelle, dopo una revisione esclusivamente stilistica, uscirono in volume, presso il Treves di Milano, nel 1890.41
## Dichiarazione di fallimento del verismo: «Don Candeloro e C.i»
> Certamente in mezzo a quella calca, i viandanti frettolosi anch'essi, non hanno tempo di guardarsi attorno, per esaminare gli sforzi plebei, le smorfie oscene, le lividure e la sete rossa degli altri, le ingiustizie, gli spasimi di quelli che cadono, e sono calpestati dalla folla, i meno fortunati, e qualche volta i più generosi. L'osanna dei trionfatori copre le grida di dolore dei sorpassati. Ma visto davvicino il grottesco di quei visi anelanti non deve essere evidentemente artistico per un osservatore?42
Quando il Verga, il 22 gennaio '81, scrive questo brano come parte di una prefazione, subito scartata, ai _Malavoglia_ è pienamente convinto della validità del metodo verista, enunciato del resto l'anno prima nella lettera a Salvatore Farina premessa all' _Amante di Gramigna._ C'è già, tuttavia, quell'interesse per il grottesco, accennato nell'annuncio della _Marea_ a Salvatore Paola Verdura («il lato drammatico, o ridicolo, o comico di tutte le fisionomie sociali»),43 che diventerà un motivo in crescita e in evoluzione negli anni successivi attraverso le _Novelle rusticane, Vagabondaggio, Mastro-don Gesualdo, I ricordi del capitano d'Arce_ fino alla completa realizzazione in _Don Candeloro e C. i _e alla teorizzazione, sia pure un po' banale, della premessa a _Dal tuo al mio_ , romanzo, nel 1906.
Il nucleo della raccolta e cioè le due serie di novelle che svolgono le due tesi portanti è pressoché contemporaneo alla stesura dei _Ricordi_ :44 il teatro come maschera, finzione, impossibilità di indagare il reale, e il convento, come metafora del mondo, dove la religione è messinscena, strumento di interesse e di potere sono i motivi portanti dei cinque racconti teatrali, _Don Candeloro e C. i, Le marionette parlanti, Paggio Fernando, La serata della vita, Il tramonto di Venere _e dei tre conventuali, _L'opera del Divino Amore, Il peccato di donna Santa, La vocazione di suor Agnese_ , cui si aggiunge più tardi _Papa Sisto._
Le novelle, oltre ad essere collegate tematicamente, sono, come nel caso di quelle teatrali, la continuazione l'una dell'altra; _Le marionette parlanti_ lo è di _Don Candeloro_ e _La serata della diva_ di _Paggio Fernando_ : in una prima redazione manoscritta Rosmunda si chiama Celeste come la cantante della _Serata_ dove torna pure il personaggio di Barbetti (presente anche in _Il tramonto di Venere_ ) che da commediografo di provincia è divenuto critico teatrale di successo.
Estranee ai due filoni-base sono _Epopea spicciola, Gli innamorati_ e _Fra le scene della vita_ , quest'ultima non tanto testo teorico quanto rassegna di fatti di cronaca, di farse tragiche, come significativamente s'intitola negli autografi, di episodi minimi, spesso già svolti nella narrativa verghiana, tra tutti notevole il terzo, un approccio al «codice speciale» delle alte classi, unico e isolato esperimento dopo i cartoni dei _Ricordi._
_Don Candeloro e C. i _si presenta come una contro raccolta ovvero una rilettura ironica, in controluce dei motivi e dei personaggi delle grandi novelle. L'ironia, il senso del grottesco, derivato dal contrasto apparenza/realtà, che si insinuano in _Pane nero_ , che corrodono il mondo economico del _Mastro_ , come quello frivolo e passionale dei _Ricordi_ , diventano qui strumenti di difesa proprio contro la realtà, espedienti per esorcizzarla o per smascherarne le assurde contraddizioni.
La realtà è una maschera imposta dalle convenzioni e dalla ipocrisia; lo scrittore, dunque, può solo evidenziarne o colpirne le punte più grottesche per sottrarsi al gioco delle parti, per non diventare egli stesso una marionetta manovrata da un invisibile burattinaio. Simbolica, in questo senso, la scelta di personaggi come Candeloro Bracone e gli altri guitti, in quanto pure maschere, prive di identità umana. E simbolico il titolo _Don Candeloro e_ C. _i_ , sotto il quale ricadono tutti i personaggi verghiani e, anzitutto, Lola, Turiddu e Alfio, prototipi dell'amore-passione, degradati qui in _Gli innamorati_ , la più clamorosa controlettura della raccolta.
Il mitico triangolo amoroso subisce attraverso le varie incarnazioni un'involuzione dall'epico e dal tragico al ridicolo, al farsesco. Da _Cavalleria rusticana_ , dalla _Lupa_ , da _Jeli_ , dall _'Amante di Gramigna_ , passando per momenti demistificanti come _Il Mistero, Pane nero, Amore senza benda, Semplice storia, Gelosia, Via Crucis, Il segno d'amore, Nanni Volpe, Mastro-don Gesualdo_ (Ninì e Bianca, Gesualdo e Diodata, Isabella e Corrado), _I ricordi del capitano d'Arce_ si giunge alla totale dissacrazione degli _Innamorati_ , dove la ragione dell'amore si rivelerà puramente economica:
> Innamorati lo erano davvero. – Bruno Alessi voleva Nunziata; la ragazza non diceva di no; erano vicini di casa e dello stesso paese. Insomma parevano destinati, e la cosa si sarebbe fatta se non fossero stati quei maledetti interessi che guastano tutto.
e il drammatico duello tra Alfio e Turiddu si trasformerà nel grottesco inseguimento a pedate del vile «innamorato» Bruno Alessi, travestito per di più da Pulcinella (una doppia maschera, dunque, del corpo e dello spirito). Nunziata è l'anti-Lola, l'anti-Isabella, che «stando dietro il banco aveva imparato cosa vuol dire negozio», mentre la scena del ballo tra la ragazza e Nino sotto gli occhi del geloso Bruno è la riscrittura in chiave umoristica del ballo tra Mara e il figlio di massaro Neri osservato sconsolatamente da Jeli.
Tutte le novelle sono legate ai grandi temi e ai personaggi della narrativa precedente e li portano alle estreme conseguenze, arrivando a costituirne il controcanto.
L'attenzione, già polemica, all'ambiente conventuale risale a _Storia di una capinera_ e, rinnovandosi in _I galantuomini_ , dove vi è pure l'accenno alla predicazione dei quaresimalisti, determina nel _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ l'analisi della vita di Isabella all'interno dei due educandati, per approdare infine, attraverso la parentesi mistica di _Olocausto_ (da cui il Verga trae parecchi spunti per la descrizione dei pentimenti e delle estasi mistiche delle suore), alla definitiva dissacrazione delle novelle conventuali e religiose del _Don Candeloro._ Se Papa Sisto è un diretto discendente del Reverendo e del canonico Lupi del _Mastro_ , pure coinvolto a suo vantaggio nei moti del '48 (si confrontino i passi del romanzo con la descrizione della rivoluzione nella novella), e, anzi, il carattere è portato sino alle estreme conseguenze, il dramma della povera capinera si trasforma nella farsa orchestrata dalla scaltra Bellonia, figlia, priva di scrupoli, dell'oste Pecu-Pecu, mentre intorno a lei si delinea un mondo conventuale dove la religione è pretesto, strumento di potere. Ecco, quindi, _La vocazione di suor Agnese_ , che è anche la storia di un falso amore, e _Il peccato di donna Santa_ col colpo di scena, una vera trovata teatrale, della «predica dell'Inferno».
Più recente (ma ci si ricordi di _Eva_ del 1869) era l'attenzione agli «artisti da strapazzo», iniziata in sordina con _Amore senza benda_ (i protagonisti, da adolescenti, sono ballerini della Scala) e portata avanti nella raccolta _Vagabondaggio_ proprio con la novella _Artisti da strapazzo_ (squallida storia di una cantante di caffè-concerto, di maestri di musica e tenori falliti) e con _Quelli del colèra_ (i saltimbanchi di un circo miserabile), con il _Mastro_ (gli amori di Ninì Rubiera con la comica Aglae ricordano la storia di _Paggio Fernando_ ) per concludersi con i racconti teatrali di _Don Candeloro_ e, molti anni dopo, con _Una capanna e il tuo cuore_ , ultimo spaccato della vita fuori dalle scene delle attrici girovaghe.
E, infine, le false rivoluzioni del Risorgimento che si risolvono come per lo zio Lio in dolorose epopee spicciole. La novella (l'ossimoro del titolo accentua la carica ironica del titolo della redazione in rivista, _Sul passaggio della gloria_ ) riprende il tema della guerra e del soldato: è la liberazione di Palermo del 1860, vista dalla campagna, secondo episodio desunto dalla spedizione dei Mille, anche se dall'epica rievocazione della rivolta di Bronte si giunge, attraverso la mediazione di racconti come _Camerati, ... e chi vive si dà pace_ , al ricordo da parte di una classe, quella contadina e proletaria, che ha sofferto solo danni da un'impresa pur gloriosa e celebratissima nell'Italia risorgimentale.
Sono più di tutto le parole di don Erasmo, vittima di un dubbio infamante nella società siciliana (le corna), a dare il senso della raccolta:
> La verità... la verità... Non si può sapere la verità!... [...] Non vogliono che si dica la verità!... preti, sbirri, e quanti sono nella baracca dei burattini!... che menano gli imbecilli per il naso!... proprio come le marionette!...
_Don Candeloro e C. i_, collegandosi alle posizioni teoriche del _Mastro-don Gesualdo_ e portandole alle estreme conseguenze, è, dunque, una sorta di rilettura, di riscrittura critica di tutta la novellistica verghiana e forse l'inevitabile punto d'arrivo del metodo verista, la testimonianza di un sostanziale fallimento sul piano ideologico del verismo, una volta riconosciuta l'impossibilità di rappresentare la realtà, poiché questa ha più facce, mentre il fatto umano non è più «nudo e schietto», ma grottesco, umoristico, proprio per la finzione che lo produce (e si noti come proprio lo strumento stilistico fondamentale della narrativa verghiana, il discorso indiretto libero, sia usato qui come piano del grottesco che smaschera la finzione). Si svela, insomma,
> il misterioso processo per cui le passioni si annodano, si intrecciano, maturano, si svolgono nel loro cammino sotterraneo, nei loro andirivieni che spesso sembrano contraddittorii
e si raggiungono qui i risultati estremi del metodo esposto nella lettera al Farina.
## Le «Novelle Sparse»
Sotto questo titolo si raccolgono i testi narrativi che non furono inseriti in nessun volume, _Il come, il quando ed il perché_ e i tre _Drammi intimi_ non più pubblicati.
_Un'altra inondazione_ uscì in «Roma-Reggio», numero speciale del «Corriere dei Comuni» a beneficio degli inondati di Reggio Calabria, Roma, Tipografia elzeviriana dell'Officina Statistica, 1880. La devastazione di Reggio in seguito all'uragano del 20 ottobre 1880 fu il fatto più grave di una serie di inondazioni in tutta Italia. L'eruzione vulcanica, a cui si riferisce il Verga, è quella del maggio-giugno 1879 che giunse a minacciare Linguaglossa e Castiglione.
_Casamicciola_ , ricordo del borgo di Ischia, apparve il 13 aprile 1881 in un numero straordinario del «Don Chisciotte», pubblicato a Catania a beneficio delle vittime del terremoto che colpì l'isola in quell'anno.
_I dintorni di Milano_ uscì nel volume miscellaneo _Milano 1881_ (Milano, Ottino, 1881), pubblicazione celebrativa dell'Esposizione Nazionale industriale e artistica, svoltasi a Milano nel 1881.
_Nella stalla_ e _Passato!_ uscirono in _Arcadia della carità_ , Strenna internazionale a beneficio degli inondati, Lonigo, Tipo-litografia Editrice L. Pasini, 1883.
_«Il Carnevale fallo con chi vuoi; Pasqua e Natale falli con i tuoi»_ fu pubblicato nell'«Illustrazione italiana» del 28 dicembre 1884; nella stessa rivista uscì il 21 dicembre 1889 _Olocausto_ assai vicina alle novelle conventuali di _Don Candeloro e C. i._
_La caccia al lupo_ , pubblicata il 1º gennaio 1897 in «Le Grazie» rivista catanese di vita brevissima, fu ristampata nel gennaio 1923 in «Siciliana» secondo il testo inviato dall'autore alle «Grazie» (lo si deduce dal confronto con le stesure precedenti conservate tra gli autografi verghiani e si deve, perciò, ritenere non vera la notizia secondo la quale l'autore si fece restituire il manoscritto, in anni tardi, per correggerlo). Si dà qui il testo del 1897 reperito e riprodotto da G. Finocchiaro Chimirri in _Una rivista letteraria nella Sicilia dell'ultimo Ottocento: «Le Grazie»_ , Acireale, Accademia di scienze lettere e belle arti degli zelanti e dei dafnici, 1978.
_Nel carrozzone dei profughi_ e _Frammento per «Messina!»_ sono due scritti sul terremoto del 1908, il primo uscito in _Scilla e Cariddi_ , Roma, Armani e Stein, 1909; il secondo in _Messina!_ , Palermo, Soc. ed. Maraffa Abate, 1910, due volumi miscellanei di testi di vari autori.
_Una capanna e il tuo cuore_ , l'ultima novella del Verga scritta nel 1919 per una rivista letteraria che Federico De Roberto intendeva fondare, uscì postuma nell'«Illustrazione italiana» del 12 febbraio 1922.
Per _Il come, il quando ed il perché_ si vedano le pagine dedicate a _Vita dei campi_ , per _Mondo piccino, La Barberina di Marcantonio, Tentazione!, La chiave d'oro_ si vedano quelle su _Vagabondaggio_.
1. Nel 1877 era ristampata al seguito dei racconti di Primavera (Milano, Brigola, 1877) e nel 1880 collocata all'inizio dello stesso volume ripubblicato dal Treves e ribattezzato Novelle, Nuova edizione riveduta dall'autore. Tredici anni dopo, nel '93, ricomparve nel «Numero speciale di Natale e Capodanno» dell'«Illustrazione italiana» insieme a Fantasticheria e Jeli il pastore con disegni di Arnaldo Ferraguti. Nel 1897, pubblicando un'edizione illustrata di Vita dei campi, il Verga la recuperò definitivamente inserendola nel volume al terzo posto dopo Cavalleria rusticana e La Lupa. Treves, tuttavia, continuò a ristamparla nel volume Novelle, che nel 1887 era giunto alla quarta edizione, fino al 1914.
2. La recensione fu poi pubblicata in Studi sulla letteratura contemporanea, 2ª serie, Catania, 1882 ed è ora leggibile in L. Capuana, Verga e D'Annunzio, a cura di M. Pomilio, Bologna, Cappelli, 1972.
3. «Colle novelle credo d'aver fatto fiasco alla prima prova», scrive al Treves il 12 ottobre di quell'anno, v. p. X, nota 7.
4. V. pp. IX-X.
5. G. Verga, Primavera ed altri racconti, Milano, Brigola, 1876. Il titolo e la data 1876 sono legittimati da quella che dovette essere una prima legatura del volume senza Nedda in ultima posizione come sarà nei volumi che recano il titolo abbreviato in Primavera, la prima novella verghiana in ultima sede e data 1877. Di questa doppia identità, caso non infrequente nell'editoria ottocentesca, è rimasta evidentemente traccia troppo labile per essere ricordata nei repertori bibliografici d'epoca.
6. G. Verga, Una peccatrice, Storia di una capinera, Eva, Tigre reale, Milano, Mondadori, 1970, p. 413.
7. La prima lettera al Treves si legge in V. Perroni, Sulla genesi de «I Malavoglia», in «Le ragioni critiche», «Speciale» su G. Verga, ottobre-dicembre 1972; la seconda, come le altre citate, in Storia de «I Malavoglia» – Carteggio con l'editore e con L. Capuana, a cura di L. e V. Perroni, in «Nuova Antologia», 16 marzo – 1º aprile 1940.
8. Del resto nel 1876 Verga non ha ancora riscritto Padron 'Ntoni, anche se resta fermo il rifiuto del primo testo: «Padron 'Ntoni, della quale vi avevo anche mandato la prima parte, [...] non mi piace più e intendo rifar[la]. Potete annunziarlo pel prossimo numero dell'Ill.e.» annuncia al Treves, con previsioni ottimistiche sulla conclusione del bozzetto, il 29 ottobre 1876.
9. Fantasticheria, in «Fanfulla della Domenica», 24 agosto 1879; Rosso Malpelo, in «Il Fanfulla», 2 e 4 agosto 1878, poi in opuscolo a cura della Lega italiana del «Patto di Fratellanza», Roma, Forzani, 1880; Jeli il pastore, parzialmente in «La Fronda», 29 febbraio 1880; Cavalleria rusticana, in «Fanfulla della Domenica», 14 marzo 1880; La Lupa, in «Rivista nuova di Scienze, Lettere e Arti», febbraio 1880; L'amante di Gramigna col titolo L'amante di Raja in «Rivista minima», febbraio 1880; Guerra di Santi in «Fanfulla della Domenica», 23 maggio 1880; Pentolaccia in «Fanfulla della Domenica», 4 luglio 1880.
10. V. lettera del 10 aprile in G. Verga, Vita dei campi, Milano, Mondadori, 1959, Nota, p. 166.
11. V. Nota cit., p. 167.
12. V. Nota cit., p. 168.
13. Furono quattro le riedizioni prima della mondadoriana del 1940: due ancora presso Treves nel 1912 e nel 1917, la terza presso l'editore Barion di Milano nel 1923 e la quarta per i tipi del Bemporad di Firenze nel 1929, tutte col titolo: Vita dei campi - Cavalleria rusticana ed altre novelle.
14. Pubblicato in «Belfagor», novembre 1957, ora in Il Verga maggiore - Sette studi, Firenze, La Nuova Italia, 1968.
15. Per una più ampia trattazione del problema filologico e per l'analisi delle varianti di T1 e T4 si veda il nostro saggio Il problema filologico di «Vita dei campi», in «Studi di Filologia italiana», XXXV, 1977, che anticipa i risultati dell'edizione critica della raccolta; per una scelta delle varianti di T4, per i testi degli abbozzi di Jeli il pastore, per i frammenti di Padron 'Ntoni da cui nasce Cavalleria e per la prima e l'ultima redazione dell'Amante di Gramigna si rimanda al «Meridiano» G. Verga, Tutte le novelle, a cura di C. Riccardi, Milano, Mondadori, 1979.
16. Lettere di Giovanni Verga a Luigi Capuana, a cura di G. Raya, Firenze, Le Monnier, 1975, p. 189.
17. V. Nota cit., pp. 166-7. La lettera è trascritta senza indicazione di data.
18. Lettera del 26 giugno 1881 a Treves, v. G. Verga, Tutte le novelle, p. 1025.
19. Malaria e Il Reverendo uscirono in «La Rassegna settimanale di Politica, Scienze, Lettere ed Arti», 14 agosto e 9 ottobre 1881; Gli orfani, in «Fiammetta», 25 dicembre 1881; Don Licciu Papa, in «La Rassegna settimanale di Politica, Scienze, Lettere ed Arti», 22 gennaio 1882; Il Mistero, in «La Nuova Rivista», 12 febbraio 1882; Pane nero, in «La Gazzetta letteraria», 25 febbraio-18 marzo 1882 e in volumetto, Catania, Giannotta, 1882 [maggio]; Libertà, in «La Domenica letteraria», 12 marzo 1882; I galantuomini, in «Fanfulla della Domenica», 26 marzo 1882.
20. Lettera del 24 marzo 1882 al Treves, v. G. Verga, Tutte le novelle, p. 1027.
21. Giovanni Verga, Novelle rusticane, con disegni di Alfredo Montalti, Torino, Felice Casanova Editore, 1883.
22. La ducea di Bronte o meglio di Maniace, dal nome dell'abbazia normanna di Santa Maria di Maniace, detta comunemente «castello» e trasformata in lussuosa residenza, fu donata a Horace Nelson da Ferdinando III di Sicilia (IV di Napoli) in segno di riconoscenza per l'aiuto offertogli dalla marina inglese nel 1799.
23. Del diario di Giuseppe Cesare Abba Da Quarto al Volturno. Notarelle d'uno dei mille (Bologna, Zanichelli, 1880) il Verga possedeva la quarta edizione uscita a Bologna nel 1882, significativa coincidenza con la data di stesura (febbraio '82) del racconto (v. G. Garra Agosta, La biblioteca di Verga, Catania, Greco, 1977).
24. In particolare la descrizione dei possessi del barone nel Marito di Elena è il diretto antecedente della carrellata iniziale della Roba sulle ricchezze di Mazzarò, v. G. Verga, Il marito di Elena, Milano, Mondadori, 1980, pp. 61 e ss.
25. Per un'analisi particolareggiata dei rapporti tra abbozzi, Rusticane, Mastro e della descrizione deformata o grottesca si veda il nostro saggio «Mastro-don Gesualdo» dagli abbozzi al romanzo, in «Sigma», 1-2, 1977.
26. G. Verga, Novelle rusticane, Edizione definitiva riveduta e corretta dall'autore, Roma, La Voce, 1920. La scorretta edizione vociana non fu più ripubblicata. Recentemente è stata scelta come testo base nell'edizione di G. Verga, Le novelle, a cura di G. Tellini, Roma, Salerno, 1980. Il curatore spesso non provvede ad emendare notevoli e noti refusi, di cui il Verga si lamentava scrivendo, nell'ottobre 1920, a Luigi Russo. Citiamo qualche caso dando sia la pagina della stampa del '20, sia della presente edizione: ad esempio in Il Mistero «Miserissimi miei!» per «Miseremini mei!» (30 e 255) attestato dall'edizione dell'83, dalla copia non autografa e dal dattiloscritto preparati per l'edizione del 1920 (non si tratta, quindi, come afferma la nota di I 318 del volume in questione, di «alterazione popolare dell'incipit del Salmo della penitenza», ma di errore tipografico, presente nelle bozze, che il Verga ottantenne corregge, come del resto era sempre stato solito fare, con estrema distrazione); «Non vedeva altro che [...] quel muso affilato» per «naso affilato» (36 e 260) dell'83 e della copia dove è trascritto malamente e in parte coperto dalla «g» di una parola sovrastante: il dattiloscritto ritrascrive erroneamente «muso» (che si può correggere, tra l'altro, per analogia con altre descrizioni di moribondi dove «il naso affilato» dell'agonia è un elemento costante); in La roba «le ragazze che vengono a rubarle» per «gazze» (62 e 281-2) (refuso cui si accenna in nota di I 348, ma che è lasciato nel testo); in I galantuomini «Povera donna Mariuccia» derivato da cattiva scrittura del copista che comprime il nome proprio in fine di riga sicché il dattilografo interpreta erroneamente la lezione «Prova donna Marina» (121 e 337) presente nell'83 (si noti che «Povera» non ha senso nel contesto), «È colpa mia se non piove?» per il «piovve» (115 e 331) della prima edizione e della copia (il primo a sbagliare è il dattiloscritto che introduce un presente indicativo che discorda cogli altri tempi verbali), «la moglie sempre gravida, e intanto fare il pane» per «che doveva fare» (119 e 334) variante apportata dall'autore sul dattiloscritto in cui «doveva», caduto nelle bozze, può sembrare, ma non è, cassato (non si tratta, dunque, come recita la nota 4 di I 404, di «serie di infiniti storici, senza preposizione, scarsamente frequenti nella sintassi verghiana, ma non ignoti al dialetto siciliano»); in Il Reverendo «I poveretti slargavano tanto il cuore» per «di cuore» (7 e 234) dell'83, della copia e del dattiloscritto; in Libertà «uno gli aveva messo lo scarpone sulla pancia» per «sulla guancia» (127 e 341): l'errore deriva dal fatto che «guancia», lezione dell'83, è corretto maldestramente su «pancia» della copia, sicché il dattiloscritto ha buon gioco nel banalizzare in «pancia», «Le loro donne dietro, correndo [...] fra le steppe» da emendare congetturalmente in «stoppie» (131 e 345): la lezione dell'83 è «in mezzo alle biade color d'oro», nel dattiloscritto il Verga, con mano incertissima, corregge in «fra le stoppe» equivocando, come altre volte gli era accaduto, con «stoppie». La variante, tolta ogni possibilità di esistenza alle steppe in Sicilia, deve essere stata determinata dalla considerazione che le biade dovevano esser già state tagliate da un pezzo, poiché la rivolta è data per avvenuta in luglio (in realtà avvenne ai primi di agosto, ma Verga scrive «in quel carnevale furibondo del mese di luglio»). Altri refusi, assai meno clamorosi, si riscontrano in Di là del mare, ad esempio «i riflessi delle foglie che agitavano» per «si agitavano» (139 e 351), confermato dall'edizione dell'83 e dal senso del contesto. Rimandiamo a diversa occasione altri rilievi sull'edizione, limitandoci per ora a sottolineare la contraddizione del comportamento del curatore: non è giustificato intanto far precedere il testo del 1920 dall'occhiello Novelle rusticane [1883], poiché la data, sia pur fra quadre, non si riferisce a nulla, essendo quello che segue il testo vociano; in secondo luogo ci sembra contraddittorio che per Vita dei campi si diano le lezioni della prima edizione in apparato, mentre, invece, per le Novelle rusticane si pubblichi integralmente il testo dell'83, rapportabilissimo, fra l'altro, a quello del 1920.
27. Si veda in proposito il carteggio tra Verga e Luigi Russo in G. Verga, Opere, a cura di Luigi Russo, Milano-Napoli, Ricciardi, 1955.
28. V. p. XIV, nota 10.
29. In piazza della Scala uscì in «La Rassegna settimanale di Politica, Scienze, Lettere ed Arti», 1º gennaio 1882; nel «Fanfulla della Domenica» apparvero nel 1882 Amore senza benda, il 6 agosto, L'ultima giornata, il 12 novembre, L'osteria dei «Buoni Amici», il 17 dicembre; nel 1883 Gelosia, Camerati, Via Crucis, Il bastione di Monforte, rispettivamente nei numeri del 21 gennaio, 25 marzo, 29 aprile e 20 maggio; nella «Domenica letteraria» del 21 maggio 1882 uscì Il canarino del N. 15; nella «Cronaca bizantina» del 16 maggio '83 Conforti.
30. V. I Malavoglia e l'autore senza nome di E. e A. Croce, in «Il Mondo», 10 marzo 1964.
31. Si veda C. Riccardi, Gli abbozzi del «Mastro-don Gesualdo» e la novella «Vagabondaggio», in «Studi di Filologia italiana», XXXIII, 1975.
32. I drammi ignoti era già uscito nell'«Illustrazione italiana» del 7 e 14 gennaio 1883; nello stesso anno nel «Fanfulla della Domenica» erano apparsi Ultima visita e Bollettino sanitario (col titolo Bullettino sanitario) il 4 novembre e il 16 dicembre.
33. V. Novelle sparse, pp. 889-92.
34. Già edita nel «Momento letterario, artistico, sociale», Palermo, 31 luglio 1883 e l'11 novembre nella «Domenica letteraria».
35. V. Verga De Roberto Capuana, Catalogo della Mostra per le Celebrazioni Bicentenarie della Biblioteca Universitaria di Catania, a cura di A. Ciavarella, Catania, Giannotta, 1955.
36. Le lettere al Barbèra sono state pubblicate da G. Finocchiaro Chimirri in Postille a Verga, Roma, Bulzoni, 1977.
37. G. Verga, Vagabondaggio, Firenze, Barbèra, 1887.
38. G. Verga, I grandi romanzi, Milano, Mondadori, 1972, p. 752.
39. I ricordi del capitano d'Arce uscì nel «Fanfulla della Domenica» il 23 giugno 1889; Commedia da salotto e Né mai, né sempre (col titolo Per sempre uniti) in «Gazzetta letteraria», 29 giugno e 16 novembre 1889; Giuramenti di marinaio in «Fanfulla della Domenica», 26 gennaio 1890; Carmen e Ciò ch'è in fondo al bicchiere in «Gazzetta letteraria», 15 febbraio e 8 marzo 1890; Prima e poi in due parti: Prima in «Rassegna della Letteratura italiana e straniera», 15 novembre 1890, Poi in «Lettere e Arti», l'11 ottobre dello stesso anno.
40. Il titolo del dramma non è, come a volte indicato, Amori eleganti, A villa d'Este, La commedia dell'amore o Civettando che si riferiscono invece a una riduzione teatrale di Il come, il quando ed il perché, a cui il Verga lavora negli stessi anni (la novella Commedia da salotto non ha nulla a che fare con gli ultimi due titoli, come suppone, invece, il Tellini in II 249), bensì Dramma intimo come risulta dai pochi abbozzi conservati fra le carte verghiane.
41. Nel ripubblicare I ricordi rileviamo che il testo del «Meridiano» Tutte le novelle (Milano, Mondadori, 1979) non si discosta affatto dall'editio princeps: le «vistose differenze» di cui parla G. Tellini in Le novelle cit., II 571, sono sei refusi (gli unici del volume, tutti radunatisi nella stessa raccolta) del tipo, ad esempio, ci parlava per vi parlava, aveva per le aveva. Si è provveduto qui a correggerli.
42. L. Perroni, Preparazione de «I Malavoglia», in Studi critici su Giovanni Verga, Roma, Bibliotheca, 1934, pp. 107-25.
43. V. p. LIII, nota 38.
44. In un anno circa, dall'autunno '89 all'autunno '90, il Verga scrive Paggio Fernando, Don Candeloro e C.i, Le marionette parlanti (apparse, nell'ordine, in «Almanacco del Fanfulla» del 1889, in «Fanfulla della Domenica», 6 aprile 1890, col titolo Le marionette viventi, in «Gazzetta letteraria», 3 maggio 1890 col titolo Le angustie di Bracale), La vocazione di suor Agnese («Gazzetta letteraria», 24 maggio 1890), L'opera del Divino Amore («Fanfulla della Domenica», 29 giugno '90, col titolo Il demonio nell'acqua santa), Il peccato di donna Santa («Fanfulla della Domenica», 15-16 novembre 1891). Un po' più tardi sono gli altri due racconti teatrali: La serata della diva («Fanfulla della Domenica», 13 luglio 1890) e Il tramonto di Venere (Numero speciale di Natale e Capodanno dell'«Illustrazione italiana», 1892). Epopea spicciola, Papa Sisto, Gli innamorati e Fra le scene della vita uscirono tutti nel 1893, il primo il 18 giugno in «La Vita moderna», col titolo Sul passaggio della gloria, gli altri tre nel «Corriere della Sera», nei numeri del 28-29, 29-30 e 30-31 luglio, del 28-29 dicembre e del 29-30 dicembre. Dopo la consueta revisione stilistica, il volume uscì alla fine del 1893 presso il Treves di Milano, ma con i millesimi del 1894.
# Tutte le novelle
# NEDDA
Il focolare domestico era per me una figura rettorica, buona per incorniciarvi gli affetti più miti e sereni, come il raggio di luna per baciare le chiome bionde; ma sorridevo allorquando sentivo dirmi che il fuoco del camino è quasi un amico. Sembravami in verità un amico troppo necessario, a volte uggioso e dispotico, che a poco a poco avrebbe voluto prendervi per le mani, o per i piedi, e tirarvi dentro il suo antro affumicato per baciarvi alla maniera di Giuda. Non conoscevo il passatempo di stuzzicare la legna, né la voluttà di sentirsi inondare dal riverbero della fiamma; non comprendevo il linguaggio del cepperello che scoppietta dispettoso, o brontola fiammeggiando; non avevo l'occhio assuefatto ai bizzarri disegni delle scintille correnti come lucciole sui tizzoni anneriti, alle fantastiche figure che assume la legna carbonizzandosi, alle mille gradazioni di chiaroscuro della fiamma azzurra e rossa che lambisce quasi timida, accarezza graziosamente, per divampare con sfacciata petulanza. Quando mi fui iniziato ai misteri delle molle e del soffietto, mi innamorai con trasporto della voluttuosa pigrizia del caminetto. Io lascio il mio corpo su quella poltroncina, accanto al fuoco, come vi lascerei un abito, abbandonando alla fiamma la cura di far circolare più caldo il mio sangue e di far battere più rapido il mio cuore; e incaricando le faville fuggenti, che folleggiano come farfalle innamorate, di farmi tenere gli occhi aperti, e di far errare capricciosamente del pari i miei pensieri. Cotesto spettacolo del proprio pensiero che svolazza vagabondo senza di voi, che vi lascia per correre lontano, e per gettarvi a vostra insaputa come dei soffi, di dolce e d'amaro in cuore, ha attrattive indefinibili. Col sigaro semispento, cogli occhi socchiusi, le molle fuggendovi dalle dita allentate, vedete l'altra parte di voi andar lontano, percorrere vertiginose distanze: vi par di sentirvi passar per i nervi correnti di atmosfere sconosciute; provate, sorridendo, l'effetto di mille sensazioni che farebbero incanutire i vostri capelli e solcherebbero di rughe la vostra fronte, senza muovere un dito, o fare un passo.
E in una di coteste peregrinazioni vagabonde dello spirito la fiamma che scoppiettava, troppo vicina forse, mi fece rivedere un'altra fiamma gigantesca che avevo visto ardere nell'immenso focolare della fattoria del Pino, alle falde dell'Etna. Pioveva, e il vento urlava incollerito; le venti o trenta donne che raccoglievano le ulive del podere facevano fumare le loro vesti bagnate dalla pioggia dinanzi al fuoco; le allegre, quelle che avevano dei soldi in tasca, o quelle che erano innamorate, cantavano; le altre ciarlavano della raccolta delle ulive, che era stata cattiva, dei matrimoni della parrocchia, o della pioggia che rubava loro il pane di bocca: la vecchia castalda filava, tanto perché la lucerna appesa alla cappa del focolare non ardesse per nulla, il grosso cane color di lupo allungava il muso sulle zampe verso il fuoco, rizzando le orecchie ad ogni diverso ululato del vento. Poi, nel tempo che cuocevasi la minestra, il pecorajo si mise a suonare certa arietta montanina che pizzicava le gambe, e le ragazze si misero a ballare sull'ammattonato sconnesso della vasta cucina affumicata, mentre il cane brontolava per timore che gli pestassero la coda. I cenci svolazzavano allegramente, mentre le fave ballavano anch'esse nella pentola, borbottando in mezzo alla schiuma che faceva sbuffare la fiamma. Quando tutte furono stanche, venne la volta alle canzonette, _Nedda! – Nedda la varannisa!_ esclamarono parecchie. Dove s'è cacciata la _varannisa_?
– Son qua; rispose una voce breve dall'angolo più buio, dove s'era accoccolata una ragazza su di un fascio di legna.
– O che fai tu costà?
– Nulla.
– Perché non hai ballato?
– Perché son stanca.
– Cantaci una delle tue belle canzonette.
– No, non voglio cantare.
– Che hai?
– Nulla.
– Ha la mamma che sta per morire, rispose una delle sue compagne, come se avesse detto che aveva male ai denti.
La ragazza che stava col mento sui ginocchi alzò su quella che aveva parlato certi occhioni neri, scintillanti, ma asciutti, quasi impassibili, e tornò a chinarli, senza aprir bocca, sui suoi piedi nudi.
Allora due o tre si volsero verso di lei, mentre le altre si sbandavano ciarlando tutte in una volta come gazze che festeggiano il lauto pascolo, e le dissero:
– O allora perché hai lasciato tua madre?
– Per trovar del lavoro.
– Di dove sei?
– Di Viagrande, ma sto a Ravanusa.
Una delle spiritose, la figlioccia del castaldo, che dovea sposare il terzo figlio di Massaro Jacopo a Pasqua, e aveva una bella crocetta d'oro al collo, le disse volgendole le spalle: – Eh! non è lontano! la cattiva nuova dovrebbe recartela proprio l'uccello!
Nedda le lanciò dietro un'occhiata simile a quella che il cane accovacciato dinanzi al fuoco lanciava agli zoccoli che minacciavano la sua coda.
– No! lo zio Giovanni sarebbe venuto a chiamarmi! esclamò come rispondendo a se stessa.
– Chi è lo zio Giovanni?
– È lo zio Giovanni di Ravanusa; lo chiamano tutti così.
– Bisognava farsi imprestare qualche cosa dallo zio Giovanni, e non lasciare tua madre, disse un'altra.
– Lo zio Giovanni non è ricco, e gli dobbiamo diggià dieci lire! E il medico? e le medicine? e il pane di ogni giorno? Ah! si fa presto a dire: aggiunse Nedda scrollando la testa, e lasciando trapelare per la prima volta un'intonazione più dolente nella voce rude e quasi selvaggia, ma a veder tramontare il sole dall'uscio, pensando che non c'è pane nell'armadio, né olio nella lucerna, né lavoro per l'indomani, la è una cosa assai amara, quando si ha una povera vecchia inferma, là su quel lettuccio!
E scuoteva sempre il capo dopo aver taciuto, senza guardar nessuno, con occhi asciutti, che tradivano tale inconscio dolore quale gli occhi più abituati alle lagrime non saprebbero esprimere.
– Le vostre scodelle, ragazze! gridò la castalda scoperchiando la pentola in aria trionfale.
Tutte si affollarono attorno al focolare, ove la castalda distribuiva con sapiente parsimonia le mestolate di fave. Nedda aspettava ultima, colla sua scodelletta sotto il braccio. Finalmente ci fu posto anche per lei, e la fiamma l'illuminò tutta.
Era una ragazza bruna, vestita miseramente, dall'attitudine timida e ruvida che danno la miseria e l'isolamento. Forse sarebbe stata bella, se gli stenti e le fatiche non avessero alterato profondamente non solo le sembianze gentili della donna, ma direi anche la forma umana. I suoi capelli erano neri, folti, arruffati, appena annodati con dello spago, aveva denti bianchi come avorio, e una certa grossolana avvenenza di lineamenti che rendeva attraente il suo sorriso. Gli occhi avea neri, grandi, nuotanti in un fluido azzurrino, quali li avrebbe invidiati una regina a quella povera figliuola raggomitolata sull'ultimo gradino della scala umana, se non fossero stati offuscati dall'ombrosa timidezza della miseria, o non fossero sembrati stupidi per una triste e continua rassegnazione. Le sue membra schiacciate da pesi enormi, o sviluppate violentemente da sforzi penosi erano diventate grossolane, senza esser robuste. Ella faceva da manovale, quando non avea da trasportare sassi nei terreni che si andavano dissodando, o trasportava dei carichi in città per conto altrui, o faceva altri di quei lavori più duri che da quelle parti stimansi inferiori al compito dell'uomo. I lavori più comuni della donna, anche nei paesi agricoli, la vendemmia, la messe, la ricolta delle ulive, erano delle feste, dei giorni di baldoria, proprio un passatempo anziché una fatica. È vero bensì che fruttavano appena la metà di una buona giornata estiva da manovale, la quale dava 13 bravi soldi! I cenci sovrapposti in forma di vesti rendevano grottesca quella che avrebbe dovuto essere la delicata bellezza muliebre. L'immaginazione più vivace non avrebbe potuto figurarsi che quelle mani costrette ad un'aspra fatica di tutti i giorni, a raspar fra il gelo, o la terra bruciante, o i rovi e i crepacci, che quei piedi abituati ad andar nudi nella neve e sulle roccie infuocate dal sole, a lacerarsi sulle spine, o ad indurirsi sui sassi, avrebbero potuto esser belli. Nessuno avrebbe saputo dire quanti anni avesse cotesta creatura umana; la miseria l'avea schiacciata da bambina con tutti gli stenti che deformano e induriscono il corpo, l'anima e l'intelligenza – così era stato di sua madre, così di sua nonna, così sarebbe stato di sua figlia – e dell'impronta dei suoi fratelli in Eva bastava che le rimanesse quel tanto che occorreva per comprenderne gli ordini e per prestar loro i più umili, i più duri servigi.
Nedda sporse la sua scodella, e la castalda ci versò quello che rimaneva di fave nella pentola, e non era molto!
– Perché vieni sempre l'ultima? Non sai che gli ultimi hanno quel che avanza? le disse a mo' di compenso la castalda.
La povera ragazza chinò gli occhi sulla broda nera che fumava nella sua scodella, come se meritasse il rimprovero, e andò pian pianino perché il contenuto non si versasse.
– Io te ne darei volentieri della mia, disse a Nedda una delle sue compagne che aveva miglior cuore; ma se domani continuasse a piovere... davvero!... oltre a perdere la mia giornata non vorrei anche mangiare tutto il mio pane.
– Io non ho questo timore! rispose Nedda con un tristo sorriso.
– Perché?
– Perché non ho pane di mio. Quel po' che ci avevo, insieme a quei pochi quattrini li ho lasciati alla mamma.
– E vivi della sola minestra?
– Sì, ci sono avvezza; rispose Nedda semplicemente.
– Maledetto tempaccio, che ci ruba la nostra giornata! imprecò un'altra.
– To' prendi dalla mia scodella.
– Non ho più fame; riprese la _varannisa_ ruvidamente a mo' di ringraziamento.
– Tu che bestemmi la pioggia del buon Dio, non mangi forse del pane anche tu! disse la castalda a colei che avea imprecato contro il cattivo tempo. E non sai che pioggia d'autunno vuol dire buon anno!
Un mormorìo generale approvò quelle parole.
– Sì, ma intanto son tre buone mezze giornate che vostro marito toglierà dal conto della settimana!
Altro mormorìo d'approvazione.
– Hai forse lavorato in queste tre mezze giornate perché ti s'abbiano a pagare? rispose trionfalmente la vecchia.
– È vero! è vero! risposero le altre con quel sentimento istintivo di giustizia che c'è nelle masse, anche quando questa giustizia danneggia gli individui.
La castalda intuonò il rosario, le avemarie si seguirono col loro monotono brontolìo accompagnate da qualche sbadiglio. Dopo le litanie si pregò per i vivi e per i morti; allora gli occhi della povera Nedda si riempirono di lagrime, e dimenticò di rispondere _amen_.
– Che modo è cotesto di non rispondere _amen_! le disse la vecchia in tuono severo.
– Pensava alla mia povera mamma che è tanto lontana: rispose Nedda facendosi seria.
Poi la castalda diede la _santa notte_ , prese la lucerna e andò via. Qua e là, per la cucina o attorno al fuoco, s'improvvisarono i giacigli in forme pittoresche; le ultime fiamme gettarono vacillanti chiaroscuri sui gruppi e su gli atteggiamenti diversi. Era una buona fattoria quella, e il padrone non risparmiava, come tant'altri, fave per la minestra, né legna pel focolare, né strame pei giacigli. Le donne dormivano in cucina, e gli uomini nel fienile. Dove poi il padrone è avaro, o la fattoria è piccola, uomini e donne dormono alla rinfusa, come meglio possono, nella stalla, o altrove, sulla paglia o su pochi cenci, i figliuoli accanto ai genitori, e quando il genitore è ricco, e ha una coperta di suo, la distende sulla sua famigliuola; chi ha freddo si addossa al vicino, o mette i piedi nella cenere calda, o si copre di paglia, s'ingegna come può; dopo un giorno di fatica, e per ricominciare un altro giorno di fatica, il sonno è profondo, come un despota benefico, e la moralità del padrone non è permalosa che per negare il lavoro alla ragazza che, essendo prossima a divenir madre, non potesse compiere le sue dieci ore di fatica.
Prima di giorno le più mattiniere erano uscite per vedere che tempo facesse, e l'uscio che sbatteva ad ogni momento sugli stipiti spingeva turbini di pioggia e di vento freddissimo su quelli che intirizziti dormivano ancora. Ai primi albori il castaldo era venuto a spalancare l'uscio, per svegliare anche i più pigri, giacché non è giusto defraudare il padrone di un minuto della giornata lunga dieci ore che egli paga il suo bravo tarì, e qualche volta anche tre carlini (sessantacinque centesimi!) oltre la minestra!
– Piove! era la parola uggiosa che correva su tutte le bocche con accento di malumore. La Nedda, appoggiata all'uscio, guardava tristamente i grossi nuvoloni color di piombo che gettavano su di lei le livide tinte del crepuscolo. La giornata era fredda e nebbiosa; le foglie avvizzite si staccavano dal ramoscello, strisciavano lungo i rami, e svolazzavano alquanto prima di andare a cadere sulla terra fangosa, e il rigagnolo s'impantanava in una pozzanghera dove s'avvoltolavano voluttuosamente dei maiali: le vacche mostravano il muso nero attraverso il cancello che chiudeva la stalla, e guardavano la pioggia, che cadeva, con occhio malinconico; i passeri, rannicchiati sotto le tegole della gronda, pigolavano in tuono piagnoloso.
– Ecco un'altra giornata andata a male! mormorò una delle ragazze addentando un grosso pan nero.
– Le nuvole si distaccano dal mare laggiù, disse Nedda stendendo il braccio; sul mezzogiorno forse il tempo cambierà.
– Però quel birbo del fattore non ci pagherà che un terzo della giornata!
– Sarà tanto di guadagnato.
– Sì, ma il nostro pane che mangiamo a tradimento?
– E il danno che avrà il padrone delle ulive che andranno a male, e di quelle che si perderanno fra la mota?
– È vero! disse un'altra.
– Ma provati ad andare a raccogliere una sola di quelle ulive che andranno perdute fra una mezz'ora, per accompagnarla al tuo pane asciutto, e vedrai quel che ti darà di giunta il fattore.
– È giusto, perché le ulive non sono nostre!
– Ma non son nemmeno della terra che se le mangia!
– La terra è del padrone to'! replicò Nedda trionfante di logica, con certi occhi espressivi.
– È vero anche questo; rispose un'altra che non sapeva che rispondere.
– Quanto a me preferirei che continuasse a piovere tutto il giorno piuttosto che stare una mezza giornata carponi in mezzo al fango, con questo tempaccio, per tre o quattro soldi.
– A te non ti fanno nulla tre o quattro soldi, non ti fanno! esclamò Nedda tristamente.
La sera del sabato, quando fu l'ora di fare il conto della settimana, dinanzi alla tavola del fattore, tutta carica di cartaccie e di bei gruzzoletti di soldi, gli uomini più turbolenti furono pagati i primi, poscia le più rissose delle donne, in ultimo, e peggio, le timide e le deboli. Quando il fattore le ebbe fatto il suo conto Nedda venne a sapere che, detratte le due giornate e mezzo di riposo forzato, restava ad avere quaranta soldi.
La povera ragazza non osò aprir bocca. Solo le si riempirono gli occhi di lagrime.
– E lamentati per giunta, piagnucolona! gridò il fattore, il quale gridava sempre da fattore coscienzioso che difende i soldi del padrone. Dopo che ti pago come le altre, e sì che sei più povera e più piccola delle altre! e ti pago la tua giornata come nessun proprietario ne paga una simile in tutto il territorio di Pedara, Nicolosi e Trecastagne! Tre carlini, oltre la minestra!
– Io non mi lamento! disse timidamente Nedda intascando quei pochi soldi che il fattore, come ad aumentarne il valore, avea conteggiato per grani. La colpa è del tempo che è stato cattivo e mi ha tolto quasi la metà di quel che avrei potuto buscarmi.
– Pigliatela col Signore! disse il fattore ruvidamente.
– Oh, non col Signore! ma con me che son tanto povera!
– Pagagli intiera la sua settimana a quella povera ragazza; disse al fattore il figliuolo del padrone che assisteva alla ricolta delle ulive. Non sono che pochi soldi di differenza.
– Non devo darle che quel ch'è giusto!
– Ma se te lo dico io!
– Tutti i proprietari del vicinato farebbero la guerra a voi e a me se _facessimo delle novità._
– Hai ragione! rispose il figliuolo del padrone, che era un ricco proprietario e avea molti vicini.
Nedda raccolse quei pochi cenci che erano suoi, e disse addio alle compagne.
– Vai a Ravanusa a quest'ora! dissero alcune.
– La mamma sta male!
– Non hai paura?
– Sì, ho paura per questi soldi che ho in tasca; ma la mamma sta male, e adesso che non son costretta a star più qui a lavorare mi sembra che non potrei dormire se mi fermassi ancora stanotte.
– Vuoi che t'accompagni? le disse in tuono di scherzo il giovane pecorajo.
– Vado con Dio e con Maria; disse semplicemente la povera ragazza prendendo la via dei campi a capo chino.
Il sole era tramontato da qualche tempo e le ombre salivano rapidamente verso la cima della montagna. Nedda camminava sollecita, e quando le tenebre si fecero profonde cominciò a cantare come un uccelletto spaventato. Ogni dieci passi voltavasi indietro, paurosa, e allorché un sasso, smosso dalla pioggia che era caduta, sdrucciolava dal muricciolo, e il vento le spruzzava bruscamente addosso a guisa di gragnuola la pioggia raccolta nelle foglie degli alberi, ella si fermava tutta tremante, come una capretta sbrancata. Un assiolo la seguiva d'albero in albero col suo canto lamentoso, ed ella tutta lieta di quella compagnia lo imitava col fischio di tempo in tempo, perché l'uccello non si stancasse di seguirla. Quando passava dinanzi ad una cappelletta, accanto alla porta di qualche fattoria, si fermava un istante nella viottola per dire in fretta un'avemaria, stando all'erta che non le saltasse addosso dal muro di cinta il cane di guardia che abbaiava furiosamente; poi partiva di passo più lesto rivolgendosi due o tre volte a guardare il lumicino che ardeva in omaggio alla Santa e rischiarava la via al fattore quando egli tornava tardi alla sera. – Quel lumicino le dava coraggio, e la faceva pregare per la sua povera mamma. Di tempo in tempo un pensiero doloroso le stringeva il cuore come una fitta improvvisa, e allora si metteva a correre, e cantava ad alta voce per stordirsi, o pensava ai giorni più allegri della vendemmia, o alle sere d'estate, quando, con la più bella luna del mondo, si tornava a stormi dalla Piana, dietro la cornamusa che suonava allegramente; ma il suo pensiero ritornava sempre là, dinanzi al misero giaciglio della sua inferma. Inciampò in una scheggia di lava tagliente come un rasojo, e si lacerò un piede, l'oscurità era sì fitta che alle svolte della viottola la povera ragazza spesso urtava contro il muro o la siepe, e cominciava a perder coraggio e a non sapere dove si trovasse. Tutt'a un tratto udì l'orologio della Punta che suonava le nove così vicino che sembrolle i rintocchi le cadessero sul capo, e sorrise come se un amico l'avesse chiamata per nome in mezzo ad una folla di stranieri.
Infilò allegramente la via del villaggio cantando a sguarciagola la sua bella canzone, e tenendo stretti nella mano, dentro la tasca del grembiule, i suoi quaranta soldi.
Passando dinanzi alla farmacia vide lo speziale ed il notaro tutti inferraiuolati che giocavano a carte. Alquanto più in là incontrò il povero matto di Punta che andava su e giù, da un capo all'altro della via, colle mani nelle tasche del vestito, canticchiando la solita canzone che l'accompagna da venti anni, nelle notti d'inverno e nei meriggi della canicola. Quando fu ai primi alberi del diritto viale che fa capo a Ravanusa incontrò un pajo di buoi che venivano a passo lento ruminando tranquillamente.
– Ohé! Nedda! gridò una voce nota.
– Sei tu! Janu?
– Sì, son io, coi buoi del padrone.
– Da dove vieni? domandò Nedda senza fermarsi.
– Vengo dalla Piana. Son passato da casa tua; tua madre t'aspetta.
– Come sta la mamma?
– Al solito.
– Che Dio ti benedica! esclamò la ragazza come se avesse temuto di peggio, e ricominciò a correre.
– Addio! Nedda! le gridò dietro Janu.
– Addio, balbettò da lontano Nedda.
E le parve che le stelle splendessero come soli, che tutti gli alberi, che conosceva ad uno ad uno, stendessero i rami sulla sua testa per proteggerla, e che i sassi della via le accarezzassero i piedi indolenziti.
L'indomani, poiché era domenica, venne la visita del medico, che concedeva ai suoi malati poveri il giorno che non poteva consacrare ai suoi poderi. Una triste visita davvero! perché il buon dottore che non era abituato a far complimenti coi suoi clienti, e nel casolare di Nedda non c'era anticamera, né amici di casa ai quali potere annunziare il vero stato dell'inferma.
Nella giornata seguì anche una mesta funzione; venne il curato in rocchetto, il sagrestano coll'olio santo, e due o tre comari che borbottavano non so che preci. La campanella del sagrestano squillava acutamente in mezzo ai campi, e i carrettieri che l'udivano fermavano i loro muli in mezzo alla strada, e si cavavano il berretto. Quando Nedda l'udì per la sassosa viottola che metteva dallo stradale al casolare tirò su la coperta tutta lacera dell'inferma, perché non si vedesse che mancavano le lenzuola, e piegò il suo più bel grembiule bianco sul deschetto zoppo che avea reso fermo con dei mattoni. Poi, mentre il prete compiva il suo ufficio, andò ad inginocchiarsi fuori dell'uscio, balbettando macchinalmente delle preci, guardando come trasognata quel sasso dinanzi alla soglia su cui la sua vecchierella soleva scaldarsi al sole di marzo, e ascoltando con orecchio disattento i consueti rumori delle vicinanze, ed il via vai di tutta quella gente che andava per i proprii affari senza avere angustie pel capo. Il curato partì, ed il sagrestano indugiò invano sull'uscio perché gli facessero la solita limosina pei poveri.
Lo zio Giovanni vide a tarda ora della sera la Nedda che correva sulla strada di Punta.
– Ohé! dove vai a quest'ora?
– Vado per una medicina che ha ordinato il medico.
Lo zio Giovanni era economo e brontolone.
– Ancora medicine! borbottò, dopo che ha ordinato la medicina dell'olio santo! già loro fanno a metà collo speziale, per dissanguare la povera gente! Fai a mio modo, Nedda, risparmia quei quattrini e vatti a star colla tua vecchia.
– Chissà che non avesse a giovare! rispose tristamente la ragazza chinando gli occhi, e affrettò il passo.
Lo zio Giovanni rispose con un brontolìo. Poi le gridò dietro: – Ohé _la varannisa_!
– Che volete?
– Anderò io dallo speziale. Farò più presto di te, non dubitare. Intanto non lascerai sola la povera malata.
Alla ragazza vennero le lagrime agli occhi.
– Che Dio vi benedica! gli disse, e volle anche mettergli in mano i denari.
– I denari me li darai poi; le disse ruvidamente lo zio Giovanni, e si diede a camminare colle gambe dei suoi vent'anni.
La ragazza tornò indietro e disse alla mamma: – C'è andato lo zio Giovanni, – e lo disse con voce dolce insolitamente.
La moribonda udì il suono dei soldi che Nedda posava sul deschetto, e la interrogò cogli occhi. – Mi ha detto che glieli darò poi; rispose la figlia.
– Che Dio gli paghi la carità! mormorò l'inferma, così non resterai senza un quattrino.
– Oh, mamma!
– Quanto gli dobbiamo allo zio Giovanni?
– Dieci lire. Ma non abbiate paura, mamma! Io lavorerò!
La vecchia la guardò a lungo coll'occhio semispento, e poscia l'abbracciò senza aprir bocca. Il giorno dopo vennero i becchini, il sagrestano e le comari. Quando Nedda ebbe acconciato la morta nella bara, coi suoi migliori abiti, le mise fra le mani un garofano che avea fiorito dentro una pentola fessa, e la più bella treccia dei suoi capelli; diede ai becchini quei pochi soldi che le rimanevano perché facessero a modo, e non scuotessero tanto la morta per la viottola sassosa del cimitero; poi rassettò il lettuccio e la casa, mise in alto, sullo scaffale, l'ultimo bicchiere di medicina, e andò a sedersi sulla soglia dell'uscio guardando il cielo.
Un pettirosso, il freddoloso uccelletto del novembre, si mise a cantare fra le frasche e i rovi che coronavano il muricciolo di faccia all'uscio, e alcune volte, saltellando fra le spine e gli sterpi, la guardava con certi occhietti maliziosi come se volesse dirle qualche cosa: Nedda pensò che la sua mamma, il giorno innanzi, l'avea udito cantare. Nell'orto accanto c'erano delle ulive per terra, e le gazze venivano a beccarle, ella le avea scacciate a sassate, perché la moribonda non ne udisse il funebre gracidare, adesso le guardò impassibile, e non si mosse, e quando sulla strada vicina passarono il venditore di lupini, o il vinaio, o i carrettieri, che discorrevano ad alta voce per vincere il rumore dei loro carri e delle sonagliere dei loro muli, ella diceva: costui è il tale, quegli è il tal altro. Allorché suonò l'avemaria, e s'accese la prima stella della sera, si rammentò che non doveva andar più per le medicine alla Punta, ed a misura che i rumori andarono perdendosi nella via, e le tenebre a calare nell'orto, pensò che non avea più bisogno di accendere il lume.
Lo zio Giovanni la trovò ritta sull'uscio.
Ella si era alzata udendo dei passi nella viottola, perché non aspettava più nessuno.
– Che fai costà? le domandò lo zio Giovanni. Ella si strinse nelle spalle, e non rispose.
Il vecchio si assise accanto a lei, sulla soglia, e non aggiunse altro.
– Zio Giovanni, disse la ragazza dopo un lungo silenzio, adesso che non ho più nessuno, e che posso andar lontano a cercar lavoro, partirò per la Roccella ove dura ancora la ricolta delle ulive, e al ritorno vi restituirò i denari che ci avete imprestati.
– Io non son venuto a domandarteli, i tuoi denari! le rispose burbero lo zio Giovanni.
Ella non disse altro, ed entrambi rimasero zitti ad ascoltare l'assiolo che cantava.
Nedda pensò ch'era forse quello stesso che l'avea accompagnata dal _Pino_ , e sentì gonfiarlesi il cuore.
– E del lavoro ne hai? domandò finalmente lo zio Giovanni.
– No, ma qualche anima caritatevole troverò che me ne darà.
– Ho sentito dire che ad Aci Catena pagano le donne abili per incartare le arancie in ragione di una lira al giorno, senza minestra, e ho subito pensato a te; tu hai già fatto quel mestiere lo scorso marzo, e devi esser pratica. Vuoi andare?
– Magari!
– Bisognerebbe trovarsi domani all'alba al giardino del Merlo, sull'angolo della scorciatoia che conduce a Sant'Anna.
– Posso anche partire stanotte. La mia povera mamma non ha voluto costarmi molti giorni di riposo!
– Sai dove andare?
– Sì. Poi mi informerò.
– Domanderai all'oste che sta sulla strada maestra di Valverde, al di là del castagneto ch'è sulla sinistra della via. Cercherai di Massaro Vinirannu, e dirai che ti mando io.
– Ci andrò, disse la povera ragazza tutta giuliva.
– Ho pensato che non avresti avuto del pane per la settimana, disse lo zio Giovanni, cavando un grosso pan nero dalla profonda tasca del suo vestito, e posandolo sul deschetto.
La Nedda si fece rossa, come se facesse lei quella buona azione. Poi dopo qualche istante gli disse.
– Se il signor curato dicesse domani la messa per la mamma io gli farei due giornate di lavoro alla ricolta delle fave.
– La messa l'ho fatta dire; rispose lo zio Giovanni.
– Oh! la povera morta pregherà anche per voi! mormorò la ragazza coi grossi lagrimoni agli occhi.
Infine, quando lo zio Giovanni se ne andò, e udì perdersi in lontananza il rumore dei suoi passi pesanti, chiuse l'uscio, e accese la candela. Allora le parve di trovarsi sola al mondo, ed ebbe paura di dormire in quel povero lettuccio ove soleva coricarsi accanto alla sua mamma.
E le ragazze del villaggio sparlarono di lei perché andò a lavorare subito il giorno dopo la morte della sua vecchia, e perché non aveva messo il bruno; e il signor curato la sgridò forte quando la domenica successiva la vide sull'uscio del casolare che si cuciva il grembiule che avea fatto tingere in nero, unico e povero segno di lutto, e prese argomento da ciò per predicare in chiesa contro il mal uso di non osservare le feste e le domeniche. La povera fanciulla, per farsi perdonare il suo grosso peccato, andò a lavorare due giorni nel campo del curato, perché dicesse la messa per la sua morta il primo lunedì del mese e la domenica. Quando le fanciulle, vestite dei loro begli abiti da festa, si tiravano in là sul banco, o ridevano di lei, e i giovanotti, all'uscire di chiesa le dicevano facezie grossolane, ella si stringeva nella sua mantellina tutta lacera, e affrettava il passo, chinando gli occhi, senza che un pensiero amaro venisse a turbare la serenità della sua preghiera, e alle volte diceva a se stessa, a mo' di rimprovero che avesse meritato: Son così povera! – oppure, guardando le sue due buone braccia: – Benedetto il Signore che me le ha date! e tirava via sorridendo.
Una sera – aveva spento da poco il lume – udì nella viottola una nota voce che cantava a squarciagola, e con la melanconica cadenza orientale delle canzoni contadinesche: « _Picca cci voli ca la vaju' a viju. – A la mi' amanti di l'arma mia_ ».
– È Janu! disse sottovoce, mentre il cuore le balzava nel petto come un uccello spaventato, e cacciò la testa fra le coltri.
E l'indomani, quando aprì la finestra, vide Janu col suo bel vestito nuovo di fustagno, nelle cui tasche cercava di far entrare le sue grosse mani nere e incallite al lavoro, con un bel fazzoletto di seta nuova fiammante che faceva capolino con civetteria dalla scarsella del farsetto, e che si godeva il bel sole d'aprile appoggiato al muricciolo dell'orto.
– Oh, Janu! diss'ella, come se non ne sapesse proprio nulla.
– _Salutamu_! esclamò il giovane col suo più grosso sorriso.
– O che fai qui?
– Torno dalla Piana.
La fanciulla sorrise, e guardò le lodole che saltellavano ancora sul verde per l'ora mattutina. – Sei tornato colle lodole.
– Le lodole vanno dove trovano il miglio, ed io dove c'è del pane.
– O come?
– Il padrone m'ha licenziato.
– O perché?
– Perché avevo preso le febbri laggiù, e non potevo più lavorare che tre giorni per settimana.
– Si vede, povero Janu!
– Maledetta Piana! imprecò Janu stendendo il braccio verso la pianura.
– Sai, la mamma!... disse Nedda.
– Me l'ha detto lo zio Giovanni.
Ella non disse altro e guardò l'orticello al di là del muricciolo. I sassi umidicci fumavano; le goccie di rugiada luccicavano su di ogni filo d'erba; i mandorli fioriti sussurravano lieve lieve e lasciavano cadere sul tettuccio del casolare i loro fiori bianchi e rosei che imbalsamavano l'aria; una passera petulante e sospettosa nel tempo istesso schiamazzava sulla gronda, e minacciava a suo modo Janu, che avea tutta l'aria, col suo viso sospetto, di insidiare al suo nido, di cui spuntavano fra le tegole alcuni fili di paglia indiscreti. La campana della chiesuola chiamava a messa.
– Come fa piacere a sentire la _nostra_ campana! esclamò Janu.
– Io ho riconosciuto la tua voce stanotte, disse Nedda facendosi rossa e zappando con un coccio la terra della pentola che conteneva i suoi fiori.
Egli si volse in là, ed accese la pipa, come deve fare un uomo.
– Addio, vado a messa! disse bruscamente la Nedda, tirandosi indietro dopo un lungo silenzio.
– Prendi, ti ho portato codesto dalla città; le disse il giovane sciorinando il suo bel fazzoletto di seta.
– Oh! com'è bello! ma questo non fa per me!
– O perché? se non ti costa nulla! rispose il giovanotto con logica contadinesca.
Ella si fece rossa, come se la grossa spesa le avesse dato idea dei caldi sentimenti del giovane, gli lanciò, sorridente, un'occhiata fra carezzevole e selvaggia, e scappò in casa, e allorché udì i grossi scarponi di lui sui sassi della viottola, fece capolino per vederlo che se ne andava.
Alla messa le ragazze del villaggio poterono vedere il bel fazzoletto di Nedda, dove c'erano stampate delle rose _che si sarebbero mangiate_ , e su cui il sole, che scintillava dalle invetriate della chiesuola, mandava i suoi raggi più allegri. E quand'ella passò dinanzi a Janu, che stava presso il primo cipresso del sacrato, colle spalle al muro e fumando nella sua pipa tutta intagliata, ella sentì gran caldo al viso, e il cuore che le faceva un gran battere in petto, e sgusciò via alla lesta. Il giovane le tenne dietro zufolando, e la guardava a camminare svelta e senza voltarsi indietro, colla sua veste nuova di fustagno che faceva delle belle pieghe pesanti, le sue brave scarpette, e la sua mantellina fiammante – ché la povera formica, or che la mamma stando in paradiso non l'era più a carico, era riuscita a farsi un po' di corredo col suo lavoro. – Fra tutte le miserie del povero c'è anche quella del sollievo che arrecano quelle perdite più dolorose pel cuore!
Nedda sentiva dietro di sé, con gran piacere o gran sgomento (non sapeva davvero che cosa fosse delle due) il passo pesante del giovanotto, e guardava sulla polvere biancastra dello stradale tutto diritto e inondato di sole un'altra ombra che qualche volta si distaccava dalla sua. Tutt'a un tratto, quando fu in vista della sua casuccia, senza alcun motivo, si diede a correre come una cerbiatta innamorata. Janu la raggiunse, ella si appoggiò all'uscio, tutta rossa e sorridente, e gli allungò un pugno sul dorso. – To'!
Egli ripicchiò con galanteria un po' manesca.
– O quanto l'hai pagato il tuo fazzoletto? domandò Nedda togliendoselo dal capo per sciorinarlo al sole e contemplarlo tutta festosa.
– Cinque lire; rispose Janu un po' pettoruto.
Ella sorrise senza guardarlo; ripiegò accuratamente il fazzoletto, cercando di farlo nelle medesime pieghe, e si mise a canticchiare una canzonetta che non soleva tornarle in bocca da lungo tempo.
La pentola rotta, posta sul davanzale, era ricca di garofani in boccio.
– Che peccato, disse Nedda, che non ce ne siano di fioriti, e spiccò il più grosso bocciolo e glielo diede.
– Che vuoi che ne faccia se non è sbocciato? diss'egli senza comprenderla, e lo buttò via. Ella si volse in là.
– E adesso dove andrai a lavorare? gli domandò dopo qualche secondo. Egli alzò le spalle.
– Dove andrai tu domani!
– A Bongiardo.
– Del lavoro ne troverò; ma bisognerebbe che non tornassero le febbri.
– Bisognerebbe non star fuori la notte a cantare dietro gli usci! gli diss'ella tutta rossa, dondolandosi sullo stipite dell'uscio con certa aria civettuola.
– Non lo farò più se tu non vuoi.
Ella gli diede un buffetto e scappò dentro.
– Ohé! Janu! chiamò dalla strada la voce dello zio Giovanni.
– Vengo! gridò Janu; e alla Nedda: Verrò anch'io a Bongiardo, se mi vogliono.
– Ragazzo mio, gli disse lo zio Giovanni quando fu sulla strada, la Nedda non ha più nessuno, e tu sei un bravo giovinotto; ma insieme non ci state proprio bene. Hai inteso?
– Ho inteso, zio Giovanni: ma se Dio vuole, dopo la messe, quando avrò da banda quel po' di quattrini che ci vogliono, insieme ci staremo bene.
Nedda, che avea udito da dietro il muricciolo, si fece rossa, sebbene nessuno la vedesse.
L'indomani, prima di giorno, quand'ella si affacciò all'uscio per partire, trovò Janu, col suo fagotto infilato al bastone. – O dove vai? gli domandò. – Vengo anch'io a Bongiardo a cercar del lavoro.
I passerotti, che si erano svegliati alle voci mattiniere, cominciarono a pigolare dentro il nido. Janu infilò al suo bastone anche il fagotto di Nedda, e s'avviarono alacremente, mentre il cielo si tingeva sull'orizzonte, delle prime fiamme del giorno, e il venticello era frizzante.
A Bongiardo c'era proprio del lavoro per chi ne voleva. Il prezzo del vino era salito, e un ricco proprietario faceva dissodare un gran tratto _di chiuse_ da mettere a vigneti. Le _chiuse_ rendevano 1200 lire all'anno in lupini ed ulivi, messe a vigneto avrebbero dato, fra cinque anni, 12 o 13 mila lire, impiegandovene soli 10 o 12 mila; il taglio degli ulivi avrebbe coperto metà della spesa. Era un'eccellente speculazione, come si vede, e il proprietario pagava, di buon grado, una gran giornata ai contadini che lavoravano al dissodamento, 30 soldi agli uomini, 20 alle donne, senza minestra; è vero che il lavoro era un po' faticoso, e che ci si rimettevano anche quei pochi cenci che formavano il vestito dei giorni di lavoro; ma Nedda non era abituata a guadagnar 20 soldi tutti i giorni.
Il soprastante si accorse che Janu, riempiendo i corbelli di sassi, lasciava sempre il più leggiero per Nedda, e minacciò di cacciarlo via. Il povero diavolo, tanto per non perdere il pane, dovette accontentarsi di discendere dai 30 ai 20 soldi.
Il male era che quei poderi quasi incolti mancavano di fattoria, e la notte uomini e donne dovevano dormire alla rinfusa nell'unico casolare senza porta, e sì che le notti erano piuttosto fredde. Janu avea sempre caldo e dava a Nedda la sua casacca di fustagno perché si coprisse bene. La domenica poi tutta la brigata si metteva in cammino per vie diverse.
Janu e Nedda avevano preso le scorciatoie, e andavano attraverso il castagneto chiacchierando, ridendo, cantando a riprese, e facendo risuonare nelle tasche i grossi soldoni. Il sole era caldo come in giugno; i prati lontani cominciavano ad ingiallire; le ombre degli alberi avevano qualche cosa di festevole, e l'erba che vi cresceva era ancora verde e rugiadosa.
Verso il mezzogiorno sedettero al rezzo per mangiare il loro pan nero e le loro cipolle bianche. Janu avea anche del vino, del buon vino di Mascali che regalava a Nedda senza risparmio, e la povera ragazza, che non c'era avvezza, si sentiva la lingua grossa, e la testa assai pesante. Di tratto in tratto si guardavano e ridevano senza saper perché.
– Se fossimo marito e moglie si potrebbe tutti i giorni mangiare il pane e bere il vino insieme; disse Janu con la bocca piena, e Nedda chinò gli occhi perché egli la guardava in un certo modo. Regnava il profondo silenzio del meriggio, le più piccole foglie erano immobili; le ombre erano rade; c'era per l'aria una calma, un tepore, un ronzìo di insetti che pesava voluttuosamente sulle palpebre. Ad un tratto una corrente d'aria fresca, che veniva dal mare, fece sussurrare le cime più alte de' castagni.
– L'annata sarà buona pel povero e pel ricco, disse Janu, e se Dio vuole alla messe un po' di quattrini metterò da banda... e se tu mi volessi bene!... – e le porse il fiasco.
– No, non voglio più bere; disse ella colle guance tutte rosse.
– O perché ti fai rossa? diss'egli ridendo.
– Non te lo voglio dire.
– Perché hai bevuto?
– No!
– Perché mi vuoi bene?
Ella gli diede un pugno sull'omero e si mise a ridere.
Da lontano si udì il raglio di un asino che sentiva l'erba fresca. – Sai perché ragliano gli asini? domandò Janu.
– Dillo tu che lo sai.
– Sì che lo so; ragliano perché sono innamorati, disse egli con un riso grossolano, e la guardò fisso. Ella chinò gli occhi come se ci vedesse delle fiamme, e le sembrò che tutto il vino che aveva bevuto le montasse alla testa, e tutto l'ardore di quel cielo di metallo le penetrasse nelle vene.
– Andiamo via! esclamò corrucciata, scuotendo la testa pesante.
– Che hai?
– Non lo so, ma andiamo via!
– Mi vuoi bene?
Nedda chinò il capo.
– Vuoi essere mia moglie?
Ella lo guardò serenamente, e gli strinse forte la mano callosa nelle sue mani brune, ma si alzò sui ginocchi che le tremavano per andarsene. Egli la trattenne per le vesti, tutto stravolto, e balbettando parole sconnesse, come non sapendo quel che si facesse.
Allorché si udì nella fattoria vicina il gallo che cantava, Nedda balzò in piedi di soprassalto, e si guardò attorno spaurita.
– Andiamo via! andiamo via! disse tutta rossa e frettolosa.
Quando fu per svoltare l'angolo della sua casuccia si fermò un momento trepidante, quasi temesse di trovare la sua vecchierella sull'uscio deserto da sei mesi.
Venne la Pasqua, la gaia festa dei campi, coi suoi falò giganteschi, colle sue allegre processioni fra i prati verdeggianti e sotto gli alberi carichi di fiori, colla chiesuola parata a festa, gli usci delle casipole incoronati di festoni, e le ragazze colle belle vesti nuove d'estate. Nedda fu vista allontanarsi piangendo dal confessionale, e non comparve fra le fanciulle inginocchiate dinanzi al coro che aspettavano la comunione. Da quel giorno nessuna ragazza onesta le rivolse più la parola, e quando andava a messa non trovava posto al solito banco, e bisognava che stesse tutto il tempo ginocchioni – se la vedevano piangere pensavano a chissà che peccatacci, e le volgevano le spalle inorridite. – E quelli che le davano da lavorare ne approfittavano per scemarle il prezzo della sua giornata.
Ella aspettava il suo fidanzato che era andato a mietere alla Piana per raggruzzolare i quattrini che ci volevano a metter su un po' di casa, e a pagare il signor curato.
Una sera, mentre filava, udì fermarsi all'imboccatura della viottola un carro da buoi, e si vide comparir dinanzi Janu pallido e contraffatto.
– Che hai? gli disse.
– Sono stato ammalato. Le febbri mi ripresero laggiù, in quella maledetta Piana; ho perso più di una settimana di lavoro, ed ho mangiato quei pochi soldi che avevo fatto.
Ella rientrò in fretta, scucì il pagliericcio, e volle dargli quel piccolo gruzzolo che aveva legato in fondo ad una calza.
– No, diss'egli. Domani andrò a Mascalucia per la rimondatura degli ulivi, e non avrò bisogno di nulla. Dopo la rimondatura ci sposeremo.
Egli aveva l'aria triste facendole questa promessa, e stava appoggiato allo stipite, col fazzoletto avvolto attorno al capo, e guardandola con certi occhi luccicanti.
– Ma tu hai la febbre! gli disse Nedda.
– Sì, ma spero che mi lascerà ora che son qui; ad ogni modo non mi coglie che ogni tre giorni.
Ella lo guardava senza parlare, e sentiva stringersi il cuore vedendolo così pallido e dimagrato.
– E potrai reggerti sui rami alti? gli domandò.
– Dio ci penserà! rispose Janu. Addio, non posso fare aspettare il carrettiere che mi ha dato un posto sul suo carro dalla Piana sin qui. A rivederci presto! e non si muoveva. Quando finalmente se ne andò, ella lo accompagnò sino alla strada maestra, e lo vide allontanarsi senza una lagrima, sebbene le sembrasse che stesse a vederlo partire per sempre; il cuore ebbe un'altra strizzatina, come una spugna non spremuta abbastanza, nulla più, ed egli la salutò per nome alla svolta della via.
Tre giorni dopo udì un gran cicaleccio per la strada. Si affacciò al muricciolo, e vide in mezzo ad un crocchio di contadini e di comari Janu disteso su di una scala a piuoli, pallido come un cencio lavato, e colla testa fasciata da un fazzoletto tutto sporco di sangue. Lungo la via dolorosa che dovette farsi prima di giungere al casolare di lui, egli, tenendola per mano, le narrò come, trovandosi così debole per le febbri, era caduto da un'alta cima, e s'era concio a quel modo. – Il cuore te lo diceva! mormorò egli con un triste sorriso. Ella l'ascoltava coi suoi grand'occhi spalancati, pallida come lui, e tenendolo per mano. L'indomani egli morì.
Allora Nedda, sentendo muoversi dentro di sé qualcosa che quel morto le lasciava come un triste ricordo, volle correre in chiesa a pregare per lui la Vergine Santa. Sul sacrato incontrò il prete che sapeva la sua vergogna, si nascose il viso nella sua mantellina e tornò indietro derelitta.
Adesso, quando cercava del lavoro, le ridevano in faccia, non per schernire la ragazza colpevole, ma perché la povera madre non poteva più lavorare come prima. Dopo i primi rifiuti e le prime risate ella non osò cercare più oltre, e si chiuse nella sua casipola, come un uccelletto ferito che va a rannicchiarsi nel suo nido. Quei pochi soldi raccolti in fondo alla calza se ne andarono l'un dopo l'altro, e dietro ai soldi la bella veste nuova, e il bel fazzoletto di seta. Lo zio Giovanni la soccorreva per quel poco che poteva, con quella carità indulgente e riparatrice senza la quale la morale del curato è ingiusta e sterile, e le impedì così di morire di fame. Ella diede alla luce una bambina rachitica e stenta: quando le dissero che non era un maschio pianse come avea pianto la sera in cui avea chiuso l'uscio del casolare e s'era trovata senza la mamma, ma non volle che la buttassero alla Ruota.
– Povera bambina! che incominci a soffrire almeno il più tardi che sarà possibile! disse. Le comari la chiamavano sfacciata, perché non era stata ipocrita, e perché non era snaturata. Alla povera bimba mancava il latte, giacché alla madre scarseggiava il pane. Ella deperì rapidamente, e invano Nedda tentò spremere fra i labbruzzi affamati il sangue del suo seno. Una sera d'inverno, sul tramonto, mentre la neve fioccava sul tetto, e il vento scuoteva l'uscio mal chiuso, la povera bambina, tutta fredda, livida, colle manine contratte, fissò gli occhi vitrei su quelli ardenti della madre, diede un guizzo, e non si mosse più.
Nedda la scosse, se la strinse al seno con impeto selvaggio, tentò di scaldarla coll'alito e coi baci, e quando s'accorse ch'era proprio morta, la depose sul letto dove avea dormito sua madre, e le s'inginocchiò davanti, cogli occhi asciutti e spalancati fuor di misura.
– Oh! benedette voi che siete morte! esclamò. – Oh benedetta voi, Vergine Santa! che mi avete tolto la mia creatura per non farla soffrire come me!
# PRIMAVERA ED ALTRI RACCONTI
# Primavera
Allorché Paolo era arrivato a Milano colla sua musica sotto il braccio – in quel tempo in cui il sole splendeva per lui tutti i giorni, e tutte le donne erano belle – avea incontrato la Principessa: le ragazze del magazzino le davano quel titolo perché aveva un visetto gentile e le mani delicate; ma soprattutto perch'era superbiosetta, e la sera, quando le sue compagne irrompevano in Galleria come uno stormo di passere, ella preferiva andarsene tutta sola, impettita sotto la sua sciarpetta bianca, sino a Porta Garibaldi. Così s'erano incontrati con Paolo, mentre egli girandolava, masticando pensieri musicali, e sogni di giovinezza e di gloria – una di quelle sere beate in cui si sentiva tanto più leggiero per salire verso le nuvole e le stelle, quanto meno gli pesavano lo stomaco e il borsellino. – Gli piacque di seguire le larve gioconde che aveva in mente in quella graziosa personcina, la quale andava svelta dinanzi a lui, tirando in su il vestitino grigio quand'era costretta a scendere dal marciapiedi sulla punta dei suoi stivalini un po' infangati. In quel modo istesso la rivide due o tre volte, e finirono per trovarsi accanto. Ella scoppiò a ridere alle prime parole di lui; rideva sempre tutte le volte che lo incontrava, e tirava di lungo. Se gli avesse dato retta alla prima, ei non l'avrebbe cercata mai più. Finalmente, una sera che pioveva – in quel tempo Paolo aveva ancora un ombrello – si trovarono a braccetto, per la via che cominciava a farsi deserta. Gli disse che si chiamava la Principessa, poiché, come spesso avviene, il suo pudore rannicchiavasi ancora nel suo vero nome, ed ei l'accompagnò sino a casa, cinquanta passi lontano dalla porta. Ella non voleva che nessuno, e lui meno di ogni altro, potesse vedere in qual castello da trenta lire al mese vivessero i genitori della Principessa.
Trascorsero in tal modo due o tre settimane. Paolo la aspettava in Galleria, dalla parte di via Silvio Pellico, rannicchiato nel suo gramo soprabito estivo che il vento di gennaio gli incollava sulle gambe; ella arrivava lesta lesta, col manicotto sul viso rosso dal freddo; infilava il braccio sotto quello di lui, e si divertivano a contare i sassi, camminando adagio, con due o tre gradi di freddo. Paolo chiacchierava spesso di fughe e di canoni, e la ragazza lo pregava di spiegarle _la cossa_ in milanese. – La prima volta che salì nella cameretta di lui, al quarto piano, e l'udì suonare sul pianoforte una di quelle sue romanze di cui le aveva tanto parlato, cominciò a capire, ancora in nube, mentre guardava attorno fra curiosa e sbigottita, si sentì venir gli occhi umidi, e gli fece un bel bacio – ma questo avvenne molto tempo dopo.
Dalla modista si ciarlava sottovoce, dietro le scatole di cartone e i mucchi di fiori e di nastri sparsi sulla gran tavola da lavoro, del nuovo _moroso_ della Principessa, e si rideva molto di _quest'altro_ , il quale aveva un soprabitino _che sembrava quello della misericordia di Dio_ , e non regalava mai uno straccio di vestito alla sua bella. La Principessa fingeva non intendere, faceva una spallata, e agucchiava, zitta e fiera.
Il povero grande artista in erba le avea tanto parlato della gloria futura, e di tutte le altre belle cose che dovevano far corteo a madonna gloria, che ella non poteva accusarlo di essersi spacciato per un principe russo o per un barone siciliano. – Una volta ei volle regalarle un anellino, un semplice cerchietto d'oro che incastonava una mezza perla falsa – erano i primi del mese allora. – Ella si fece rossa e lo ringraziò tutta commossa – per la prima volta – gli strinse le mani forte, forte, ma non volle accettare il regalo: avea forse indovinato quante privazioni dovesse costare il povero gingillo al Verdi dell'avvenire, e sì che aveva accettato assai più da _quell'altro_ , senza tanti scrupoli, ed anche senza tanta gratitudine. Quindi, per fare onore al suo amante, si sobbarcò a gravi spese; prese a credenza una vesticciuola al Cordusio; comperò una mantellina da venti lire sul Corso di Porta Ticinese, e dei gingilli di vetro che si vendevano in Galleria Vecchia. _L'altro_ le avea ispirato il gusto e il bisogno di certe eleganze. Paolo non lo sapeva, lui; non sapeva nemmeno che si fosse indebitata, e le diceva: – Come sei bella così! Ella godeva di sentirselo dire; era felice per la prima volta di non dover nulla della sua bellezza al suo amante.
La domenica, quand'era bel tempo, andavano a spasso fuori la cinta daziaria, o lungo i bastioni, all'Isola Bella, o all'Isola Botta, in una di quelle isole di terraferma affogate nella polvere. Erano i giorni delle pazze spese; sicché quand'era l'ora di pagare lo scotto, la Principessa si pentiva delle follie fatte nella giornata, si sentiva stringere il cuore, e andava ad appoggiare i gomiti alla finestra che dava sull'orto. Egli veniva a raggiungerla, si metteva accanto a lei, spalla contro spalla, e lì, cogli occhi fissi in quel quadretto di verdura, mentre il sole tramontava dietro l'Arco del Sempione, sentivano una grande melanconica dolcezza. Quando pioveva avevano altri passatempi: andavano in omnibus da Porta Nuova a Porta Ticinese, e da Porta Ticinese a Porta Vittoria; spendevano trenta soldi e scarrozzavano per due ore come signori. La Principessa arricciava blonde e attaccava fiori di velo su gambi di ottone durante sei giorni, pensando a quella festa della domenica; spesso il giovanotto non desinava il giorno prima o il giorno dopo.
Passarono l'inverno e l'estate in tal modo, giocando all'amore come dei bimbi giocano alla guerra o alla processione. Ella non accordavagli nulla più di codesto, e l'innamorato si sentiva troppo povero per osare di chieder altro. Eppure ella gli voleva _proprio_ bene; ma aveva troppo pianto, per via di _quell'altro_ , ed ora credeva aver messo giudizio. Non sospettava nemmeno che _dopo quell'altro_ , ora che gli voleva proprio bene, non buttarglisi fra le braccia fosse l'unica prova d'amore che il suo istinto delicato le suggerisse: povera ragazza!
Venne l'ottobre; ei sentiva la grande melanconia dell'autunno, e le avea proposto di andare in campagna, sul Lago. Approfittarono di un giorno in cui il babbo di lei era assente per fare una scappata, una scappata grossa che costò cinquanta lire, e andarono a Como per tutto il giorno. Quando furono all'albergo, l'oste domandò se ripartivano col treno della sera; Paolo lungo il viaggio avea domandato alla Principessa come avrebbe fatto se fosse stata costretta a rimaner la notte fuori di casa; ella avea risposto ridendo: – Direi di aver passata la notte al magazzino per un lavoro urgente. – Ora il giovane guardava imbarazzato lei e l'oste, e non osava dir altro. Ella chinò il capo e rispose che partivano il domani; quando furono soli si fece di bracia – così gli si lasciò andare.
Oh, i bei giorni in cui si andava a braccetto sotto gli ippocastani fioriti senza nascondersi, senza vedere le belle vesti di seta che passavano nelle carrozze a quattro cavalli, e i bei cappelli nuovi dei giovanotti che caracollavano col sigaro in bocca! le domeniche in cui si andava a far baldoria con cinque lire! le belle sere in cui stavano un'ora sulla porta, prima di lasciarsi, scambiando venti parole in tutto, tenendosi per mano, mentre i viandanti passavano affrettati! Quando avevano cominciato non credevano che dovessero arrivare a volersi bene sul serio; – ora che ne avevano le prove sentivano altre inquietudini.
Paolo non le avea mai parlato di _quell'altro_ di cui avea indovinato l'esistenza fin dalla prima volta che la Principessa si era lasciata mettere sotto il suo ombrello: l'avea indovinato a cento nonnulla, a cento particolari insignificanti, a certo modo di fare, al suono di certe parole. Ora ebbe un'insana curiosità. – Ella possedeva in fondo una gran rettitudine di cuore, e gli confessò tutto. Paolo non disse nulla; guardava le cortine di quel gran letto d'albergo su cui delle mani sconosciute avevano lasciato ignobili macchie.
Sapevano che quella festa un giorno o l'altro avrebbe avuto fine; lo sapevano entrambi e non se ne davano pensiero gran fatto, – forse perché avevano dinanzi la gran festa della giovinezza. – Lui anzi si sentì come alleggerito da quella confessione che la ragazza gli avea fatto, quasi lo sdebitasse di ogni scrupolo tutto in una volta, e gli rendesse più agevole il momento di dirle addio. A quel momento ci pensavano spesso tutt'e due, tranquillamente, come cosa inevitabile, con certa rassegnazione anticipata e di cattivo augurio. Ma adesso si amavano ancora e si tenevano abbracciati. – Quando quel giorno arrivò davvero fu tutt'altra storia.
Il povero diavolo avea gran bisogno di scarpe e di quattrini; le sue scarpe s'erano logorate a correr dietro le larve dei suoi sogni d'artista, e della sua ambizione giovanile, – quelle larve funeste che da tutti gli angoli d'Italia vengono in folla ad impallidire e sfumare sotto i cristalli lucenti della Galleria, nelle fredde ore di notte, o in quelle tristi del pomeriggio. Le meschine follie del suo amore costavano care! A venticinque anni, quando non s'è ricchi d'altro che di cuore e di mente, non si ha il diritto di amare, fosse anche una Principessa; non si ha il diritto di distogliere lo sguardo, fosse anche per un sol momento, sotto pena di precipitare nell'abisso, dalla splendida illusione che vi ha affascinato e che può farsi la stella del vostro avvenire; bisogna andare avanti, sempre avanti, cogli occhi intenti in quel faro, avidi, fissi, il cuore chiuso, le orecchie sorde, il piede instancabile e inesorabile, dovesse camminare sul cuore istesso. Paolo fu malato, e nessuno seppe nulla di lui per tre interi giorni, nemmen la Principessa. Erano incominciati i giorni squallidi e lunghi in cui si va a passeggiare nelle vie polverose fuori le porte, a guardare le mostre dei gioiellieri, e a leggere i giornali appesi agli sportelli delle edicole, i giorni in cui l'acqua che scorre sotto i ponti del Naviglio dà le vertigini, e guardando in alto si vedono sempre le guglie del Duomo che vi affascinano. La sera, quando aspettava in via Silvio Pellico, faceva più freddo del solito, le ore erano più lunghe, e la Principessa non aveva più la solita andatura svelta e leggiadra.
In quel tempo gli capitò addosso una fortuna colossale, qualcosa come 4000 lire all'anno perché andasse a pestare il piano pei caffè e i concerti americani. Accettò colla stessa gioia come se avesse avuto il diritto di scegliere: dopo pensò alla Principessa. La sera, la invitò a cena, in un gabinetto riservato del Biffi, al pari di un riccone dissoluto. Avea avuto un acconto di 100 lire e ne spese buona parte. La povera ragazza spalancava gli occhi a quel festino da Sardanapalo, e dopo il caffè, col capo alquanto peso, appoggiò le spalle al muro, seduta come era sul divano. Era un po' pallida, un po' triste, ma più bella che mai. Paolo le metteva spesso le labbra sul collo, vicino alla nuca; ella lo lasciava fare, e lo guardava con occhi attoniti, quasi avesse il presentimento di una sciagura. Ei sentivasi il cuore stretto in una morsa, e per dirle che le voleva un gran bene le domandava come avrebbero fatto quando non si fossero più visti. La Principessa stava zitta, volgendo il capo dalla parte dell'ombra, cogli occhi chiusi, e non si muoveva per dissimulare certi lagrimoni grossi e lucenti che scorrevano e scorrevano per le guance. Allorché il giovane se ne accorse ne fu sorpreso: era la prima volta che la vedeva piangere. – Cos'hai? domandava. Ella non rispondeva, o diceva – nulla! – con voce soffocata: – diceva sempre così, ch'era poco espansiva, e aveva superbiette da bambina. – Pensi a quell'altro? domandò Paolo per la prima volta. – Sì! accennò ella col capo, sì! – ed era vero. Allora si mise a singhiozzare.
_L'altro!_ voleva dire il passato: voleva dire i bei giorni di sole e d'allegria, la primavera della giovinezza, il suo povero affetto destinato a strascinarsi così, da un Paolo all'altro, senza pianger troppo quand'era triste, e senza far troppo chiasso quand'era gaio; voleva dire il presente che se ne andava, quel giovane che oramai faceva parte del suo cuore e della sua carne, e che sarebbe divenuto un estraneo anche lui, fra un mese, fra un anno o due. Paolo in quel momento ruminava forse vagamente i medesimi pensieri e non ebbe il coraggio di aprir bocca. Soltanto l'abbracciò stretto stretto e si mise a piangere anche lui. – Avevano cominciato _per ridere._
– Mi lasci? balbettò la Principessa. – Chi te l'ha detto? – Nessuno, lo so, lo indovino. Partirai? – Ei chinò il capo. Ella lo fissò ancora un istante cogli occhi pieni di lagrime, poi si voltò in là, e pianse cheta cheta.
Allora, forse perché non avea la testa a casa, o il cuore troppo grosso, ricominciò a vaneggiare, e gli raccontò quel che gli aveva sempre nascosto per timidità o per amor proprio; gli disse com'era andata con _quell'altro._ A casa non erano ricchi, per dir la verità; il babbo aveva un piccolo impiego nell'amministrazione delle ferrovie, e la mamma ricamava; ma da molto tempo la sua vista s'era indebolita, e allora la Principessa era entrata in un magazzino di mode per aiutare alquanto la famiglia. Colà, un po' le belle vesti che vedeva, un po' le belle parole che le si dicevano, un po' l'esempio, un po' la vanità, un po' la facilità, un po' le sue compagne e un po' quel giovanotto che si trovava sempre sui suoi passi, avevano fatto il resto. Non avea capito di aver fatto il male, che allorquando aveva sentito il bisogno di nasconderlo ai suoi genitori: il babbo era un galantuomo, la mamma una santa donna; sarebbero morti di dolore se avessero potuto sospettare _la cosa_ , e non l'aveano mai creduto possibile, giacché avevano esposto la figliuola alla tentazione. La colpa era tutta sua... o piuttosto non era sua; ma di chi era dunque? Certo che non avrebbe voluto conoscer _quell'altro_ , ora che conosceva il suo Paolo, e quando Paolo l'avrebbe lasciata non voleva conoscer più nessuno...
Parlava a voce bassa, sonnecchiando, appoggiando il capo sulla spalla di lui.
Allorché uscirono dal Biffi indugiarono alquanto pel cammino, rifacendo tutta la triste _via crucis_ dei loro cari e mesti ricordi: la cantonata dove s'erano incontrati, il marciapiedi sul quale s'erano fermati a barattar parole la prima volta. – To'! dicevano, è qui. – No, è più in là. – Andavano come oziando, intontiti; nel separarsi si dissero – a domani.
Il giorno dopo Paolo faceva le valigie, e la Principessa, inginocchiata dinanzi al vecchio baule sgangherato, l'aiutava ad assestarvi le poche robe, i libri, le carte di musica sulle quali ella avea scarabocchiato il suo nome, in quei giorni là. – Quei panni glieli aveva visti indosso tante volte! – una cosa copriva l'altra, e stringeva il cuore il vederle scomparire così, una alla volta. Paolo le porgeva ad uno ad uno i panni che andava a prendere dal cassettone o dall'armadio; ella li guardava un momento, li voltava e rivoltava, poi riponeva per bene, senza che facessero una piega, fra le calze e i fazzoletti; non dicevano molte parole, e mostravano d'aver fretta. La ragazza avea messo da banda un vecchio calendario sul quale Paolo soleva fare delle annotazioni. – Questo me lo lascerai? gli disse. Ei fece cenno di sì senza voltarsi.
Quando il baule fu pieno rimanevano ancora qua e là, su per le seggiole e il portamantelli, dei panni logori e il vecchio soprabito. – A quella roba penserò domani, disse Paolo; la ragazza premeva sul coperchio col ginocchio mentre egli affibbiava le correggie; poi andò a raccogliere il velo e l'ombrellino che aveva lasciati sul letto e si mise a sedere sulla sponda tristamente. Le pareti erano nude e tristi; nella camera non rimaneva altro che quella gran cassa, e Paolo il quale andava e veniva, frugando nei cassetti, e raccogliendo in un gran fagotto le altre robe.
La sera andarono a spasso l'ultima volta. Ella gli si appoggiava al braccio timidamente, quasi l'amante cominciasse a diventare un estraneo per lei. Entrarono al Fossati, come nei giorni di festa, ma partirono di buon'ora, e non si divertirono molto. Il giovine pensava che tutta quella gente lì ci sarebbe tornata altre volte e avrebbe trovato la Principessa – ella, che non avrebbe più visto Paolo fra tutta quella gente. Solevano bere la birra in un caffeuzzo al Foro Buonaparte; Paolo amava quella gran piazza per la quale avea passeggiato tante volte, nelle sere di estate, colla sua Principessa sotto il braccio.
Da lontano s'udiva la musica del caffè Gnocchi, e si vedevano illuminate le finestre rotonde del Teatro Dal Verme. Di tratto in tratto, lungo la via oscura, formicolavano dei lumi e della gente dinanzi i caffè e le birrerie. Le stelle sembravano tremolare in un azzurro cupo e profondo; qua e là, nel buio dei viali e fra mezzo agli alberi, luccicava una punta di gas, davanti alla quale passavano a due a due delle ombre nere e tacite. Paolo pensava: «Ecco l'ultima sera!».
S'erano messi a sedere lontano dalla folla, nel cantuccio meno illuminato, volgendo le spalle ad una contraspalliera di arbusti rachitici piantati in vecchie botti di petrolio; la Principessa strappò due fogliuzze e ne diede una a Paolo – altre volte si sarebbe messa a ridere. – Venne un cieco che strimpellava un intero repertorio sulla chitarra; Paolo gli diede tutti i soldoni che aveva in tasca.
Si rividero un'ultima volta alla stazione, al momento della partenza, nell'ora amara dell'addio affrettato, distratto, senza pudore, senza espansione e senza poesia, fra la ressa, l'indifferenza, il frastuono e la folla della partenza. La Principessa seguiva Paolo come un'ombra, dal registro dei bagagli allo sportellino dei biglietti, facendo tanti passi quanti ne faceva lui, senza aprir bocca, col suo ombrellino sotto il braccio: era bianca come un cencio e null'altro. – Egli al contrario era tutto sossopra e avea un'aria affaccendata. Al momento d'entrare nella sala d'aspetto un impiegato domandò i biglietti; Paolo mostrò il suo; ma la povera ragazza non ne aveva; – colà dunque si strinsero la mano in fretta dinanzi un mondo di gente che spingeva per entrare, e l'impiegato che marcava il biglietto.
Ella era rimasta ritta accanto all'uscio, col suo ombrellino fra le mani, come se aspettasse ancora qualcheduno, guardando qua e là i grandi avvisi incollati alle pareti, e i viaggiatori che andavano dallo sportello dei biglietti alle sale d'aspetto; li accompagnava con quello stesso sguardo imbalordito dentro la sala, e poi tornava a guardare gli altri che giungevano.
Infine, dopo dieci minuti di quell'agonia, suonò la campana, e s'udì il fischio della macchina. La ragazza strinse forte il suo ombrellino, e se ne andò lenta lenta, barcollando un poco; fuori della stazione si mise a sedere su di un banco di pietra.
– Addio! tu che te ne vai, tu con cui il mio cuore ha vissuto! Addio tu che sei andato prima di lui! Addio tu che verrai dopo di lui, e te ne andrai come lui se n'è andato, addio! – Povera ragazza!
E tu, povero grande artista da birreria, va a strascinare la tua catena; va a vestirti meglio e a mangiare tutti i giorni; va ad ubbriacare i tuoi sogni di una volta fra il fumo delle pipe e del _gin_ , nei lontani paesi dove nessuno ti conosce e nessuno ti vuol bene; va a dimenticare la Principessa fra le altre principesse di laggiù, quando i danari raccolti alla porta del caffè avranno scacciato la melanconica immagine dell'ultimo addio scambiato là, in quella triste sala d'aspetto. E poi, quando ritornerai, non più giovane, né povero, né sciocco, né entusiasta, né visionario come allora, e incontrerai la Principessa, non le parlare del bel tempo passato, di quel riso, di quelle lagrime, ché anche ella si è ingrassata, non si veste più a credenza al Cordusio, e non ti comprenderebbe più. E ciò è ancora più triste – qualchevolta.
# La coda del diavolo
Questo racconto è fatto per le persone che vanno colle mani dietro la schiena, contando i sassi; per coloro che cercano il pelo nell'uovo e il motivo per cui tutte le cose umane danno una mano alla ragione e l'altra all'assurdo; per quegli altri cui si rizzerebbe il fiocco di cotone sul berretto da notte quando avessero fatto un brutto sogno, e che lascerebbero trascorrere impunemente gli Idi di Marzo; per gli spiritisti, i giuocatori di lotto, gli innamorati, e i novellieri; per tutti coloro che considerano col microscopio gli uncini coi quali un fatto ne tira un altro, quando mettete la mano nel cestone della vita; per i chimici e gli alchimisti che da 5000 anni passano il loro tempo a cercare il punto preciso dove il sogno finisce e comincia la realtà, e a decomporvi le unità più semplici della verità nelle vostre idee, nei vostri principii, e nei vostri sentimenti, investigando quanta parte del voi della notte ci sia nel voi desto, e la reciproca azione e reazione, gente sofistica la quale sarebbe capace di dirvi tranquillamente che dormite ancora quando il sole vi sembra allegro, o la pioggia vi sembra uggiosa – o quando credete d'andare a spasso tenendo sotto il braccio la moglie vostra, il che sarebbe peggio. Infine, per le persone che non vi permetterebbero di aprir bocca, fosse per dire una sciocchezza, senza provare qualche cosa, questo racconto potrebbe provare e spiegare molte cose, le quali si lasciano in bianco apposta, perché ciascuno vi trovi quel che vi cerca.
Narro la storia ora che i personaggi di essa sono tutti in salvo dalle indiscrete ricerche dei curiosi; poiché dei tre personaggi – è una storia a tre personaggi, come le storie perfette, e di tutti e tre avete già indovinato l'azione, per poca pratica che abbiate di queste cose; – _lui_ è al Cairo, o lì presso, a dirigere non so che lavori ferroviari; _lei_ è morta, poveretta! e _l'altro_ in certo modo è morto anche lui, si è trasformato, ha preso moglie, non si rammenta più di nulla, e non si riconoscerebbe più nemmeno dinanzi ad uno specchio di dieci anni addietro, se non fossero certi calabroni petulanti e ronzanti attorno a sua moglie, che gli mettono lo specchio sotto il naso, e somigliano così a lui quand'era petulante e ronzante anch'esso, da fargli montare la mosca. Insomma, tre personaggi comodissimi che non contano più, che non esistono quasi – potete anche immaginare che non sieno mai esistiti.
_Lui_ e _l'altro_ erano due buoni e bravi ragazzi, due anime gemelle, amici fin dall'infanzia, Oreste e Pilade dell'Amministrazione ferroviaria. _Lui_ era ingegnere, _l'altro_ disegnatore; abitavano nella medesima casa, e andavano sempre insieme, ciò che li avea fatti soprannominare i Fratelli Siamesi; si vedevano tutti i giorni all'ufficio dalle nove del mattino alle cinque della sera. Non si seppe spiegare come _lui_ avesse potuto conoscere la Lina, farle la corte, e sposarla; – era l'unico torto in trent'anni che Damone avesse fatto al suo Pitia.
Ma alla fin fine non era stato un torto nemmen quello. Pitia-Donati sulle prime avea tenuto il broncio al suo Damone-Corsi, è vero, ma il broncio non era durato una settimana. Lina era tale ragazza che si sarebbe fatta voler bene da un orso, e Donati poi non era un orso; ella sapeva quali gelosie dovesse disarmare, e col suo dolce sorriso e le sue maniere gentili e carezzevoli s'era messa tranquillamente nell'intimità dei due amici come un ramoscello d'ellera, invece di ficcarcisi come un cuneo. In capo ad alcuni mesi erano tre amici invece di due, ecco tutto il cambiamento. Donati sapeva d'avere anche una sorella oltre il fratello, e Corsi lo sapeva meglio di lui. Di tutto quello che immaginate, e che avvenne difatti, non c'era neppur l'ombra del sospetto nella mente di alcuno dei tre – altrimenti la storia che vi racconto non avrebbe avuto nulla di singolare.
Più singolare ancora è che questo stato di cose sia durato otto anni, e avrebbe potuto durare anche indefinitamente. Da principio nelle manifestazioni dell'amicizia, della gran simpatia che sentivano l'un per l'altro Donati e Lina, c'era stato un leggiero imbarazzo, forse causato dal timore che potessero essere male interpretate; poi l'abitudine, la lealtà dei loro cuori, la purezza istessa di quei sentimenti, li avevano resi più espansivi, più schietti, e più fiduciosi. Donati avea assistito la Lina in una lunga e pericolosa malattia come un vero fratello avrebbe potuto fare, ed ella avea per il quasi fratello di suo marito tutte le cure, tutte le delicate premure di una sorella. La intimità delle due piccole famiglie era divenuta così cordiale, così sincera, così aperta a due battenti, che gli amici, i conoscenti, il mondo insomma, non la stimavano né troppa, né sospetta. Cosa rara, ne convengo, com'era rara l'onestà di quelle anime; ma se in una sola di esse ci fosse stato del poco di buono, non avrei bisogno di tirare in campo il Fato degli antichi, o la coda del diavolo dei moderni.
La sera, dopo il desinare, andavano a spasso tutti e tre. Donati dava il braccio alla Lina, e si impettiva allorché leggeva negli occhi dei viandanti «che bella donnina!». La domenica pranzavano insieme, e prendevano un palchetto al Comunale o all'Alfieri. Donati avea la mania delle sorprese; sorprese che si poteano indovinare col calendario alla mano, a Natale, a Pasqua, e il dì dell'onomastico di Lina. Arrivava con un'aria disinvolta che lo tradiva peggio delle sue tasche rigonfie come bisaccie, e si fregava le mani vedendo sorridere la Lina. La sera, d'inverno, si raccoglievano nel salotto, presso il tavolino; facevano quattro chiacchiere; sfogliavano delle riviste, dei romanzi nuovi; indovinavano delle sciarade, o Lina suonava il piano. Donati aveva una pazienza ammirabile per sorbirsi il racconto dettagliato di tutti i romanzi che leggeva Lina – era il solo vizio che ella avesse – sapeva indovinare delicatamente l'arte di ascoltare, di farsi punto ammirativo, o punto interrogativo, di agitarsi sulla seggiola, di convertire lo sbadiglio in esclamazione, mentre, povero diavolo, cascava dal sonno, o capiva poco, o, semplice e tranquillo com'era, non s'interessava affatto a tutti i punti ammirativi cui si credeva obbligato dalla situazione. Spesso, risalendo nelle sue stanze, trovava dei fiori freschi sullo scrittoio, un tappetino nuovo dinanzi al canapè, qualche cosuccia elegante messa in bella mostra sui mobili modesti. Un risolino giocondo che veniva dal fondo dell'anima faceva capolino discretamente su quel viso sereno da galantuomo, e si rifletteva su tutte quelle cosucce silenziose; allora, a mo' di ringraziamento, egli picchiava due o tre colpi sul pavimento. Lina si era data un gran da fare per cercargli moglie; ei rispondeva invariabilmente: – Oibò! stiamo benone così. Non mettiamo il diavolo in casa. – Il poveretto era così persuaso d'appartenere a quella famigliuola, era così contento di quella tranquilla esistenza, che avrebbe creduto di metter il fuoco all'appartamento, se avesse fatto un sol passo al di fuori della falsariga sulla quale era uso a camminare, e sulla quale erano regolate tutte le sue azioni, da perfetto impiegato. Ai suoi amici che gli consigliavano di farsi una famiglia, rispondeva: – Ne ho una e mi basta. – E gli amici non ridevano. Lina invece diceva che non bastava; pensava agli anni più maturi, alle infermità, alla vecchiaia del suo amico, come avrebbe potuto farlo una madre. Qualche volta, prima di chiudere la finestra, sentendolo passeggiare tutto solo nella camera soprastante, alzava gli occhi al soffitto e mormorava: – Povero giovane! – L'isolamento di quella vita melanconica, scolorita, monotona, nell'età delle passioni e dei piaceri, dava un certo risalto a quel carattere calmo e modesto, ingigantiva la figura austera di quel solitario, esagerava l'idea del sacrificio, rendeva l'uomo simpatico, s'insinuava come una puntura in mezzo alla felicità di lei, così piena, così completa; le faceva pensare, con un sentimento di dolcezza, alla parte di protezione, di affetto fraterno e di conforto che ella poteva esercitarvi.
A voi, cercatori d'uncini!
A Catania la quaresima vien senza carnevale; ma in compenso c'è la festa di Sant'Agata, – gran veglione di cui tutta la città è il teatro – nel quale le signore, ed anche le pedine, hanno il diritto di mascherarsi, sotto il pretesto di intrigare amici, i conoscenti, e d'andar attorno, dove vogliono, come vogliono, con chi vogliono, senza che il marito abbia il diritto di metterci la punta del naso. Questo si chiama il _diritto di 'ntuppatedda_ , diritto il quale, checché ne dicano i cronisti, dovette esserci lasciato dai Saraceni, a giudicarne dal gran valore che ha per la donna nell'harem. Il costume componesi di un vestito elegante e severo, possibilmente nero, chiuso quasi per intero nel _manto_ , il quale poi copre tutta la persona e lascia scoperto soltanto un occhio per vederci e per far perdere la tramontana, o per far dare al diavolo. La sola civetteria che il costume permette è una punta di guanto, una punta di stivalino, una punta di sottana o di fazzoletto ricamato, una punta di qualche cosa da far vedere insomma, tanto da lasciare indovinare il rimanente. Dalle quattro alle otto o alle nove di sera la ' _ntuppatedda_ è padrona di sé (cosa che da noi ha un certo valore), delle strade, dei ritrovi, di voi, se avete la fortuna di esser conosciuto da lei, della vostra borsa e della vostra testa, se ne avete; è padrona di staccarvi dal braccio di un amico, di farvi piantare in asso la moglie o l'amante, di farvi scendere di carrozza, di farvi interrompere gli affari, di prendervi dal caffè, di chiamarvi se siete alla finestra, di menarvi pel naso da un capo all'altro della città, fra il mogio e il fatuo, ma in fondo con cera parlante d'uomo che ha una paura maledetta di sembrar ridicolo; di farvi pestare i piedi dalla folla, di farvi comperare, per amore di quel solo occhio che potete scorgere, tutto ciò che lascereste volentieri dal mercante, sotto pretesto che ne ha il capriccio, di rompervi la testa e le gambe – le ' _ntuppatedde_ più delicate, più fragili, sono instancabili – di rendervi geloso, di rendervi innamorato, di rendervi imbecille, e allorché siete rifinito, intontito, balordo, di piantarvi lì, sul marciapiede della via, o alla porta del caffè, con un sorriso stentato di cuor contento che fa pietà, e con un punto interrogativo negli occhi, un punto interrogativo fra il curioso e l'indispettito. Per dir tutta la verità, c'è sempre qualcuno che non è lasciato così, né con quel viso; ma sono pochi gli eletti, mentre voi ve ne restate colla vostra curiosità in corpo, nove volte su dieci, foste anche il marito della donna che vi ha rimorchiato al suo braccio per quattro o cinque ore – il segreto della ' _ntuppatedda_ è sacro. Singolare usanza in un paese che ha la riputazione di possedere i mariti più suscettibili di cristianità! È vero che è un'usanza che se ne va.
Ora accadde che una volta, tre o quattro giorni prima della festa, Lina, burlona com'era, parlando di ' _ntuppatedde_ , dicesse a Donati:
– Stavolta, sapete, non vi consiglio di farvi vedere per le strade.
Donati sapeva che Lina non s'era travestita mai da ' _ntuppatedda_ , e siccome era la sola sua amica da cui potesse aspettarsi una sorpresa, rispose facendo una spallata:
– Poiché me la son passata liscia per otto anni!...
– Liscia o non liscia, a voi! Uomo avvisato uomo salvato.
Ma Donati non cercava di salvarsi, anzi quel tal pericolo lo attraeva, senza fargli sospettare il detto del Vangelo. Sarebbe stata una festa, una superba occasione di fare alla Lina un bel regaluccio fingendo di non riconoscerla, di prendere il di sopra e intrigarla invece di lasciarsi intrigare, di godersi l'imbarazzo di lei, far lo gnorri, e riderne poi di gusto insieme a lei. Stette tutto il giorno almanaccandoci sopra, mentre all'ufficio tirava linee rette e curve, passandosi la lezione a memoria, studiando le botte e le risposte, facendo provvista di spirito a mente riposata. L'idea di condursi sotto il braccio quella bella donnina, potendo fingere di non conoscerla, di trovarsi solo con lei, in mezzo alla folla, di essere per un'ora il suo solo protettore, uno sconosciuto, un uomo nuovo, avea qualcosa di clandestino che lo faceva ringalluzzire come una buona fortuna.
Ora ecco la coda del diavolo, quella benedetta coda che si diverte a mettere sossopra tutte le buone intenzioni di cui è lastricato l'inferno, insinuandosi fra le commessure di esse, scoprendo il rovescio dei migliori sentimenti, mettendo in luce l'altro lato delle azioni più oneste, dei fatti che sembrano avere il motivo meno indeterminato. – La notte che precedette il giorno della festa Donati fece un brutto sogno; ma così vivo, così strano, così sorprendente, accompagnato da tale varietà di circostanze, che allorché fu sveglio rimase un bel pezzo incerto se fosse stato un brutto sogno oppure no, e non poté chiudere occhio pel resto della notte. Sognò di trovarsi insieme a Lina, una Lina che parevagli di non aver conosciuto mai, vestita da ' _ntuppatedda_ , coll'occhio nero e luccicante, la voce e le mani tremanti d'emozione; erano seduti ad un tavolino del caffè di Sicilia, dov'egli non soleva andar mai, stavano immobili, zitti, guardandosi. Ad un tratto ella s'era lasciata scivolare il manto sulle spalle, fissandolo sempre con quegli occhi indiavolati, rossa come non l'aveva mai vista, e afferrandogli il capo per le tempie gli avea avventato in faccia un bacio caldo e febbrile.
Il povero Donati saltò alto un palmo sul letto, si svegliò con un gran batticuore, e stette cinque minuti fregandosi gli occhi, ancora balordo. A poco a poco si calmò, finì col ridere di sé stesso, e non ci pensò più.
Il giorno dopo fece l'indiano; finse di non accorgersi di certi sorrisi maliziosi della Lina, dell'aria affaccendata di lei, dell'insolito va e vieni che c'era per casa. Disse che avrebbe passata la sera all'ufficio, per un lavoro straordinario, e andò a piantarsi in sentinella sul marciapiede del Gabinetto di lettura.
Aspetta e aspetta, finalmente, verso le cinque, Lina comparve lesta lesta dai Quattro Cantoni, un po' impacciata nel manto, ma impacciata con grazia; andò difilato dov'egli trovavasi, come se l'avesse saputo, si cacciò in mezzo alla folla, e infilò senz'altro il suo braccino sotto quello di lui. Donati l'avrebbe riconosciuta a questo soltanto. Ella, spiritosa e chiacchierina, badava a stordirlo con un cicaleccio tutto scoppiettìo, ad inventargli mille frottole per intrigarlo, ad imbarazzarlo con quel po' d'inglese e di francese che l'era rimasto del collegio, facendosi credere ora una signora forestiera, ora una ragazza che avesse il diritto di cavargli gli occhi, ora una amica che si fosse travestita per salvarlo da un gran pericolo, ora una lontana parente che si fosse rammentata di lui per venirgli a chiedere la strenna di una catenella d'oro. Donati fingeva di cascarci, se la rideva sotto i baffi, se la godeva mezzo mondo, si divertiva ad intrigarla lui, alla sua volta, lasciandole supporre che avesse indovinato dei gran segreti, permettendole di edificare cento storie che non esistevano sul fantastico addentellato che ella stessa gli avea offerto. Infine, quando la vide più curiosa, quando le sorprese negli occhi il primo baleno di un sentimento nuovo, qualcosa fra la sorpresa e la timidità di trovarsi con tutt'altro uomo, scoppiò a ridere, e con quella sua faceta bonomia le disse: – Cara Lina, quando volete sorprendere il mio segreto, e farvi passare per l'incognita che ha il diritto di cavarmi gli occhi, non dovete mettere quel braccialetto lì, che me li cava davvero, tanto lo conosco! – Lina si mise a ridere anche lei, sollevò un po' il manto, e disse: – Bravo! Ora che avete vinto, giacché siamo davanti al Caffè di Sicilia, offritemi un sorbetto. – Ed entrarono.
Bizzarria del caso! andarono a mettersi proprio a quel medesimo tavolino che Donati avea visto in sogno, l'uno di faccia all'altra, come nel sogno. Lina avea caldo e si faceva vento col fazzoletto; lasciò scivolare il manto sulle spalle, e appoggiò il gomito sul tavolino. Donati la vedeva fare senza aprir bocca.
Da alcuni minuti Donati mostravasi singolarmente imbarazzato; rispondeva sconnesso, a sproposito, e finalmente le parole gli erano morte in bocca. Lina chiacchierava per due, un po' rossa dal caldo, coll'occhio acceso dalla maschera, come nel sogno. Finalmente si avvide del turbamento che Donati non sapeva padroneggiare, e ad una risposta di lui più sbalestrata delle altre, dissegli: – O... cos'avete?
Ei si fece rosso. Infine, davvero... che aveva? Era una cosa ridicola! Possibile che quel sogno della notte lo avesse imbecillito per tutta la giornata! e si stringeva nelle spalle ridendo ingenuamente di se stesso. – To'! rispose, ho che sono un asino. Una sciocchezza! e se ve la nascondessi, sarei sciocco due volte: ecco! – e le raccontò il sogno quale s'era riprodotto punto per punto nella realtà, meno una circostanza che tacque, ben inteso, o piuttosto tradusse ad _usum delphini_ , dicendole che ella nel sogno gli avesse confessato di amarlo – nientemeno!
Donati rideva ancora, rideva di tutto cuore riandando per filo e per segno le stramberie della notte, che raccontate diventavano più assurde; rideva dell'impressione singolare che il ripetersi di talune circostanze del sogno avea fatto su di lui. Ella da principio s'era fatta rossa; l'ascoltava in silenzio, col mento sulla mano, senza guardarlo più, senza ridere più. Quando egli ebbe finito, abbozzò un pallido sorriso per non lasciarlo senza risposta – non ne trovò una migliore – e s'alzò. Se ne andarono in fretta, discorrendo a sbalzi, qualche volta cercando le parole.
Donati non era precisamente certo di non aver detto qualche corbelleria; ma sentiva in nube che avrebbe dato una mesata del suo stipendio perché non avesse parlato, ed anzi perché non avesse avuto di che parlare. La festa finì zitta zitta, e senza allegria.
Tutti gli anni, il domani della festa, i tre amici solevano andare a desinare in campagna. Stavolta Lina fu indisposta e non se ne fece nulla. Donati avrebbe voluto a qualunque costo che quel giorno si fosse passato come tutti gli altri anni, perché avea sempre sullo stomaco il sogno e il gran ciarlare che ne avea fatto, e avrebbe voluto metterci sopra una buona pietra, col seguitare a far quello che avevano sempre fatto, e non pensarci più. La sera però la passarono come di consueto, in famiglia. Lina comparve un po' tardi, con un viso di donna che ha l'emicrania, ma calma e serena. Donati le domandò come si sentisse. Ella gli piantò gli occhi in faccia, due occhi che gli fecero l'effetto di due chiodi, e rispose secco secco: – Bene.
Fu la prima sera passata freddamente. D'allora in poi ce ne furono parecchie di simili. Lina agucchiava, Donati suonava o leggeva, e Corsi s'ingegnava di attaccare uno scampolo di conversazione, alla quale la moglie rispondeva con monosillabi tenendo gli occhi fitti sul lavoro, e Donati con una specie di grugnito senza lasciare il libro, né il sigaro; persino Corsi, allegro per natura ed espansivo, diveniva anch'esso taciturno ed uggito; spirava un'aria di musoneria in casa sua che agghiacciava tutto. Si lasciavano di buon'ora, Lina porgeva appena la mano: qualche volta non compariva che un momento per dare la buona notte.
Il povero Donati non sapeva darsi pace. Si sentiva colpevole, ma la colpa maggiore era stata quella di esagerare il male che aveva fatto, colla sua aria di reo; e chiamava in aiuto tutti i santi, perché gli dessero il coraggio di prendere una buona volta la Lina a quattr'occhi e dirle: – Orsù, infine, cos'avete? cosa è stato? cosa ho fatto? – Ma quella domanda semplicissima diveniva la cosa più difficile di questo mondo. Il nuovo contegno di lei, la sua riservatezza, la sua freddezza insolita, la rendevano tutt'altra donna, una donna che gli chiudeva in bocca le perorazioni più eloquenti, e gli legava la lingua e i movimenti.
Una di quelle sere, voltandosi all'improvviso, sorprese gli occhi di Lina, fissi su di lui con tale espressione che gli fece rimescolare il sangue dai piedi alla testa; era uno sguardo che non le avea mai visto, profondo, in cui brillava dell'amarezza, una curiosità insolita, acre e pungente. Lina avvampò in viso e chinò il capo; ei non osò più voltarsi per timore d'incontrare un'altra volta quegli occhi indiavolati.
Finalmente, una volta che Corsi non c'era, gli parve ad un tratto sentirsi invadere dal coraggio che avea tanto invocato. Lina era immersa a capo fitto in quel che stava leggendo, e non fiatava da un gran pezzo; ei si alzò, fece un passo verso di lei, e balbettò:
– Lina!
Ella si rizzò, spaventata da quella sola parola, pallida come un cencio e tutta tremante. Donati rimase a bocca aperta e non seppe andare innanzi. Rimasero alcuni istanti così. Ella si rimise per la prima; prese il ricamo che avea accanto, ma le mani le tremavano ancora talmente che l'ago punzecchiava la stoffa. Egli si arrovellava dentro di sé d'essere così grullo. – Cosa avete? disse infine. Siete in collera con me? Non mi perdonerete mai?
La donna alzò il capo, sgomenta, e lo guardò come esterrefatta. Chinò la fronte di nuovo e balbettò con voce spenta e malferma alcune parole inintelligibili.
A poco a poco Donati diradò le sue visite. Corsi gli si mostrava sempre più freddo. Quando i due antichi amici si trovavano insieme, provavano, senza saper perché, un imbarazzo inesplicabile. La freddezza di entrambi si comunicava e si moltiplicava dall'uno all'altro. Corsi avea tutto indovinato dal nuovo contegno della moglie e dell'amico, oppure Lina gli avea tutto raccontato? L'ultima volta che Donati andò da lei, pel suo onomastico, la trovò che era sola in casa. Lina si fece di bracia e represse a stento un movimento di sorpresa. Donati non sapeva più trovare il verso del pelo del suo cappello, né le prime frasi di un discorso che andasse.
Ella stava sul canapè, in gran cerimonia, sì da far venire la voglia al disgraziato visitatore d'andarsene dalla finestra. La visita durò dieci minuti. Mentre scendeva le scale l'ex Polluce mormorava con voce soffocata nella gola: – È finita! è finita!
D'allora in poi non ebbe più il coraggio di picchiare a quell'uscio. Veniva a casa mogio mogio, il più tardi che poteva, guardando furtivamente quella finestra rischiarata che gli rammentava le sere gioconde passate accanto al fuoco, col cuore e i piedi caldi, e affrettava il passo sul ripiano della scala. Giammai le sue modeste stanzuccie non gli erano sembrate più silenziose, più fredde, e più melanconiche; adesso il povero romito ci stava il meno che potesse. Stando fuori, fece come avea fatto Corsi, conobbe un'altra Lina.
Venuto il settembre, Corsi avea sloggiato senza nemmen dirgli addio, e non s'erano più visti. Lina era stata inferma, e gravemente: Donati l'aveva saputo molto tempo dopo. Gli avevano detto che la malattia l'avea cambiata di molto; ei ci aveva pensato spesso, avea avuto spesso dinanzi agli occhi quel profilo delicato e pallido, e quegli occhi febbrili, come una trafitta, come un rimorso; ma non avrebbe immaginato mai l'impressione che dovevano fare su di lui quel viso e quell'occhiata furtiva la prima volta che, andando colla sua fidanzata, incontrò la Lina. – Ella s'era voltata a guardarlo di nascosto, come si guarda un mostro o un malfattore.
Intanto era trascorso l'anno, ed era sopravvenuta la festa di Sant'Agata. Donati dovea sposare da lì a poco. Egli aspettava in mezzo alla folla una ' _ntuppatedda_ che quasi gli avea promesso di farsi vedere un momento, quando si sentì afferrare all'improvviso pel braccio. Gettò una rapida occhiata sulla donna mascherata, ma la sua fidanzata era più piccola di statura e non aveva quell'occhio nero così sfavillante. Ei sentì che il cuore dava un tuffo; non seppe cosa dire, e si lasciò rimorchiare dentro il caffè.
La sua compagna cercò un tavolino appartato e sedette di faccia a lui; sembrava stanca e commossa fuor di modo. Ei la considerava ansiosamente. – Lina! esclamò alfine.
– Ah! diss'ella con un riso che voleva dir tante cose; e appoggiò la fronte incappucciata sulla mano.
Donati balbettava parole senza senso.
– Vi sorprende vedermi qui? domandò Lina dopo un lungo silenzio.
– Voi?
– Vi sorprende?
Donati chinò il capo. Ella lasciò scivolare il manto sulle spalle, e mormorò: – Vedete!
– Mio Dio! esclamò Donati.
– Vi faccio pietà? Oh, almeno!... Ma non è colpa vostra, no!... Ho avuto sempre una salute cagionevole. State tranquillo dunque... Non vorrei avvelenare la vostra luna di miele.
– Oh, cosa dite mai!... Se sapeste... se sapeste quanto ho sofferto!...
– Voi?
– Sì!... e quanto mi sono pentito!...
– Ah! vi siete pentito!
– Non so darmi pace!... Non so comprendere io stesso perché... cosa sia avvenuto per...
– Non lo sapete?
– No, per l'anima mia!
– È accaduto... che vi ho amato.
– Voi! voi!
Ella si fece ancora più pallida; si rizzò in piedi quasi fosse spinta da una molla, e gli disse con voce sorda:
– Perché mi avete raccontato quel sogno dunque?
# X
Quella fatale tendenza verso l'ignoto che c'è nel cuore umano, e si rivela nelle grandi come nelle piccole cose, nella sete di scienza come nella curiosità del bambino, è uno dei principali caratteri dell'amore, direi la principale attrattiva: triste attrattiva, gravida di noie o di lagrime – e di cui la triste scienza inaridisce il cuore anzi tempo. Cotesto amore dunque che ha ispirato tanti capolavori, e che riempie per metà gli ergastoli e gli ospedali, non avrebbe in sé tutte le condizioni di essere, che a patto di servire come mezzo transitorio di fini assai più elevati – o assai più modesti, secondo il punto di vista – e non verrebbe che l'ultimo nella scala dei sentimenti? La ragione della sua caducità starebbe nella sua essenza più intima? e il terribile dissolvente che c'è nella sazietà, o nel matrimonio, starebbe nell'insensato soddisfacimento d'una pericolosa curiosità? La colpa più grave del fanciullo-uomo sarebbe la pazza avidità del desiderio che gli fa frugare colle carezze e coi baci il congegno nascosto del giocattolo-donna, il quale ieri ancora gli faceva tremare il cuore in petto come foglia?
All'ultimo veglione della Scala, in mezzo a quel turbine d'allegria frenetica, avevo incontrato una donna mascherata, della quale non avevo visto il viso, di cui non conoscevo il nome, che non avrei forse riveduta mai più, e che mi fece battere il cuore quando i suoi sguardi s'incontrarono nei miei, e mi fece passare una notte insonne, col suo sorriso sempre dinanzi agli occhi, e negli orecchi il fruscìo del raso del suo dominò.
Ella appoggiavasi al braccio di un bel giovanotto, era circondata dagli eleganti del Circolo, adulata, corteggiata, portata in trionfo; era svelta, elegante, un po' magrolina, avea due graziose fossette agli òmeri, le braccia delicate, il mento roseo, gli occhi neri e lucenti, il collo eburneo, un po' troppo lungo ed esile, ombreggiato da vaghe sfumature, là dove folleggiavano certi ricciolini ribelli; il suo sorriso era affascinante; vestiva tutta di bianco, con una gala di nastro color di rosa al cappuccio, e faceva strisciare sul tappeto il lembo della veste, come una regina avrebbe fatto col suo manto. Tutto ciò insieme a quel pezzettino di raso nero che le celava il viso, ricamato da tutti i punti interrogativi della curiosità, dove brillavano i suoi occhi, e dietro al quale l'immaginazione avrebbe potuto vedere tutte le bellezze della donna, e porla su tutti i gradini della scala sociale. Ella imponeva l'ingenuità, la grazia, il pudore di una fanciulla da collegio in mezzo ad un crocchio di uomini, fra i quali una signora per bene non sarebbesi avventurata neppure in maschera.
Era seduta colle spalle rivolte alla sala, accanto al suo giovanotto, e gli parlava come parlano le donne innamorate, divorandolo cogli occhi, e facendogli indovinare i vaghi rossori che scorrevano sotto la sua maschera, e i sorrisi affascinanti; gli posava la mano sulla spalla, e l'accarezzava col ventaglio; sembrava che si facesse promettere qualche cosa, con una insistenza affettuosa e carezzevole.
Io avrei dato qualunque cosa per essere al posto di quel giovanotto, il quale sembrava mediocremente lusingato da quella preferenza; avrei voluto indovinare tutto quello che non potevo udire, tutto quello che si agitava nel cuore di lei; avrei voluto penetrare attraverso la seta di quella maschera; l'incognito di quel viso, di quella persona, e di quel modesto romanzetto sbocciato al gas della Scala avea mille attrattive per un osservatore. La mia simpatia, o la mia curiosità, avrà dovuto penetrarla come corrente elettrica: ella si volse a guardarmi due o tre volte, con quei suoi occhioni neri; poi si alzò, prese il braccio del suo compagno e si allontanò.
Sembrommi che all'allegria di quella festa fosse succeduta una inesplicabile musoneria, che mi mancasse qualche cosa; la cercavo con un'avida speranza di rivederla quasi cotesta sconosciuta fosse diggià qualche cosa per me.
Sul tardi ci trovammo di nuovo faccia a faccia accanto alla porta, mentre ella usciva dalla sala ed io vi rientravo. Rimanemmo immobili, guardandoci fissamente, a lungo, come due che si conoscono, quasi anch'io, dopo averla guardata tre o quattro volte durante la sera, fossi diventato qualche cosa per lei; il cuore mi batteva, e sentivo che doveva battere anche a lei; sembravami che entrambi bevessimo qualche cosa l'uno negli occhi dell'altra; assaporavo il suo sorriso assai prima che le sue labbra si schiudessero: ella mi sorrise infatti – un getto di buonumore e di simpatia che diceva: «So che ti piaccio, e anche tu mi piaci!». La parola più affettuosa, la lingua più dolce del mondo, non avrebbero potuto riprodurre l'eloquenza di quel sorriso; il pensatore più eminente, o l'uomo di mondo più sperimentato, non avrebbe potuto analizzare quel sentimento che irrompeva improvviso in un'occhiata, fra due persone che s'incontravano in mezzo alla folla, come due viaggiatori che partono per opposte direzioni s'incontrano in una stazione, l'una accanto ad uomo che amava forse ancora, l'altro che avea visto il braccio di lei sull'òmero di quell'uomo. Due o tre volte ella si rivolse a guardarmi collo stesso sorriso, ed io la seguii, senza sapere io stesso dietro a quale lusinga corressi. La folla me la fece perdere di vista; la cercai inutilmente nel ridotto, pei corridoi, nel caffè, in platea, da Canetta, in quei palchi che potei passare in rassegna, dappertutto.
Avevo la febbre di uno strano desiderio; divoravo cogli occhi tutti i dominò bianchi, tutte le vesti che avessero ondulazioni graziose. Tutt'a un tratto me la vidi improvvisamente dinanzi, o piuttosto incontrai il suo sguardo che mi cercava. Io davo il braccio ad una donna che rivedevo quella sera dopo lungo tempo. Nello sguardo dell'incognita c'era una muta interrogazione; ella mi sorrise di nuovo; non potei far altro che mandarle un saluto mentre mi passava accanto; ella si voltò vivamente, mi lanciò a bruciapelo uno sguardo ed un sorriso e ripeté: – Addio! – Non dimenticherò mai più quella voce e quell'accento!
Non la vidi più. Rimasi a digerire il mio dispetto e il cicaleccio della mia compagna. Sognai tutta la notte, senza chiudere gli occhi, quel viso che non conoscevo; sentivami in cuore un solco luminoso lasciatovi da quello sguardo; l'impossibilità di rintracciarla dava all'apparizione di quella sconosciuta un prestigio di cosa straordinaria; nel sorriso di lei io potevo immaginare un poema d'amore, che riceveva tutto l'interesse dall'essere troncato sul fiore e per sempre. _Per sempre!_ non è la parola che scuote maggiormente l'animo umano? Io prolungai quel sogno per tutto il giorno. Sembravami che ci fosse qualche cosa di nuovo in me, e che avessi ricevuto il sacramento di una perdita immensa. Quando la mia immaginazione si stancò di vagare nelle azzurre immensità dell'ignoto, per una reazione naturale del pensiero, io guardai con sorpresa nel mio cuore, e domandai a me stesso, se mi fossi innamorato di quel pezzettino di raso nero che nascondeva un viso sconosciuto.
Lo sguardo di quell'incognita mi aveva messo il cuore in sussulto mentre davo il braccio ad un'altra donna che un tempo avevo amato come un pazzo, e che in quel momento istesso si esponeva al più grave pericolo per me. Io maledivo l'ostinazione di cotesto affetto che mi impediva di correre dietro alla sconosciuta con tutto l'egoismo che c'è in un altro amore.
Per due o tre giorni cercai ansiosamente quell'amante che non conoscevo, e sentivo che il rivederla mi avrebbe tolto qualche cosa di lei. La rividi in Galleria, la riconobbi a quello sguardo e a quel sorriso che mi dicevano: «Son io, mi ravvisi?». Mi sentivo spinto fatalmente verso di lei, e venti volte fui sul punto di prenderle la mano al cospetto delle persone che l'accompagnavano.
In piazza della Scala si rivolse due o tre volte per vedere se la seguissi. Le vaghe incertezze, le gioie tumultuose, i febbrili desiderii dell'amore a vent'anni mi inondarono il cuore in una volta: l'ondeggiare della sua veste sembravami avesse qualche cosa di carezzevole; il suo paltoncino bianco, e il fazzoletto che pel freddo si teneva sul viso, avevano irradiazioni luminose. Io non saprei ridire l'emozione che provai al pensiero di poterle dare il braccio, o di poter toccare un lembo di quel fazzoletto. Ad un tratto ella attraversò la via, insieme alla sua compagna, e seguìta dalla sua scorta di parenti, camminando sulla punta dei piedi e rialzando il lembo del suo vestito, venne a mettersi al mio fianco. Mi guardò in viso, come se aspettasse qualche cosa da me. Io sentii un dolore atroce, e volsi le spalle.
La rividi ancora parecchie volte, e gli occhi di lei mi domandavano: «Cos'hai?». Io non osavo dirle: «Non mi piaci più». Ella si stancò di sollecitare i miei sguardi, e quando mi incontrò volse altrove il capo. Una sera, sotto il portico della Scala, sentii afferrarmi la mano da una mano tremante che vi lasciò un bigliettino microscopico. Mi rivolsi vivamente: non vidi che visi sconosciuti, e un po' più lungi la mia incognita che si allontanava senza guardarmi; sebbene fosse passata così lontano, sebbene da qualche tempo distogliesse da me lo sguardo con indifferenza, tutte le volte che mi incontrava, il mio pensiero corse a lei senza esitare un momento, nello stesso tempo che per una strana contraddizione tacciavo di follia il mio presentimento.
Una sola parola riempiva tutto il biglietto « _Seguitemi_ ». Chi? dove? perché? Coteste interrogazioni diedero colori di fuoco a quella semplice parola; il mistero che vi era racchiuso si rannodava, con logica irresistibile, a quell'incognita, e le ridava tutta quella vaga e indefinibile attrattiva che il vedermela al fianco, sotto il fanale a gas, avea fatto svanire in un lampo; il dubbio d'ingannarmi mi mise addosso mille impazienze. Ella non sembrava nemmeno accorgersi di me – io la seguii. Quando la porta della sua casa mi si chiuse in faccia rimasi in mezzo alla strada, senza avere la forza di andarmene, coi piedi nella neve, tutte le finestre della via che mi guardavano, e i questurini che venivano a passarmi vicino. Dalle undici alle due del mattino io non ebbi un momento di esitazione o di stanchezza; non dubitai un istante. Udii aprire pian piano la porta, e vidi nell'ombra dell'arcata una forma bianca. Ella tremava come una foglia quando le toccai la mano; sembrava che avesse la febbre; mi disse con voce strozzata dalla commozione: – Che avete? che vi ho fatto? ditemelo – come se ci conoscessimo da dieci anni. Certe situazioni, certe parole, certe inflessioni di voce hanno significazioni evidenti, irresistibili; la giovinetta che avevo incontrata al veglione, in mezzo ad uomini che portavano in trionfo Cora Pearl, e la quale mi gettava le braccia al collo nel buio di una scala, dava la più luminosa prova di candore coll'espansione della sua simpatia: sentimento strano che non sapevo spiegare, e di cui non osavo chiederle ragione. Nella sua fiducia c'era tanta innocenza che avrei voluto rubarle gli orecchini per insegnarle a diffidare degli uomini. Sentivo fra le mie le sue povere mani tremanti, e le sue parole sommesse sembrava che mi sfiorassero il viso come un bacio. Certi sentimenti inesplicabili hanno un fondamento essenzialmente materiale; tutto l'incanto di quell'ora di paradiso stava nel buio di quella scala. Sembravami che le larve dell'ideale avessero preso corpo e mi stringessero le mani: – Io ti son piaciuta senza che tu mi avessi vista in viso, ella mi disse. Ecco perché ti amo – e non mi domandò nemmeno come mi chiamassi.
Ella si fece promettere che sarei tornato a vederla la notte seguente. Ahimè! insensata promessa che rimpiccioliva il desiderio nelle meschine proporzioni di un volgare appuntamento. Noi avremmo dovuto inventare tutti gli ostacoli che mancavano alla nostra felicità, o non rivederci mai più. La notte seguente tornai da lei con un sentimento penoso, come se avessi perduto qualche cosa. La rividi nel suo salottino, raggiante di bellezza, e il cuore mi si dilatò di gioia, quasi le prime sensazioni della sciagura fossero piacevoli; contemplavo avidamente quelle leggiadre sembianze che s'imporporavano per me, e in mezzo alla festa del mio cuore sentivo insinuarsi un vago turbamento – il mio ideale svaniva; tutto quello che c'era in quella bellezza veramente incantevole era tolto ai miei sogni; sembravami che il mio pensiero si fosse impoverito trovandosi costretto nei limiti della realtà. – Che hai? mi disse. – Nulla, risposi, c'è troppa luce qui. – Ella, povera ragazza, moderò la fiamma della lucerna. Non si avvedeva del turbamento che c'era in me, e non avea paura della funesta avidità con la quale i miei occhi la divoravano. Parlava sorridente, giuliva, come un uccelletto innamorato canta su di un ramoscello; mi raccontò la sua storia, una di quelle storie che l'angelo custode ascolta sorridendo. Avea amato il cugino con cui l'avevo vista al veglione, era venuta colla zia da Lecco per lui, e il cugino, in capo a due o tre giorni di esitazione, le avea fatto capire bellamente che non l'amava più. Allora, dopo le prime lagrime, ella avea pensato a quello sconosciuto che al veglione della Scala l'avea guardata in quel modo. – Io ti ho letto negli occhi che ti piacevo, mi disse, e ti sorrisi perché ciò mi rendeva tutta lieta; in quel momento avevo un gran dolore in cuore. Se mio cugino avesse seguitato ad amarmi, io non te lo avrei mai detto, ma ti avrei sempre voluto bene come ad un fratello. Ora che mio cugino non vuol saperne più di me... ebbene, anch'io voglio amare chi più mi piace! – Tossiva di quando in quando, le guancie le si imporporavano, e gli occhi le si facevano umidi. – Non mi dire che mi sposerai, se vuoi lasciarmi come quell'altro... Sono stata tanto malata! – Addio! le dissi. – Tornerai domani? La zia va dalle mie cugine, non aver paura; tornerai? – Addio.
Non la vidi più. Sentivo che non mi sarei trovato umile e basso dinanzi alla fiducia e all'entusiasmo di quell'amore che non dividevo più. E sentivo del pari di aver perduto irremissibilmente un tesoro.
In novembre ricevetti una lettera listata di nero; era lo stesso carattere che avea scritto « _seguitemi_ »; le mani mi tremavano prima d'aprirla: « _Se volete ripetere l'addio che deste ad una mascherina all'ultimo veglione della Scala_ , scrivevami, _recatevi al Cimitero fra una settimana, e cercate della croce sulla quale sarà scritto X_ ».
Quella lettera, per un caso che farebbe credere alla fatalità, s'era smarrita alla Posta, e mi pervenne con qualche giorno di ritardo. Io volai a quella casa che non avevo più riveduta; scorgendo le persiane chiuse, il cuore mi si strinse dolorosamente. Corsi al Cimitero, senza osare di credere al presagio funesto di quella lettera; al primo viale che infilai, quasi il destino si fosse incaricato di guidare i miei passi, alla prima terra smossa di fresco, su di una croce di ferro, lessi quel segno che ella avea desiderato sulla tomba triste geroglifico del suo amore; e lì, coi ginocchi nella polvere, mi parve di guardare in un immenso buio, tutto riempito dalla figura della mia incognita, dal suo sorriso, dal suono della sua voce, dalle menome parole che mi avea dette, dai luoghi dove l'avevo vista. Sentii un gran freddo.
# Certi argomenti
C'era un aneddoto che in Napoli, dopo più di un anno, faceva ancora le spese della conversazione alla tavola rotonda dell'Albergo di Russia, quando i tre o quattro ospiti che tutti gli anni solevano trovarsi al medesimo posto, dal cominciar del novembre alla fine di maggio, rimanevano faccia a faccia, col sigaro in bocca e i gomiti sulla tovaglia.
A quella medesima tavola s'erano incontrati un tale Assanti, uomo elegante ed uomo di spirito, ed una signora Dal Colle, donna elegante e donna di spirito, un po' civetta, capricciosa e bizzarra, sul conto della quale si raccontavano cento storielle singolari, ben inteso senza provarne una sola, e che veniva ad epoche fisse, come una rondine, da Baden, da Vienna o da Parigi. Tra i due commensali e vicini di tavola si era dichiarata una decisa e poco velata antipatia, non ostante che fossero entrambi persone assai bene educate, e scambiassero alle volte, il meno che potevano, degli atti e delle parole di cortesia. Una sera, dopo il caffè, Assanti, trovandosi nella sala dei fumatori, insieme a tre o quattro amici che parlavano della sua vicina, avea motivato la sua antipatia con un lusso di buon umore che aveva fatto rider tutti. Ad un tratto però si fece silenzio come per incanto, la signora Dal Colle passava nella sala contigua per andare a mettersi al pianoforte, come soleva fare qualche volta. – Ha udito tutto! – Non ha potuto udire! – dicevano sommessamente fra di loro quei signori. Il solo colpevole non se n'era preoccupato gran fatto. Si strinse nelle spalle, e disse ridendo: – Or ora vedremo se ha udito.
La signora scartabellava dei quaderni di musica, e non voltava nemmeno la testa; Assanti le si avvicinò col più bell'inchino, e le domandò tranquillamente:
– Scusi, ha udito quel che dicevamo a proposito di lei?
Ella gli piantò in faccia due grand'occhi ben aperti, due occhi innocenti o traditori, e rispose colla massima disinvoltura:
– Scusi, perché mi fa questa domanda?
– Perché abbiamo scommesso d'indovinare quel che avrebbe suonato stassera.
La donna sorrise, inchinò il capo, e incominciò a suonare la _Bella Elena._
– Signori, disse Assanti voltandosi verso i suoi amici, che rimanevano mogi e ingrulliti, avete perduto.
Infatti sembrava impossibile che una donna potesse restare così bene nei gangheri dopo avere udito tutto quel che si era detto nella sala dei fumatori; e, cosa strana, un po' per la novità della cosa, un po' per obbligo di cortesia, Assanti, discorrendo con la Dal Colle di musica e d'altro, avea osservato come più d'una volta cane e gatta si fossero trovati d'accordo, sicché il discorso era andato per le lunghe, e gli amici, ad uno ad uno, se l'erano sgattaiolata. – Non ha udito nulla! pensava Assanti.
Ad un tratto, quando furono soli, cambiando improvvisamente accento e maniere, la Dal Colle domandò, puntandogli contro quegli occhi indiavolati:
– È contento che gli abbia fatto vincere la scommessa, mio signor nemico?
Egli s'inchinò e stette coraggiosamente ad aspettar l'assalto.
– Perché ci facciamo la guerra? riprese ella con un altro tono di voce.
– Perché ella mi faceva paura.
– Oh! oh! eccoci in piena galanteria! Ebbene, mio bel cavaliere, quando mi salterà in capo di vendicarmi ne incaricherò voi stesso. Ma francamente, non sarebbe stato meglio che fossimo andati d'accordo fin da principio?
– Facciamo la pace allora.
– Adesso è troppo tardi.
– Perché?
– Perché, perché... disse alzandosi, prima di tutto perché ora vi detesto – e poi perché fra due o tre settimane partirò.
– Vi seguirò.
– Dove?
– Dove andrete.
– Ma non lo so dove andrò; né lo saprete voi. Nemici dunque.
Assanti la salutò ridendo, ma dovette convenire che la sua graziosa nemica poteva avere tutti i difetti, all'infuori di uno.
Il domani, mentre si vestiva per andare a pranzo, trovò sul tavolino un biglietto scritto da mano sconosciuta.
«Venite al N. 11, a mezzanotte. Non bussate.»
Egli si mise a ridere, e disse fra di sé:
– Non v'è dubbio, ha udito tutto; ma il tranello è troppo grossolano per una donna di spirito! che peccato!
La signora Dal Colle non era venuta a tavola. Assanti sorrise più di una volta sotto i baffi volgendo gli occhi a quel posto vuoto. Dopo desinare andò a teatro, e non ci pensò più.
Finita l'opera, passò una mezz'ora al Caffè d'Europa, e quando tornò all'albergo il gas era spento. Passando pel corridoio, dinanzi all'uscio di quel famoso numero undici, si rammentò un'altra volta del biglietto che avea in tasca e involontariamente rallentò il passo.
Si mise alla finestra, fumò il suo sigaro, lesse il suo giornale, e poi andò a letto. Il letto era duro ed uggioso insolitamente quella notte; faceva caldo, e Assanti avea un bel voltarsi e rivoltarsi senza poter chiudere occhio.
Quelle due linee sottili che teneva chiuse nel portafogli posto sulla tavola a capo del letto, sgusciavano fuori della busta, s'allungavano serpeggiando in ghirigori per le pareti, gli si attorcigliavano alle coperte e alle sbarre del cortinaggio, s'insinuavano sotto l'uscio, e guizzavano pel corridoio oscuro, lasciando sul tappeto una striscia fosforescente.
Spense il lume, lo riaccese, rilesse il bigliettino, stavolta senza ridere, ché l'odore del foglietto profumato gli dava alla testa, spense il lume di nuovo per addormentarsi, e fu peggio di prima; nelle tenebre faceva sogni stravaganti ad occhi aperti; vedeva quell'uscio del numero undici socchiuso, una forma bianca che sporgeva la testa dal vano, e quella donna, per la quale il giorno innanzi non avrebbe mosso un dito, ora che gli era passata pel capo sotto altro aspetto, un solo istante, per ischerzo, assumeva forme e sorrisi affascinanti. Il sangue gli martellava nelle vene. Finalmente si vestì a guisa di un sonnambulo, quasi non avesse coscienza di quel che facesse; arrivò a mettere la mano sulla maniglia dell'uscio, e tornò a cacciarsi frettolosamente fra le coltri, vergognoso della ridicola tentazione alla quale avea ceduto con facilità inesplicabile, come se la sua nemica avesse potuto vederlo e dargli la baia. La notte dormì male, e si levò di cattivo umore. All'ora del pranzo trovò la Dal Colle al suo solito posto, gaia e disinvolta come se nulla fosse stato, e civetta più che mai. Non gli fece l'onore di accorgersi menomamente di lui, e una volta gli lanciò a bruciapelo uno sguardo schernitore che avrebbe fatto montare la mosca al naso ad un uomo meno padrone di sé dell'Assanti. Egli si era fatto il suo piano di rappresaglie e di allusioni pungenti, ma aspettò inutilmente tutta la sera nel salotto dove la Dal Colle soleva far della musica. A poco a poco, a suo dispetto, quel sangue freddo, quella sicurezza, quella disinvoltura, lo dominavano e lo facevano arrabbiare.
Evidentemente costei che l'aveva vinto con la burla più grossolana del mondo era più forte di lui; sapeva che sarebbe bastato un nonnulla, un cattivo scherzo, per insinuarglisi tutta nelle fibre come una spina, impadronirsene, metterlo sossopra, e agitarlo co' suoi menomi capricci.
Dopo che la Dal Colle si era data la soddisfazione di quella piccola vendetta da donna, sembrava non pensasse più ad Assanti, e si lasciava fare la corte da un certo barone Ciriani, il quale passava per un don Giovanni, inclusa la bravura e la fortuna di duellista; ora ad Assanti sembrava che la Dal Colle in quel lasciarsi corteggiare, così sotto i suoi occhi, ci mettesse dell'ostentazione, e questo lo seccava assai.
La furba sapeva al certo che si può fare a fidanza, toccando certi tasti, colla semplicità mascolina, s'avesse a fare coll'uomo più avveduto di questo mondo. Era bastata la lusinga più lontana, più sciocca, più inverosimile, perché Assanti si montasse la testa a poco a poco, sino a credere che i successi ottenuti dal Ciriani fossero rubati a lui, e che la civetteria di lei fosse un torto che gli si facesse. Il brillante giovanotto era ridotto alla più grulla figura possibile; cominciava ad accorgersene anche lui, ciò aumentava la sua stizza, e un dispetto ne chiamava un altro, sino a fargli perdere la tramontana; sicché alla sua volta intraprese contro il Ciriani un sistema di ostilità così poco velate, e di provocazione così diretta, che non ci volle meno di tutta l'abilità della donna per scongiurare il pericolo di un serio guaio.
Finalmente ella parve stanca della lotta che dovea sostenere con Assanti quotidianamente, e prendendolo una sera a quattr'occhi nel vano della finestra, dissegli:
– Orsù, mio bel nemico, a che giuoco giuochiamo? Con qual diritto ad ogni momento vi gettate a testa bassa fra me e il Ciriani?
– Con qual diritto mi fate questa domanda? ribatté Assanti.
– Parliamoci chiaro. Voi mi eravate debitore di una piccola soddisfazione di amor proprio, ed io ho ottenuto il mio intento col mezzo più semplice. Non vi ho fatto il torto di pensare che avreste preso sul serio il mio biglietto, ho reso sempre giustizia al vostro spirito, e del resto nemmeno un ragazzo di scuola ci sarebbe cascato; ma eccovi lì, fra vergognoso, bizzoso, e incapricciato, e questo deve bastarmi. Ora siamo pari; lasciatemi tranquilla, caro mio; Ciriani non c'entra.
– Ce lo tireremo pei capelli!
– Impresa arrischiata! Sapete che come duellista ha una brutta riputazione.
– Ebbene, esclamò Assanti un po' rosso in viso, se mi gettassi attraverso cotesta riputazione, mi perdonereste?
– La storia del biglietto? Per chi mi prendete, caro signore, cercando di scambiarmi le carte in mano?
– Non ridete così, in fede mia! Son qui, dinanzi a voi, ridotto ad arrossire di quel che ho fatto e detto contro di voi; mi sento ridicolo, deve bastarvi.
– Ridicolo, perché?
– Perché vi amo.
– Da quanto in qua?
– Dacché mi ci avete fatto pensare.
– Dacché siete indispettito contro di me allora?
– Non so se sia amore o dispetto, so che così non può durare, che voi m'avete stregato, e che finirete per farmi impazzire.
– Oibò!
Assanti rimase zitto un istante, di faccia al sorriso mordente della Dal Colle; poi riprese, cambiando tono e maniere, e facendosi improvvisamente serio: – Orsù, bisogna fare qualche cosa perché prestiate fede a quel che vi dico. Bisogna provocare Ciriani e rendermi ridicolo completamente.
– Guardatevene bene! diss'ella senza ridere più. Detesto gli scandali, e non mi vedreste mai più, né voi, né lui!
La signora Dal Colle faceva i preparativi per la partenza; Assanti venne a saperlo il giorno dopo.
– Partite? le disse.
– Sì: fuggo. Siete soddisfatto? Facciamo la pace prima di lasciarci.
– No, facciamo di meglio: ditemi dove andrete. Noi siamo più di due semplici conoscenze, siamo due nemici; siamo liberi entrambi e padroni di noi; entrambi scorazziamo pel mondo onde fuggire la noia. C'incontreremo in tutte le stazioni, ci faremo dei dispetti, ci faremo la guerra, ci odieremo, e così non avremo il tempo di annoiarci.
– No, no! E il pericolo d'innamorarsi lo contate per nulla?
– Anche voi?
– Sì, mi par di sì, dopo quello che mi avete detto ieri sera.
– Ebbene! alla peggio!...
– Non la prendete così; parlo sul serio, e sapete che sono franca.
– In tal caso franchezza per franchezza... Chiudete gli occhi e lasciate fare al pericolo.
– Ci penserò.
– ... Ci ho pensato, gli disse il giorno dopo, poche ore prima di partire all'insaputa di lui. No, sarebbe peggio di una disgrazia, sarebbe una sciocchezza. È un gran brutto affare, due amanti che un giorno o l'altro possano ridersi sul naso! e questo giorno arriverebbe, a meno di un miracolo... poiché bisognerebbe proprio un miracolo! qualcosa di grosso! un atto di eroismo, una grande azione o una grande follia, per scongiurare cotesto pericolo... e come io non farò nulla di tutto questo, né voi lo farete, né voglio che lo facciate, così... nemici!
– Chi vi dice che non lo farò?
– Davvero?... Mi par di essere in piena cavalleria!... Ebbene, allora!... Intanto a rivederci.
Il giorno dopo non si vide né alla tavola rotonda, né altrove. Assanti seppe che era partita, e che anche il Ciriani era partito.
Quella notizia gli fece ardere il sangue nelle vene come se l'avessero schiaffeggiato. Ogni menoma parola, ogni sorriso, ogni inflessione di voce di lei, nell'ultimo colloquio che avevano avuto, gli tornava alla mente con acute punture di dispetto, di gelosia, ed anche d'amore. Dal momento che era fuggita con un altro, quella donna eragli divenuta diabolicamente necessaria, per tutto quello che non era stato, per tutto quello che s'era detto fra di loro. Allora cotesto eroe da salone, per puntiglio o per vanità, si sentì capace di quelle virtù eroiche da palcoscenico, delle quali ella si era promessa in premio. – Avrebbe voluto acciuffarsi con dieci Ciriani; avrebbe voluto traversare un villaggio in fiamme sulla punta dei suoi stivalini verniciati, recandosi lei sulle braccia; avrebbe voluto saltare un precipizio di mezza lega per salvarla, senza fare uno strappo ai suoi pantaloni di Lennon. Si sentiva invaso da una specie di febbre. Partì sulle tracce di lei; gettò il denaro a due mani; viaggiò notte e giorno, in ferrovia, in carrozza e a cavallo, con un tempaccio da lupi, in mezzo alle selvaggie solitudini per le quali correva la linea di Foggia, allora incompleta, col pericolo di cadere di momento in momento nelle mani dei briganti che scorazzavano per quelle parti.
Finalmente ebbe le prime notizie della Dal Colle ad Ariano; ella viaggiava in carrozza, seguita dai suoi domestici, senza l'ombra di un Ciriani. Prima di annottare, una o due poste prima di Bovino, l'oste ed il conduttore cercarono di dissuaderlo di andare innanzi, perché la campagna era infestata dai briganti. Fu come se gli avessero messo il diavolo addosso. Lei era in pericolo: non pensava ad altro. La notte istessa, poco dopo Bovino, raggiunse le due carrozze colle quali ella viaggiava, ferme dinanzi ad un povero casolare che era la posta dei cavalli. Il lanternino appeso all'uscio era stato fracassato da mano invisibile; la porta era spalancata, e la stalla vuota.
I postiglioni avevano chiamato e strepitato senza che comparisse alcuno. Assanti da lontano gridava di non andare avanti: uno dei postiglioni temendo d'essere inseguito dai briganti gli sparò addosso una pistolettata senza colpirlo.
– Fermatevi, ripeté Assanti. Fermatevi, in nome di Dio! o siete perduti.
Allo sportello di una delle due carrozze si vide dietro il cristallo, al riflesso incerto dei fanali, il viso un po' pallido della Dal Colle. Ella riconobbe Assanti in mezzo a quella scena di confusione e di spavento, e gridò al cocchiere con accento febbrile:
– Avanti! avanti! duecento lire di mancia!
– Avanti ci sono i briganti! gridò il giovane quasi fuori di sé.
In quell'istante, senza che si vedesse anima viva, si udì una voce che sembrava venire da una rupe che sovrastava il lato sinistro della via.
– Fermi tutti!... o per la Madonna! siete morti!
Il cocchiere applicò una vigorosa frustata ai cavalli che puntarono le zampe ed inarcarono le schiene per slanciarsi al galoppo; ma prima che avessero fatto un sol passo si udì un colpo di fucile, ed il cavallo di sinistra cadde imbrogliandosi nei fornimenti; il cocchiere si buttò da cassetta e sparì nelle tenebre; la seconda carrozza, quella in cui erano i domestici della Dal Colle, voltò indietro, e fuggì a rotta di collo. Tuttociò era avvenuto in meno che non ci vuole per dirlo. Assanti si slanciò allo sportello della vettura, afferrò la donna per la vita come una bambina, la spinse nella stalla e ne chiuse la porta alla meglio, ammucchiandovi contro tutto quel che poté trovare. Al primo trambusto di quella scena era succeduto un silenzio profondo e misterioso; gli assalitori, prima di scendere nella strada, volevano al certo misurare la resistenza che avrebbero incontrata.
La Dal Colle, ritta in un angolo, non diceva una sola parola, e Assanti, rivolto verso l'uscio, colla carabina a due colpi in pugno, aspettava. Come si furono abituati all'oscurità, si vide sorgere, alla fioca luce dei fanali della carrozza che trapelava dalle commessure mal giunte dell'uscio, una scala a piuoli, la quale dal fondo della stalla metteva per una botola al fienile soprastante. Sulla strada si cominciava ad udire un tramestìo attorno alla carrozza, rimasta dinanzi al casolare. Assanti fece salire la sua compagna al piano di sopra, e quando fu salito anche lui, tirò su la scala. Al di fuori durava ancora il silenzio, e di quando in quando il cavallo rimasto in piedi, scuoteva la sonagliera.
– Voi mi scaricherete la vostra carabina alla testa se dovessi cader viva nelle mani di coloro! furono le prime parole che la donna pronunziò con voce breve e febbrile.
– Sì! rispose Assanti collo stesso tono.
Egli era corso alla finestra; non si vedeva nessuno; la carrozza era sempre ferma dinanzi all'uscio, descrivendo un breve cerchio di luce coi suoi due fanali; il cavallo fiutava con curiosità il compagno caduto. Ad un tratto si udì un secondo colpo di fucile, e dall'architrave della finestra, a due dita dal capo di Assanti, caddero dei calcinacci. La Dal Colle lo tirò indietro bruscamente. Allora per la prima volta i loro sguardi s'incontrarono. Ella era pallida come uno spettro, ma i suoi occhi erano sfavillanti.
All'improvviso la porta della stalla fu scossa da un urto che rimbombò come se l'avesse sconquassata. Assanti corse alla finestra e fece fuoco; si udì un grido, seguito da una scarica generale diretta contro di lui. Assanti si chinò sulla botola, mirò alla porta della stalla e fece fuoco una seconda volta. I briganti, a quei due colpi di carabina che venivano dall'alto e dal basso, credettero di avere a fare con parecchi, decisi di vender cara la loro vita, e ricorsero ad un altro mezzo di attacco più sicuro e meno pericoloso. La fucilata cessò come per incanto.
Si udirono al di fuori rumori diversi, che da principio i due assediati non sapevano spiegarsi: un via vai, un risuonare di sonagliuoli dei cavalli, un muovere di ruote; poi rimbombò un secondo e forte urto alla porta della stalla, come se la carrozza vi fosse stata spinta contro a guisa di ariete. Assanti trasalì per l'imminenza di un nuovo e sconosciuto pericolo; il cuore gli batteva forte. – Chi ci avrebbe detto che il miracolo di cui vi parlavo sarebbe stato così vicino! disse la Dal Colle con uno strano sorriso. Ei le afferrò la mano ed ella non la ritirò. In quel momento un riflesso rossastro si disegnò come una apparizione infernale di faccia alla porta, sulla parete nera della stalla. Il giovane, dimentico del pericolo passato per quello più grande che li minacciava, corse alla finestra, e la spalancò; le fiamme che bruciavano la carrozza e l'uscio della stalla illuminarono vivamente il fienile. – Cosa fanno adesso? domandò la donna stringendosi a lui con mano tremante. – Bruciano la casa! rispose Assanti con voce sorda. – Voi mi avete promesso che morremo insieme! diss'ella dopo un minuto di silenzio.
Presso la finestra le travi del solaio cominciarono a scoppiettare, e le fiamme mostravano attraverso le assi le loro lingue azzurrognole che lambivano le pareti; il fumo annebbiava la stanzuccia e li soffocava. La donna guardava Assanti con occhi singolari.
– Vi siete perduto per me! mormorò finalmente, con un accento di cui egli non avrebbe supposto capace quella donna leggiera.
– Vi amo! egli rispose.
Allora in mezzo al fumo che li accecava, dinanzi alle fiamme che allungavano verso di loro lingue sitibonde, sotto una pioggia di faville infuocate, fra gli urli dei banditi che danzavano e sghignazzavano attorno a quell'orribile rogo, ella gli avvinse le braccia al collo, e posò la guancia sulla guancia di lui.
Tutt'a un tratto si udì sulla strada un gran tumulto, colpi di fuoco, urli di dolore, grida di collera. I carabinieri di Bovino avevano incontrato la carrozza colla quale erano scappati i domestici della Dal Colle, ed erano accorsi in fretta. Un brigadiere si precipitò fra le fiamme, e strappò i due amanti da quell'amplesso di morte.
Albeggiava appena. Assanti e la Dal Colle furono accompagnati a Bovino. Ella era pallidissima. Quando furono soli nella miglior stanza dell'albergo, gli stese la mano.
– Ora separiamoci.
– Come, separarci!...
– Abbiamo passato un bel momento, abbiamo realizzato il miracolo che sembrava impossibile alla tavola rotonda dell'Albergo di Russia. Non lo guastiamo! Siamo stati degli eroi, e siccome non potremmo aver sempre sottomano dei briganti per esaltarci, finiremo per trovarci ridicoli. Lasciamoci eroi dunque.
– Che donna siete mai?
– Mi dicono che sono una matta; ma mi accorgo che una matta è sempre più ragionevole dell'uomo più savio. Vediamo, amico mio, discorriamola ora che la stanchezza fa dar giù la febbre. In due settimane voi passate dall'antipatia all'entusiasmo; vi gettate a corpo perduto su di me, e mi fate il sagrificio della vostra vita, senza sapere se io ne sia degna. È ragionevole cotesto? Avete fatto per me una bella azione, qualcosa che può toccare il cuore o la testa di una donna, e far mettere il cappuccio alle sue follie... non c'è che dire; ma siete certo che non abbiate fatto il sagrificio pel sagrificio? perché vi eravate montata la testa? più per voi che per me insomma? Siete persuaso che l'abbiate fatto schiettamente e semplicemente per amor mio?
– Qual altra prova ne vorreste?
– Una prova semplicissima: voi dite che mi amate?
– Sì.
– Non mi conoscete, non sapete chi sia, né da dove venga; non sapete se sia degna di voi, e se potrei amarvi come vorreste essere amato!...
– So che vi amo!
– Su dieci uomini, e dei più savi, nove risponderebbero come voi. E se vi amassi, sareste felice?
– Sì.
– E questa felicità vi basterebbe? Quanto vorreste che durasse?
– Sempre.
– Perché non mi sposate allora?
– ... Ci penserò.
# Le storie del castello di Trezza
## I
La signora Matilde era seduta sul parapetto smantellato, colle spalle appoggiate all'edera della torre, spingendo lo sguardo pensoso nell'abisso nero e impenetrabile; suo marito, col sigaro in bocca, le mani nelle tasche, lo sguardo vagabondo dietro le azzurrine spirali del fumo, ascoltava con aria annoiata; Luciano, in piedi accanto alla signora, sembrava cercasse leggere quali pensieri si riflettessero in quegli occhi impenetrabili come l'abisso che contemplavano. Gli altri della brigata erano sparsi qua e là per la spianata ingombra di sassi e di rovi, ciarlando, ridendo, motteggiando; il mare andavasi facendo di un azzurro livido, increspato lievemente, e seminato di fiocchi di spuma. Il sole tramontava dietro un mucchio di nuvole fantastiche, e l'ombra del castello si allungava melanconica e gigantesca sugli scogli.
– Era qui? domandò ad un tratto la signora Matilde, levando bruscamente il capo.
– Proprio qui.
Ella volse attorno uno sguardo lungo e pensieroso. Poscia domandò con uno scoppio di risa vive, motteggiatrici:
– Come lo sa?
– Ricostruisca coll'immaginazione le volte di queste arcate, alte, oscure, in cui luccicano gli avanzi delle dorature, quel camino immenso, affumicato, sormontato da quello stemma geloso che non si macchiava senza pagare col sangue; quell'alcova profonda come un antro, tappezzata a foschi colori, colla spada appesa al capezzale di quel signore che non l'ha tirata mai invano dal fodero, il quale dorme sul chi vive, l'orecchio teso, come un brigante – che ha il suo onore al di sopra del suo Dio, e la sua donna al disotto del suo cavallo di battaglia: – cotesta donna, debole, timida, sola, tremante al fiero cipiglio del suo signore e padrone, ripudiata dalla sua famiglia il giorno che le fu affidato l'onore ombroso e implacabile di un altro nome; – dietro quell'alcova, separato soltanto da una sottile parete, sotto un'asse traditrice, quel trabocchetto che oggi mostra senza ipocrisia la sua gola spalancata – il carnaio di quel mastino bruno, membruto, baffuto, che russa fra la sua donna e la sua spada; – il lume della lampada notturna che guizza sulle immense pareti, e vi disegna fantasmi e paure; il vento che urla come uno spirito maligno nella gola del camino, e scuote rabbiosamente le imposte tarlate; e di tanto in tanto, dietro quella parete, dalla profondità di quel trabocchetto attorno a cui il mare ruggisce, un gemito soffocato dall'abisso, delirante di spasimo, un gemito che fa drizzare la donna sul guanciale, coi capelli irti di terrore, molli del sudore di un'angoscia più terribile di quella dell'uomo che agonizza nel fondo del trabocchetto, e, fuori di sé, le fa volgere uno sguardo smarrito, quasi pazzo, su quel marito che non ode e russa.
La signora Matilde ascoltava in silenzio, cogli occhi fissi, intenti, luccicanti. Non disse «È vero!» ma chinò il capo. Il marito si strinse nelle spalle e si alzò per andarsene. Le ombre sorgevano da tutte le profondità delle rovine e del precipizio.
– Se tutto ciò è vero, ella disse con voce breve; s'è accaduto così come dite, essi debbono essersi appoggiati qui, a questi avanzi di davanzale, a guardare il mare, come noi adesso... – ed ella vi posò la mano febbrile – qui.
Ei chinò lo sguardo sulla mano, poi guardò il mare, poi la mano di nuovo. Ella non si muoveva, non diceva motto, guardava lontano. – Andiamo, disse a un tratto, la leggenda è interessante, ma mio marito a quest'ora deve preferire la campana del desinare. Andiamo.
Il giovane le offrì il braccio, ed ella vi si appoggiò, rialzando i lembi del vestito, saltando leggermente fra i sassi e le rovine. Passando presso uno stipite sbocconcellato, osservò che c'erano ancora attaccati gli avanzi degli stucchi.
– Se potessero raccontare anche questi! disse ridendo.
– Direbbero che allo stesso posto dove s'è posata la sua mano, ci si è aggrappata la mano convulsa della baronessa, la quale tendeva l'orecchio, ansiosa, verso quell'andito dove non si udiva più il rumore dei passi di lui, né una voce, né un gemito, ma risuonavano invece gli sproni sanguinosi del barone.
La signora si tirò indietro vivamente, come se avesse toccato del fuoco; poi vi posò di nuovo la mano, risoluta, nervosa, increspata; sembrava avida d'emozione; avea sulle labbra uno strano sorriso, le guance accese e gli occhi brillanti.
– Vede! disse. Non si ode più nulla!
– Alla buon'ora! esclamò il signor Giordano; dunque possiamo andare.
La moglie gli rivolse uno sguardo distratto, e soggiunse:
– Scusami, sai!
Il raggio di sole prima di tramontare si insinuò per un crepaccio a fior d'acqua, e illuminò improvvisamente il fondo di quella specie di pozzo ch'era stato il trabocchetto, le punte aguzze delle nere pareti, i ciottoli bianchi che spiccavano sul muschio e l'umidità del fondo, e i licheni rachitici che l'autunno imporporava. Il sorriso era sparito dal viso della signora spensierata, e volgendosi al marito, timida, carezzevole, imbarazzata:
– Vieni? gli disse.
– Bada, rispose il signor Giordano col suo ironico sorriso; ci vedrai le ossa di quel bel cavaliere, e farai brutti sogni stanotte.
Ella non rispose, non si mosse, stava chinata sulla buca; appoggiandosi ai sassi che la circondavano; infine, con voce sorda:
– Infatti... c'è qualcosa di bianco, laggiù in fondo...
E senza attender risposta:
– Se quest'uomo è caduto qui, ha dovuto afferrarsi per istinto a quella punta di scoglio... vedete? si direbbe che c'è ancora del sangue.
Suo marito vi buttò il sigaro spento, e volse le spalle; ella rabbrividì, come se avesse visto profanare una tomba, si fece rossa, e si rizzò per andarsene. Era una graziosa bruna, palliduccia, delicata, nervosa, con grandi e begli occhi neri e profondi; il piede le sdrucciolò un istante sul sasso mal fermo, vacillò, e dovette afferrarsi alla mano di Luciano.
– Grazie! gli disse con un sorriso intraducibile. Si direbbe che l'abisso mi chiama.
## II
Il pranzo era stato eccellente; non per nulla il signor Giordano preferiva la campana del desinare alle leggende del Castello. Verso le undici alla villa si pestava sul piano, si saltava nel salotto, e si giuocava a carte nelle altre stanze. La signora Matilde era andata a prendere una boccata d'aria in giardino, e s'era dimenticata di una polca che avea promessa al signor Luciano, il quale la cercava da mezz'ora.
– Alfine! le disse scorgendola. E la nostra polca?
– Ci tiene proprio?
– Molto.
– Se la lasciassimo lì?
– Povera polca!
– Francamente, sa... Ella racconta così bene certe storie, che non l'avrei creduto un ballerino cotanto arrabbiato...
– Ci crede dunque alle storie?
– Ma... secondo il quarto d'ora.
Il silenzio era profondo; il vento cacciava le nuvole rapidamente, e di tanto in tanto faceva stormire gli alberi del giardino; il cielo era inargentato a strappi; le ombre sembravano inseguirsi sulla terra illuminata dalla luna, e il mormorìo del mare e quel sussurrìo delle foglie, sommesso, ad intervalli, a quell'ora aveano un non so che di misterioso. La signora Matilde volse gli occhi qua e là, in aria distratta, e li posò sulla mole nera e gigantesca del castello che disegnavasi con profili fantastici su quel fondo cangiante ad ogni momento. La luce e le ombre si alternavano rapidamente sulle rovine, e un arbusto che avea messo radici sul più alto rivellino, agitavasi di tanto in tanto, come un grottesco fantasma che s'inchinasse verso l'abisso.
– Vede? diss'ella con quel sorriso incerto e colla voce mal ferma. C'è qualche cosa che vive e si agita lassù!
– Gli spettri della leggenda.
– Chissà!
– Cotesto è il quarto d'ora delle storie...
– Oppure...
– Oppure cosa?
– Chissà... Cosa fa mio marito?
– Giuoca a tresette.
– E la signora Olani?
– Sta a guardare.
– Ah!...
– Mi racconti la sua storia... riprese da lì a poco, con singolare vivacità – se non le rincresce per la sua polca.
La storia che Luciano raccontò era strana davvero!
## III
La seconda moglie del barone d'Arvelo era una Monforte, nobile come il re e povera come Giobbe, forte come un uomo d'arme e tagliata in modo da rispondere per le rime alla galanteria un po' manesca di Don Garzia, e da promettergli una nidiata di d'Arvelo, numerosi come le uova che avrebbe potuto covare la chioccia più massaia di Trezza. Prima delle nozze, le avevano detto degli spiriti che si sentivano nel Castello, e che la notte era un gran tramestìo pei corridoi e per le sale, che si trovavano usci aperti e finestre spalancate, senza sapere come né da chi – usci e finestre ch'erano stati ben chiusi il giorno innanzi – che si udivano gemiti dell'altro mondo, e scrosci di risa da far venire la pelle d'oca al più ardito scampaforche che avesse tenuto alabarda e vestito arnese. Donna Isabella avea risposto che, fra lei e un marito come al vedere prometteva esserlo don Garzia, ella non avrebbe avuto paura di tutte le streghe di Spagna e di Sicilia, né di tutti i diavoli dell'inferno. Ed era donna da tener parola.
La prima volta che si svegliò nel letto dove avea dormito l'ultima notte la povera donna Violante, mentre Grazia, la cameriera della prima moglie del barone, le recava il cioccolatte e apriva le finestre, ancora mezzo addormentata, domandò svogliatamente:
– E così, come va che gli spiriti non hanno ballato il trescone di benvenuto alla nuova castellana?
– Non s'è sentito stanotte?... rispose la povera Grazia, che anche a parlare ne avea una gran paura.
– Sì, ho udito il russare di Don Garzia; e ti so dire che russa come dieci guardie vallone.
– Vuol dire che il cappellano ha benedetto la camera meglio delle altre volte.
– Ah! sarà così, oppure che faccio paura al diavolo e agli spiriti.
– O che sarà per domani.
– Eh! hanno dunque il loro cerimoniale, messeri gli spiriti, come nostro signore il re? Racconta dunque!
– Io non so nulla, madonna.
– Chi lo sa?
– Mamma Lucia, Brigida, Maso il cuoco, Anselmo ed il Rosso, i due valletti di messere il barone, e messer Bruno, il capocaccia.
– E cosa hanno visto costoro?
– Nulla.
– Nulla! Cosa hanno udito dunque?
– Hanno udito ogni sorta di cose, che Dio ce ne liberi!
– E da quando si sono udite di queste cose che Dio ce ne liberi?
– Dacché è morta la povera donna Violante, la prima moglie di messere.
– Qui?
– Proprio qui, in questo lato del castello soltanto; ma dalla cima dei merli sino in fondo alle cucine, di cui le finestre danno sulla corte.
La baronessa si mise a ridere, e la sera narrò al marito quel che le era stato detto. Don Garzia, invece di riderne anch'esso, montò in una tal collera che mai la maggiore, e incominciò a bestemmiar Dio e i santi come donna Isabella non avea visto né udito fare dagli staffieri più staffieri che fossero a casa de' suoi fratelli, e a minacciare che se avesse saputo chi si permetteva di spargere cotali fandonie, l'avrebbe fatto saltare dal più alto rivellino del castello. La baronessa fu estremamente sorpresa che quel pezzo di uomo, il quale non doveva aver paura nemmen del diavolo, avesse dato tanto peso a delle sciocche storielle, e in cuor suo ne fu contenta, ché si sentiva più degna del marito di portare i calzoni, e di far la castellana come andava fatto.
– Dormite in santa pace, madonna – le disse Don Garzia – ché qui, nel castello e fuori, pel giro di dieci leghe, sin dove arriva il mio buon diritto e la mia buona spada, non c'è a temere altro che la mia collera.
Però la baronessa, sia che le parole del marito l'avessero colpita, sia che delle sciocchezze udite le fosse rimasta qualcosa in mente, si svegliò di soprassalto verso la mezzanotte, credendo d'avere udito, o d'aver sognato, un rumore indistinto, non molto lontano, proprio dietro la parete dell'alcova. Stette in ascolto con un po' di batticuore; ma non s'udiva più nulla, la lampada notturna ardeva ancora, e il barone russava della meglio. Ella non ardì svegliarlo, ma non poté ripigliar sonno. Il giorno dopo la sua donna la trovò pallida e accigliata, e mentre la pettinava dinanzi allo specchio, la baronessa, coi piedi sugli alari e bene avvolta nella sua veste da camera di broccato, le domandò, dopo avere esitato alquanto:
– Orsù, dimmi quel che sai degli spiriti del castello.
– Io non so altro che quel che ho udito raccontare dal Rosso e da Brigida. Volete che vi chiami Brigida?
– No! rispose con vivacità donna Isabella. Anzi non dire ad anima viva che io te n'abbia parlato... Raccontami tu quel che t'hanno detto Brigida e il Rosso.
– Brigida, quando dormiva nella stanzuccia accanto al corridoio qui vicino, udiva tutte le notti, poco prima o poco dopo dei dodici colpi della campana grossa, aprire la finestra che dà sul ballatoio, e la porta del corridoio. La prima volta che Brigida udì quel rumore fu la seconda domenica dopo Pasqua, la ragazza avea avuto la febbre e non poteva dormire; l'indomani tutti coloro ai quali raccontò il fatto credettero che fosse stato inganno della febbre; ma la poverina a misura che il giorno tramontava aveva una gran paura, e cominciò a parlare in tal modo del gran va e vieni della notte, che tutti credettero fosse delirante, e mamma Lucia rimase a dormire con lei. L'indomani anche mamma Lucia disse che in quella camera non avrebbe voluto dormire una seconda volta per tutto l'oro del mondo. Allora anche coloro i quali s'erano mostrati più increduli cominciarono ad informarsi e del come e del quando, e Maso raccontò quello che non avea voluto dire per timore di farsi dar la baia dai più coraggiosi. Da più di un mese avea udito rumore anche nel tinello, e s'era accorto che gli spiriti facevano man bassa sulla credenza. A poco a poco raccontò pure quel che avea visto.
– Visto?
– Sì, madonna; sospettando che alcuno dei guatteri gli giocasse quel tiro, si appostò nell'andito, dietro il tinello, col suo gran coltellaccio alla cintola, e attese la mezzanotte, ora in cui solevasi udire il rumore. Quando tutt'a un tratto – non si udiva ronzare nemmeno una mosca – si vede comparir dinanzi un gran fantasma bianco, il quale gli arriva addosso senza dire né ahi né ohi, e gli passa rasente senza fare altro rumore di quel che possa fare un topo che va a caccia del formaggio vecchio. Il povero cuoco non volle saperne altro, e fu per farne una bella e buona malattia.
– Ah! disse la baronessa ridendo. E cosa fece in seguito?
– Non fece nulla, fece acqua in bocca, andò a confessarsi, a comunicarsi, ed ogni sera, prima di mettersi in letto, non mancava di farsi due volte la croce anziché una volta, e di raccomandarsi ben bene a tutte le anime del purgatorio che sogliono gironzare la notte, in busca di _requiem_ e di suffragi.
– Giacché sono degli spiriti i quali rubano in tinello come dei gatti affamati o dei guatteri ladri, se fossi stata messer Maso, invece d'infilar paternostri, mi sarei raccomandata alla mia miglior lama, onde cercare di scoprire chi fosse il gaglioffo che si permetteva di scambiar le parti coi fantasmi.
– Oh madonna, fu quel che disse il Rosso, il quale è un pezzo di giovanotto che il diavolo istesso, che è il diavolo, non gli farebbe paura; e si mise a rider forte, e gli disse bastargli l'animo di prendere lo spirito, il fantasma, il diavolo stesso per le corna, e fargli vomitare tutto il ben di Dio di cui dicevasi si desse una buona satolla in cucina; mai non l'avesse fatto! La notte seguente s'apposta anche lui nel corridoio, come avea fatto il cuoco, colla sua brava partigiana in mano, ed aspetta un'ora, due, tre. Infine comincia a credere che Maso si sia burlato di lui, o che il vino gli abbia fatto dire una burletta, e comincia ad addormentarsi, così seduto sulla panca e colle spalle al muro. Quand'ecco tutt'a un tratto, tra veglia e sonno, si vede dinanzi una figura bianca, la quale toccava il tetto col capo, e stava ritta dinanzi a lui, senza muoversi, senza che avesse fatto il minimo rumore nel venire, senza che si sapesse da dove fosse venuta; un po' di barlume veniva dalla lampada posta nella sala delle guardie, dal vano dell'arco al disopra della parete, e il Rosso giura d'aver visto i due occhi che il fantasma fissava su di lui, lucenti come quelli di un gatto soriano. Il Rosso, o non fosse ancora ben sveglio, o provasse un po' di paura a quella sùbita apparizione, senza dire né una né due, mise mano alla sua partigiana e menò tal colpo da spaccare in due un toro, fosse stato di bronzo; ma la spada gli si rompe in mano, così come se fosse stata di vetro, o avesse urtato contro il muro; si vide un fuoco d'artifizio di faville, a guisa dei razzi che si sparano per la festa della Madonna dell'Ognina, e il fantasma scomparve, né più né meno di come fa un soffio di vento, lasciando il Rosso atterrito, col suo troncone di spada in mano, e talmente pallido da far paura agli altri che lo videro per i primi, e d'allora in poi, invece di chiamarlo il Rosso gli dicono il Bianco.
La baronessa rideva ancora in aria d'incredulità; ma le sue ciglia si corrugavano di tanto in tanto, e pur tenendo gli occhi fissi nello specchio, non avea badato né al come Grazia la stesse pettinando, né al come le avesse increspato i cannoncini della sua gorgierina ricamata. O che la convinzione della cameriera fosse talmente sincera da esser comunicativa, o che il sogno della notte avesse fatto una potente impressione su di lei, pensava più che non volesse alla notte che doveva passare un'altra volta in quella medesima alcova.
– E cosa si dice nel castello di coteste apparizioni? domandò dopo un silenzio di qualche durata.
– Madonna...
– Parla!
– Madonna... si dicono delle sciocchezze...
– Raccontamele.
– Messere il barone andrebbe su tutte le furie se lo sapesse.
– Tanto meglio! raccontamele.
– Madonna... io sono una povera fanciulla... Sono una ignorante... Avrò parlato senza sapere quel che mi dicessi... Messere il barone mi butterebbe dalla finestra più facilmente ch'io non butti via questo pettine che non serve più. Per carità, madonna, non vogliate espormi alla collera di messere!
– Preferiresti esporti alla mia? esclamò la baronessa aggrottando le ciglia.
– Ahimè!... Madonna!
– Orsù, spicciati; voglio saper tutto quel che si dice, ti ripeto, e bada che se la collera del barone è pericolosa, la mia non ischerza.
– Si dice che sia l'anima della povera donna Violante, la prima moglie del barone, rispose Grazia messa alle strette, e tutta tremante.
– Come è morta donna Violante?
– S'è buttata in mare.
– Lei?
– Proprio lei, dal ballatoio mezzo rovinato che gira dinanzi alle finestre del corridoio grande, sugli scogli che stanno laggiù; in fondo al precipizio fu trovato il suo velo bianco... Era la notte del secondo giovedì dopo Pasqua.
– E perché s'è uccisa?
– Chi lo sa? Messere dormiva tranquillamente accanto a lei, fu svegliato da un gran grido, non se la trovò più al fianco, e prima che fosse ben sveglio vide una figura bianca la quale fuggiva. Si udì un gran baccano pel castello, tutti furono in piedi in men che non si dica un _'avemaria_ , si trovarono gli usci e le finestre del gran corridoio spalancati, e il barone che correva sul ballatoio come un gatto inferocito; se non era il capocaccia, il quale l'afferrò a tempo, il barone sarebbe caduto dal parapetto rovinato, nel punto dove cominciava la scala per la torretta di guardia, di cui non rimangono altro che le testate degli scalini. Il fantasma era scomparso giusto in quel luogo.
La baronessa s'era fatta pensierosa.
– È strano! mormorò.
– Della povera signora non rimase né si vide altro che quel velo; nella cappella del castello e nella chiesa del villaggio furono dette delle messe per tre giorni, in suffragio della morta, e una gran folla assisté ginocchioni ai funerali, ché tutti le volevano un ben dell'anima per le gran limosine che faceva quand'era in vita; però, sebbene messere avesse dato ordine che le esequie fossero quali si convenivano a così ricca e potente signora, e la bara, colle armi della famiglia ricamate sulle quattro punte della coltre, stesse tre dì e tre notti nella cappella, con più di quaranta ceri accesi continuamente, e lo stendardo grande ai piedi dell'altare, e drappelloni e scudi intorno che mai non si vide pompa più grande, il barone partì immediatamente, né si vide mai più al castello prima d'ora.
– Meno male! mormorò donna Isabella. Don Garzia non m'ha detto nulla di ciò, ma è bene ch'io lo sappia.
– Alcuni pescatori poi ch'erano andati sul mare assai prima degli altri, raccontano d'aver visto l'anima della baronessa, tutta vestita di bianco, come una santa che ella era, sulla porta della guardiola lassù, e passeggiava tranquillamente su e giù per la scala rovinata, ove un gabbiano avrebbe paura ad appollaiarsi, quasi stesse camminando su di un bel tappeto turco, e nella miglior sala del castello.
– Ah! esclamò la baronessa; e non disse altro, si alzò e andò a mettersi alla finestra.
Il giorno era tiepido e bello, e il sole festante che entrava dall'alta finestra sembrava rallegrasse la tetra camera; ma donna Isabella non se ne avvedeva, sembrava meditabonda, e voltandosi a un tratto verso la Grazia:
– Mostrami dov'è caduta donna Violante, le disse.
– Colà in quel punto dove il muro è rotto e cominciava la scala per la guardiola della sentinella, quando vi si metteva sentinella.
– E perché non ci si mette più adesso? domandò la baronessa con un singolare interesse.
– Bisognerebbe aver le ali per arrampicarsi lassù; adesso che la scala è rovinata il più ardito manovale non metterebbe i piedi su quel che rimane degli scalini.
– Ah, è vero!...
E rimase contemplando lungamente la torricciuola, la quale isolata com'era sembrava attaccarsi, paurosa dell'abisso che spalancavasi al di sotto, alla cortina massiccia, e gli avanzi della scalinata, cadenti, smantellati, senza parapetto, sospesi in aria a quattrocento piedi dal precipizio sembravano un addentellato per qualche costruzione fantastica.
– Infatti, mormorò come parlando fra di sé, sarebbe impossibile; c'è da averne il capogiro soltanto a guardare.
Si tirò indietro bruscamente, e chiuse la finestra.
Grazia, vedendo la sua beffarda padrona così accigliata, e accorgendosi che la sua storia avea fatto tale inattesa impressione su di lei, sentiva una tale paura come se avesse dovuto passare la notte nella camera di Rosalia.
– Ahimè! Madonna, io ho detto tutto per obbedirvi e senza pensare che ci va della mia vita se lo risapesse il barone. Abbiate pietà di me, madonna!
– Non temere, rispose donna Isabella con un singolare sorriso; coteste cose, vere o false, non si raccontano al mio signore e marito. Ma dimmi anche quel che si dice del motivo che abbia spinto donna Violante ad uccidersi; poiché un motivo qualunque ci sarà stato; qualcosa si dirà, a torto o a ragione, di'.
– Giuro per le cinque piaghe di Nostro Signore e per la sua santa giornata di venerdì che è oggi, che non si dice nulla, o almeno che non so nulla. Da principio, quando si è incominciato a sentire dei gemiti nelle notti di temporale, ed anche tutte le notti dal sabato alla domenica, e tutte le volte che fa la luna, o che qualche disgrazia deve avvenire nel castello o nei dintorni, si credeva che la baronessa fosse morta in peccato mortale, e perciò la sua anima chiedesse aiuto dall'altro mondo, mentre i demoni l'attanagliavano; ma poi Beppe, il pescatore, raccontò la visione che gli apparve sull'alto della guardiola, e alcuni giorni dopo quel bravo vecchio di suo zio Gaspare la ebbe confermata, e si ebbe la certezza che l'anima benedetta della baronessa era in luogo di salvazione, e si pensò invece a quella di Corrado il paggio, poveretto!
– Come era morto il paggio? s'era ucciso anche lui?
– Non era morto, era scomparso.
– Quando?
– Due giorni prima della morte di donna Violante.
– E chi l'avea fatto sparire?
– Chi!... balbettò la ragazza facendosi pallida. – Ma chi può far sparire un'anima del Signore e portarsela a casa sua, come un lupo ruba una pecora? – Messer demonio.
– Ah! era dunque un gran peccatore cotesto messer Corrado!
– No, madonna, era il giovane più bello e gentile che sia stato al castello.
La baronessa si mise a ridere.
– Eh! mia povera Grazia, quelli sono i peccatori che messer demonio suol rapire a cotesta maniera!... E poi, rifacendosi pensosa, volse un lungo e profondo sguardo su quel letto dove il gemito pauroso l'avea fatta sussultare la notte.
– Quando si odono questi gemiti dell'altro mondo? domandò.
– In quelle notti in cui il fantasma non si fa vedere.
– È strano! E dove?
– Qui, Madonna, in quest'alcova, nell'andito che c'è accanto, nel corridoio che passa vicino a questa camera, e nello spogliatoio che è dietro l'alcova.
– Insomma qui vicino?
Per tutta risposta Grazia, si fece il segno della croce.
La baronessa strinse le labbra tutt'a un tratto.
– Va bene, le disse bruscamente. Ora vattene. Non temere. Non dirò nulla di quel che mi hai detto.
## IV
Donna Isabella passò la giornata ad esaminare minutamente tutte le stanze, anditi, e corridoi vicini alla sua camera, e don Garzia le chiese inutilmente il motivo della sua preoccupazione. La notte dormì poco e agitata, ma non udì nulla; soltanto il vento che s'era levato verso l'alba faceva sbattere una delle finestre che davano sul ballatoio.
L'indomani la baronessa era ancora in letto, quando da dietro il cortinaggio udì il seguente dialogo fra suo marito e il Rosso che l'aiutava a calzare i grossi stivaloni:
– Dimmi un po', mariuolo, cos'è stato tutto questo baccano che hanno fatto le mie finestre stanotte?
Il Rosso si grattò il capo e rispose:
– È stato che un'ora prima dell'alba si è messo a soffiare lo scirocco.
– Sarà benissimo, ma se le finestre fossero state ben chiuse, lo scirocco non avrebbe potuto farle ballare come una ragazza che abbia il male di San Vito. Ora bada bene al tuo dovere, marrano! ché intendo tutto vada come l'orologio ch'è sul campanile della chiesa, adesso che son qua io.
– Messere, voi siete il padrone, rispose il Rosso esitando, ma quella finestra lì bisogna lasciarla aperta.
– Dimmi il perché.
– Perché quando la finestra non resta aperta... si sente!
– Eh?
– Si sente, messere!
– Malannaggia l'anima tua! urlò il barone dando di piglio ad uno stivale per buttarglielo in faccia.
– Messere, voi potete ammazzarmi, se volete, ma ho detto la verità.
– Chi te l'ha soffiata cotesta verità, briccone maledetto?
– Ho visto e udito come vedo ed odo voi, che siete in collera per mia disgrazia e senza mia colpa.
– Tu?
– Io stesso.
– Tu mi rubi il vino della mia cantina, scampaforche!
– Io non avevo bevuto né acqua né vino, messere.
– Tu mi diventi poltrone, dunque! un gatto che fa all'amore ti fa paura. Diventi vecchio, Rosso mio, arnese da ferrivecchi, e ti butterò fuori del castello con un calcio più sotto delle reni.
– Messere, io sono buono ancora a qualche cosa, quando mi metterete di faccia a una dozzina di diavoli in carne e ossa, che possano raggiungersi con un buon colpo di partigiana, o che possano ammazzare me come un cane; ma contro un nemico il quale non ha né carne né ossa, e vi rompe il ferro nelle mani come voi fareste di un fil di paglia, per l'anima che darei al primo cane che la volesse! non so cosa potreste fare voi stesso, sebbene siate tenuto il più indiavolato barone di Sicilia.
Il barone questa volta si grattò il capo, e si accigliò, ma senza collera, o almeno senza averla col Rosso. – Orbè, gli disse, chiudimi bene tutte le finestre stanotte, e vattene a dormire senza pensare ad altro.
Donna Isabella si levò pallida e silenziosa più del solito.
– Avreste paura? domandò don Garzia.
– Io non ho paura di nulla! rispose secco secco la baronessa.
Ma la notte non poté chiudere occhio, e mentre suo marito russava come un contrabbasso, ella si voltava e rivoltava pel letto, e ad un tratto, scuotendolo bruscamente pel braccio, e rizzandosi a sedere cogli occhi sbarrati e pallida in viso – Ascoltate! gli disse.
Don Garzia sbarrò gli occhi anche lui, e vedendola così, si rizzò a sedere sul letto e mise mano alla spada.
– No! diss'ella, la vostra spada non vi servirà a nulla.
– Cosa avete udito?
– Ascoltate!
Entrambi rimasero immobili, zitti, intenti; alfine Don Garzia buttò la spada con dispetto in mezzo alla camera e si ricoricò sacramentando.
– Mi diventate matta anche voi! borbottò – quella canaglia del Rosso vi ha fatto girare il capo! gli taglierò le orecchie a quel mariuolo.
– Zitto! esclamò la donna nuovamente, e questa volta con tal voce, con tali occhi, che il barone non osò replicare motto. Udiste?
– Nulla! per l'anima mia!
Ad un tratto si rizzò a sedere una seconda volta, se non pallido e turbato come la sua donna, almeno curioso ed attento, e cominciò a vestirsi; mentre infilava gli stivali trasalì vivamente.
– Udite! ripeté donna Isabella facendosi la croce.
Egli attaccò una grossa bestemmia invece della croce; saltò sulla spada che avea gettato in mezzo alla camera, e così com'era, mezzo svestito, colla spada nuda in pugno, al buio, si slanciò nell'andito che era dietro all'alcova.
Ritornò poco dopo. – Nulla! disse, le finestre son chiuse, ho percorso il corridoio, l'andito, lo spogliatoio; siamo matti voi ed io; lasciatemi dormire in pace adesso, giacché se domani il Rosso venisse a sapere quel che ho fatto stanotte, e sino a qual segno sia stato imbecille, dovrei vergognarmi anche di lui.
Né si udì più nulla; la baronessa rimase sveglia, e Don Garzia, sebbene avesse attaccato di nuovo due o tre russate sonore, non poté dormire di seguito come al solito; all'alba si alzò con tal cera che il Rosso, spicciatosi alla svelta dei soliti servigi, stava per battersela.
– Chiamami Bruno; gli disse il barone, e ricominciò a passeggiar per la camera, mentre la baronessa stava pettinandosi. Donna Isabella, preoccupata, lo seguiva colla coda dell'occhio, e lo vide andare per l'andito, l'udì camminare nello spogliatoio; poi lo vide ritornare scuotendo il capo, e mormorando fra di sé: No! è impossibile!...
Bruno e il Rosso comparvero. – Vecchio mio, gli disse il barone, ti senti di buscarti un bel ducato d'oro, e passare una notte nel corridoio qui accanto, senza tremare come la rocca di una donnicciuola cui si parli di spiriti?
– Messere, io mi sento di far tutto quel che comandate, rispose Bruno ma non senza alquanto esitare.
Il barone che conosceva da un pezzo il suo Bruno per un bravaccio indurito a tutte le prove, fu sorpreso da quell'esitazione, e dallo scorgere che il Bruno, contro ogni aspettativa, s'era fatto serio.
– Per l'inferno! gridò battendo un gran pugno sulla tavola, mi diventate tutti un branco di poltroni qui!
– Messere, per provarvi come poltroni non lo siamo tutti, farò quel che mi ordinerete.
– E anch'io, rispose il Rosso, vergognoso di non esser messo alla prova invece del capocaccia. Così, non avrete più a dubitare delle parole nostre.
– Orbene! giacché tutti avete visto, giacché tutti avete udito, giacché tutti avete toccato con mano, fatemi buona guardia stanotte, appostatevi sul cammino che suol tenere cotesto gaglioffo che ha messo la tremarella addosso a tutta la mia gente. Da qual parte si suol vedere questo fantasma?
– Nel corridoio qui accanto, di solito... Ma nessuno ha più visto nulla dacché quest'ala del castello non è stata più abitata...
– Tu, Bruno, ti porrai a guardia dietro l'uscio che mette nella sala grande, e il Rosso dietro la finestra, in capo al corridoio. Allorché cotesto spirito malnato sarà dentro, e voi avrete accanto le vostre brave daghe, e non vi tremerà né la mano né il cuore, il ribaldo non potrà scappare altro che dalla mia camera... e allora, pel mio Dio o pel suo Diavolo! l'avrà da fare con me. Andate, e buona guardia!
– Io credo che fareste meglio ad ordinare delle messe per l'anima della vostra donna Violante; gli disse la baronessa seria seria, allorquando furono soli.
Il barone fu sul punto di mettersi in collera, ma seppe padroneggiarsi, e rispose in aria di scherno:
– Da quando in qua mi siete divenuta credula come una femminuccia, moglie mia?
– Dacché vedo ed odo cose che non ho mai udite né viste.
– Cos'avete udito, di grazia?
– Quel che avete udito voi! ribatté essa senza scomporsi.
Don Garzia s'accigliò. – Io non ho udito né visto nulla: esclamò dispettosamente.
– Ed io ho visto voi come vi vedo in questo momento, e come sareste sorpreso voi stesso di vedervi se lo poteste!
– Ah! esclamò il barone con un riso che mostrava i suoi denti bianchi ed aguzzi al pari di quelli di un lupo, è che mi avete fatto girare il capo anche a me, ed ho paura anch'io!
– Credete che io abbia paura, messere?
Il messere non rispose e andò a mettersi alla finestra di un umore più nero delle grosse nuvole che s'accavallavano sull'orizzonte.
## V
Il barone fu insolitamente sobrio a cena quella sera. Donna Isabella andò a coricarsi senza dire una parola, senza fare un'osservazione, ma pallida e seria. Don Garzia, quando si fu accertato che il Rosso e Bruno erano già al loro posto, andò a letto e disse alla moglie motteggiando:
– Stanotte vedremo se il diavolo ci lascerà la coda.
Donna Isabella non rispose, ma Don Garzia non russò e dormì di un occhio solo.
Mezzanotte era suonata da un pezzo, il barone avea levato il capo ascoltando i dodici tocchi, poi s'era voltato e rivoltato pel letto due o tre volte, avea sbadigliato, infine s'era addormentato per davvero. Tutto era tranquillo, e taceva anche il vento; Donna Isabella, che era stata desta sino allora, cominciava ad assopirsi.
Ad un tratto un grido terribile rimbombò per l'immenso corridoio; era un grido supremo di terrore, di delirio, che non poteva riconoscersi a qual voce appartenesse, che non avea nulla d'umano; nello stesso tempo si udì un gran tramestìo, l'uscio e la finestra della camera furono spalancati con impeto, quasi da un violento colpo di vento, e al lume dubbio della lampada parve che una figura bianca in un baleno attraversasse la camera e fuggisse dalla finestra.
La baronessa, agghiacciata dal terrore fra le coltri, vide il marito slanciarsi dietro il fantasma colla spada in pugno, e saltare dalla finestra sul ballatoio. Egli correva come un forsennato, seguito da Bruno, inseguendo il fantasma che fuggiva come un uccello, sull'orlo del parapetto rovinato; entrambi, coi capelli irti sul capo, videro al certo, non fu illusione, la bianca figura arrampicarsi leggermente pei sassi che sporgevano ancora dalla cortina, al posto dov'era stata la scala, e sparire nel buio.
– Per la Madonna dell'Ognina! esclamò il barone dopo alcuni istanti di stupore, lo toccherò colla mia spada, o che si prenda l'anima mia, s'è il diavolo in carne ed ossa!
Don Garzia non credeva né a Dio né al Diavolo, sebbene li rispettasse entrambi; ma senza saper perché, si ricordò delle parole dettegli da Donna Isabella la mattina, e fremette.
Donna Isabella non gli avea fatto la più semplice domanda, o si spaventasse a farla, o la credesse inutile. Il barone del resto era di tale umore da non permetterne taluna. L'indomani però dissegli risolutamente che non intendeva dormire più oltre in quella camera.
– Aspettate ancora stanotte, rispose il marito, farò buona guardia io stesso, e se domani non riderete delle vostre paure, vi lascerò padrona di far quel che meglio vorrete.
Ella non osò aggiunger verbo, soltanto qualche momento dopo gli domandò:
– Di che malattia è morta la vostra prima moglie, messere?
Ei la guardò bieco, e rispose:
– Di mal caduco, madonna.
– Io non avrò cotesto male, vi prometto! disse ella con strano accento.
Don Garzia, insieme a tutti i vizi del soldato di ventura e del gentiluomo-brigante, ne avea la sola virtù: una bravura a tutta prova. Egli fece quel che non osava più fare Bruno, il terribile Bruno, e per cui era mezzo morto anche il Rosso, giovanotto ardito se mai ce ne fossero; e passò tre notti di seguito nel corridoio, senza batter ciglio, senza muoversi più che non si muovesse il pilastro al quale stava appoggiato, colla mano sull'elsa della spada e l'orecchio teso: il vento sbatteva le imposte della finestra ch'era stata lasciata aperta per ordine suo, i gufi svolazzavano sul ballatoio, i pipistrelli s'inseguivano stridendo pel corridoio; il lume della lampada riverberavasi pel vano dell'arco della sala delle guardie e sembrava vacillante; ma del resto tutto era queto, e don Garzia sarebbesi stancato di passar le notti in sentinella, come un uomo d'armi, se il ricordo di quel che avea visto coi propri occhi non fosse stato ancora profondamente impresso nella sua mente, e se una parola della moglie non gli avesse messo in corpo una di quelle preoccupazioni che non lasciano più dormire né lo spirito né il corpo, uno di quei dubbi che imperiosamente domandano uno schiarimento; la sua coscienza dormiva ancora; ma le sue reminiscenze, talune circostanze lasciate passare inosservate, si svegliavano ad un tratto, gli si rizzavano dinnanzi in forma di tal sospetto, che don Garzia, zotico, brutale, dispotico signore, scettico e superstizioso ad un tempo, ma in fondo sinceramente barone, vale a dire ossequioso al re, alla legge e alla chiesa, che lo facevano quello che egli era, se ne sentiva padroneggiato, e provava il bisogno di scioglierlo colla persuasione, o colla spada.
Era la quarta notte che don Garzia attendeva; il mare era in tempesta, il tuono scuoteva il castello dalle fondamenta, la grandine scrosciava impetuosamente sui vetri, e le banderuole dei torrioni gemevano ad intervalli; di tanto in tanto un lampo solcava il buio del corridoio per tutta la sua lunghezza, e sembrava gettarvi un'onda di spettri; tutt'a un tratto il lume ch'era nella sala delle guardie si spense.
Don Garzia rimase al buio. Le tenebre che lo avvolgevano sembravano stringerlo ed opprimerlo da tutte le parti, soffocargli il respiro nel petto, la voce nella gola, e inchiodargli il ferro nella guaina; improvvisamente quel soldataccio risoluto sentì un brivido che gli penetrava tutte le ossa: fra le tenebre, in mezzo a tutti quei rumori varii, confusi, ma che aveano un non so che di pauroso, parvegli udire un altro rumore più vicino, più spaventoso, tale da far battere di febbre il polso di quell'uomo; le tenebre si squarciarono in un lampo, e videsi di faccia, ritta, immobile, quella figura bianca che aveva visto fuggire un'altra volta dinanzi a lui, e d'allora in poi l'aveva inseguito nella coscienza o nel pensiero, – ora lo guardava con occhi lucenti e terribili. Tutto ciò non fu che un istante, una visione; – coi capelli irti, vibrò una botta formidabile, sentì l'elsa urtare contro qualche cosa, udì un grido di morte che gli agghiacciò tutto il sangue nelle vene, e in un delirio di terrore gli fece ritirare la spada e fare un salto indietro, atterrito, chiamando la sua gente con quanta voce aveva in corpo.
Scorsero due o tre minuti terribili, in cui non si udì più nulla; egli rimase in mezzo a quel buio, vicino a quella _cosa_ che la sua spada aveva toccato. Pel castello si udì un gran trambusto, si vide correre della gente, e sulle pareti cominciarono a riflettersi le fiaccole dei valletti. Don Garzia si slanciò sull'uscio gridando:
– Non entri nessuno all'infuori del Bruno, se v'è cara la vita!
Tutti s'erano fermati attoniti vedendo il barone così pallido, coll'occhio stralunato e la spada in pugno, ancora macchiata di sangue. Bruno entrò, e vide uno spettacolo orribile.
Vicino alla parete giaceva il cadavere di donna Violante, vestita del suo accappatoio bianco, com'era fuggita dal letto del marito la notte in cui s'era creduto che si fosse buttata in mare. Il viso avea pallido come cera e dimagrato enormemente, i capelli arruffati ed incolti, gli occhi spalancati, lucidi, fissi, spaventosi. La ferita era stata mortale e non sanguinava quasi, solo alcune goccie di sangue l'erano uscite dalla bocca e le rigavano il mento.
– Avevi ragione, Bruno! disse il barone con voce sorda. Non volevo crederci ai fantasmi; le credevo sciocchezze di femminuccie; ma adesso ci credo anch'io. Bisogna buttare in mare questa forma della mia povera moglie che ha preso lo spirito maligno... e senza che nessuno al castello e fuori ne sappia nulla, ché sarebbero capaci d'inventarci su non saprei quale storia assurda...
Bruno capiva e non ebbe bisogno d'altre spiegazioni; però il suo signore non dimenticò di aggiungere sottovoce:
– Senti, vecchio mio, sai bene che se la cosa si risapesse così come sembra essere avvenuta, io sarei stato bigamo e peggio, e la tua testa sarebbe assai malferma sulle tue spalle, in fede mia!
In chiesa, ricorrendo l'anniversario della morte di donna Violante, le furono resi dei pomposi e costosi suffragi; però, non si sa come, cominciavasi a buccinare al castello e fuori che _la cosa fosse proprio avvenuta come sembrava_ , e come don Garzia non voleva che sembrasse; e Bruno, il quale perciò cominciava a dubitare che la sua testa non fosse ben ferma sulle sue spalle, un bel giorno a caccia mise per distrazione una palla d'archibugio fra la prima e la seconda vertebra del suo signore.
Donna Isabella, che avea una gran paura del mal caduco, era andata a villeggiare presso la sua famiglia, e siccome l'aria le faceva bene, non era più ritornata.
## VI
Questa era la leggenda del Castello di Trezza, che tutti sapevano nei dintorni, che tutti raccontavano in modo diverso, mescolandovi gli spiriti, le anime del Purgatorio, e la Madonna dell'Ognina. I terremoti, il tempo, gli uomini, avevano ridotto un mucchio di rovine la splendida e forte dimora di signori i quali, al tempo di Artale d'Alagona, aveano sfidato impunemente la collera del re, e sembravano avervi impresso una stimmate maledetta, che dava una misteriosa attrattiva alla leggenda, e affascinava lo sguardo della signora Matilde, mentre ascoltava silenziosamente.
– E di quell'uomo? domandò improvvisamente, di quel giovanetto che per sua disgrazia non era morto cadendo nel trabocchetto, e che vi agonizzava lentamente, cosa ne è avvenuto?
– Chissà? Forse il barone avrà udito ancora dei gemiti soffocati, o delle grida disperate che imploravano la morte, forse dopo alcuni giorni, si sarà sentito odor di cadavere da quella specie di pozzo, forse avrà voluto prevenire che ciò avvenisse, – vi fece gettar della calce viva, e non si sentì più nulla.
– È una storia spaventosa! mormorò la signora Matilde. Togliamone pure i fantasmi, il suono della mezzanotte, il vento che spalanca usci e finestre, e le banderuole che gemono, è una spaventosa storia!
– Una storia la quale non sarebbe più possibile oggi che i mariti ricorrono ai Tribunali, o alla peggio si battono; rispose Luciano ridendo.
Ella gli agghiacciò il riso in bocca con uno sguardo singolare. – Lo credete? domandò.
Egli ammutolì per quello sguardo, per quell'accento, pel sentirsi dar del voi così distrattamente e a quella guisa. Sopraggiungeva il signor Giordano.
– Parlatemi d'altro, – diss'ella sottovoce, con singolare vivacità, – non discorriamo più di cotesto...
## VII
Il signor Luciano e la signora Matilde si vedevano quasi tutti i giorni, in quella piccola società d'amici che le veglie o le escursioni pei dintorni riunivano quotidianamente. La signora fu indisposta due o tre giorni, e non si fece vedere. Allorché s'incontrarono la prima volta parve così mutata a Luciano che le domandò premurosamente della salute; il contegno di lei, le sue risposte, furono così imbarazzate, che il giovane ne fu imbarazzato egli pure, senza saper perché.
Evidentemente ella lo evitava. Era sempre allegra, spiritosa ed amabile con tutti, ma con lui era cambiata. – Anche il marito avea cambiato maniere – senza che nulla fosse avvenuto, senza che una parola fosse stata detta, senza che Luciano stesso sapesse ancora perché ei fosse così turbato, perché l'imbarazzo di lei rendesse imbarazzato anche lui, e perché si fosse accorto del cambiamento del signor Giordano. Una bella sera di luna piena tutta la comitiva era uscita a passeggiare, e Luciano offrì risolutamente il braccio alla signora Matilde; ella esitò alquanto, ma non osò rifiutare: camminavano lentamente, in silenzio, mentre gli altri ciarlavano e ridevano; ad un tratto ella gli strinse il braccio, e gli disse con un soffio di voce: – Vedete!
Il signor Giordano era lì presso, dando di braccio alla signora Olani. La mano che stringeva il braccio di Luciano era convulsa e tremante, la voce avea una vibrazione insolita.
Quando il signor Giordano ebbe lasciata al cancello della villa la signora Olani, sembrò lasciare anche una maschera che si fosse imposta sino a quel momento, e mostrossi soprappensieri, taciturno e accigliato.
– Ho paura!... ho paura di lui!... mormorò Matilde sottovoce.
Luciano premette quel braccio delicato che s'appoggiava leggermente al suo, e che gli rispose tremante e gli si abbandonò confidente e innamorato, a lui che non avrebbe potuto proteggerla neppure dando tutto il sangue delle sue vene. Si volsero uno sguardo, uno sguardo solo, lucente nella penombra, – quello della donna smarrito – e chinarono gli occhi. Sull'uscio della casa si lasciarono. Ei non osò stringerle la mano.
Ella partì, né seppe giammai quali notti ardenti di visioni egli avesse passato, quali febbri l'avessero roso accanto a lei, mentre sembrava così calmo e indifferente, quante volte fosse stato a divorarla, non visto, cogli occhi, e quel che si fosse passato dentro di lui allorché sorridendo dovette dirle addio dinanzi a tutti, e quando la vide passare, rincantucciata nell'angolo della carrozza, colle guance pallide e gli occhi fissi nel vuoto, e qual nodo d'amarezza gli avesse affogato il cuore allorché rivide chiusa quella finestra dove l'avea vista tante volte. L'indovinò? indovinò egli stesso quel che avesse sofferto ella pure? Quando s'incontrarono di nuovo, dopo lungo tempo, parvero non conoscersi, non vedersi, impallidirono e non si salutarono.
Finalmente s'incontrarono un'altra volta – al ballo, in chiesa, al teatro, auspice Dio o la fatalità; ei le disse: – Come potrei vedervi? – Ella impallidì, si fece di bracia, chinò gli occhi, glieli fissò ardenti nei suoi, e rispose: – Domani.
E il domani si videro – un'ora dopo ella avea l'anima ebbra di estasi, i polsi tremanti di febbre, e gli occhi pieni di lagrime. – Perché m'avete raccontato quella storia? ripeteva balbettando come in sogno.
Era pentimento, rimprovero, o presentimento?
Alcuni mesi dopo, in autunno, la medesima compagnia d'amici s'era riunita ad Aci Castello. I due che s'amavano avevano saputo nascondere la loro febbre, o il marito avea saputo dissimulare la sua collera, o la signora Olani era stata più assorbente. Si vedevano come prima, si riunivano come prima, erano allegri, o sembravano, come prima. – Qualche fuggitivo rossore di più sulle gote, e qualche lampo negli occhi – null'altro! Si facevano le solite scampagnate, i soliti ballonzoli, si andava in barca o a cavallo sugli asini, e si progettò anche il solito pranzo sulla vecchia torre del castello. La signora Matilde mise in mezzo tutti gli ostacoli; il marito la guardò in un certo modo, e le domandò la ragione dell'insolita ripugnanza...
Andò anche lei.
Il pranzo fu allegro come quello dell'anno precedente. Si mangiò sull'erba, si ballò sull'erba, e si buttarono sull'erba le bottiglie dopo che ne furono fatti saltare i turaccioli. Si ciarlò del castello, di memorie storiche, dei Normanni e dei Saraceni, della pesca delle acciughe e dei secoli cavallereschi, e tornarono in campo le vecchie leggende, e si raccontò di nuovo a pezzi e a bocconi la storia che Luciano avea raccontato la prima volta in quel luogo medesimo, e che alcuni nuovi venuti ascoltavano con avidità, digerendo tranquillamente, ed assaggiando il buon moscato di Siracusa.
Luciano e la signora Matilde stavano zitti da lungo tempo, ed evitavano di guardarsi.
## VIII
Don Garzia d'Arvelo s'era trovato inaspettatamente, a cinquant'anni, signore dei numerosi feudi che dipendevano dalla baronia di Trezza; il barone suo nipote era stato trovato in un burrone, lungo stecchito, un bel dì, o una brutta notte, che era andato a caccia di non so qual selvaggina. Il cavaliere d'Arvelo, divenuto barone, fece impiccare preliminarmente due o tre vassalli i quali avevano la disgrazia di possedere bella selvaggina in casa, e la triste riputazione di tenere all'onore come altrettanti gentiluomini; poi era montato a cavallo, e siccome sospettavasi anche che il signore di Grevia avesse saldato in quel tal modo spicciativo alcuni vecchi conti di famiglia, era andato ad aspettarlo ad un certo crocicchio, e senza stare a sofisticare sulla probabilità del _si dice_ , avea messo il saldo alla partita.
Soddisfatti così i suoi obblighi di d'Arvelo e di signore non uso a farsi posare mosca sul naso, era andato ad assidersi tranquillamente sul seggio baronale, avea appeso la spada al chiodo del suo antecessore, e, tanto per farsi la mano da padrone, avea fatto sentire come la sua fosse di ferro a tutti quei poveri diavoli che stavano nei limiti della sua giurisdizione, ed anche delle sue scorrerie, ché un po' del predone gli era rimasto colle vecchie abitudini di cavalier di ventura. Tutti coloro che nel _requiem_ ordinato in suffragio del giovane barone avevano innestato sottovoce certi mottetti che non erano nella liturgia, ebbero a pentirsene, e dovettero ripetere, senza che sapessero di storia, il detto della vecchia di Nerone. – Lupo per lupo, il vecchio che succedeva al giovane mostrava tali ganasce e tale appetito, che al paragone il lupacchiotto morto diventava un agnellino. Il cavaliere, cadetto di grande famiglia, era stato tanto tempo ad aguzzarsi le zanne e ad ustolare attorno a tutto quel ben di Dio in cui sguazzava il nipote, capo della casa, suo signore e padrone, che malgrado le scorrerie di tutti i generi, sulle quali il fratello e poscia il nipote avevano chiuso un occhio, si poteva dire di lui che fosse affamato da cinquant'anni; sicché era naturalissimo che allorquando poté darsi una buona satolla di tutti gli intingoli del potere più sfrenato, lo fece da ghiottone, il quale abbia stomaco di struzzo.
Del resto il Re, suo signore dopo Dio, era lontano, e i d'Arvelo erano d'illustre famiglia, grandi di Spagna, di quelli che non si sberrettano né dinanzi al Re, né dinanzi a Dio, titolari di diverse cariche a Corte, baroni ricchi e potenti, un po' alleati della mano sinistra coi Barbareschi, di quei mastini insomma, che andavano lisciati pel verso del pelo. Don Garzia andò a Corte; si batté con un gentiluomo che osò ridere dei suoi baffi irsuti e dei suoi galloni consunti, e gli mise tre pollici di ferro fra le costole, prestò il suo omaggio di sudditanza al Re, il quale lo invitò alla sua tavola, e fra il caciocavallo e i fichi secchi gli disse, che poiché la famiglia d'Arvelo non avea altri successori, il suo buon piacere era che Don Garzia sposasse una damigella Castilla, la quale attendeva marito nel Monastero di Monte Vergine. Don Garzia, buon suddito e buon capo di grande famiglia, sposò la damigella senza farselo dir due volte, e senza vederla una volta sola prima di condurla all'altare, ma dopo aver ben guardato nelle pergamene della famiglia della sposa e nei quattro quarti del suo blasone; la mise in una lettiga nuova, con buona mano d'uomini d'arme e di cagnotti davanti, ai lati, e dietro, montò il suo cavallo pugliese, e se la menò a Trezza.
La sera dell'arrivo degli sposi si fecero gran luminarie al castello, nel villaggio, e nei dintorni, la campana della chiesuola suonò sino a creparne, si ballò tutta la notte sulla spiaggia, e del vino del Bosco e di Terreforti delle cantine del barone ne bevve persino il mare. Nondimeno, allorché la sposa fu entrata in quella cameraccia scura e triste, in fondo all'alcova immensa della quale ergevasi come un catafalco il talamo nuziale, non poté vincere un senso di ripugnanza e quasi di paura, e domandò al marito:
– Come va, mio signore, che essendo voi tanto ricco, avete una sì brutta cameraccia?
Don Garzia, il quale ricordavasi di dover essere galante pel quarto d'ora, rispose:
– La camera sarà bella ora che ci starete voi, madonna.
Però la prima volta che Donna Violante si svegliò in quella brutta cameraccia, e al fianco di quel brutto sire, dovette essere un gran brutto svegliarsi. Ma ell'era damigella di buona famiglia, bene educata all'obbedienza passiva, fiera soltanto del nome della sua casa e di quello che le era stato dato in tutela; era stata strappata bruscamente alla calma del suo convento, ai tranquilli diletti, ai sogni vagamente turbati della sua giovinezza, ad un romanzetto appena abbozzato, ed era stata gettata, – ella che avea sangue di re nelle vene, – nell'alcova di quel marrano, cui per caso era caduto in capo un berretto di barone: ella avea accettato quel marrano perché il Re, il capo della sua famiglia, le leggi della sua casta glielo imponevano, e avea soffocato la sua ripugnanza allorché la mano nera e callosa di quel vecchio s'era posata sulle sue spalle bianche e superbe, perché era suo marito: dolce e gentile com'era, cercava a furia di dolci e gentili maniere raddolcire quel vecchio lupo che le ringhiava accanto, e le mostrava i denti aguzzi allorché voleva sembrare amabile. Però quello non era tal lupo cui l'acqua santa del matrimonio potesse far cambiare di pelo; e quanto a vizi avea tutti quelli che s'incontrano sulla strada di un soldato di ventura, dietro le insegne delle bettole. Per giunta, e per disgrazia, Donna Violante dopo due anni di matrimonio non solo non avea messo al mondo il dito mignolo d'un baroncino, ma non avea nemmen l'aria di darsene per intesa, e d'aver capito il motivo per cui Don Garzia s'era tolto in casa la noia e la spesa di una moglie. Quella moglie delicata, linfatica, colle mani bianche, che gli parlava a voce bassa, che arrossiva alle sue canzonette allegre ed alle sue esclamazioni gioviali, che scappava spaventata allorché il sire si metteva di buon umore, che non gli sapeva condire i suoi intingoli prediletti, e che non era stata buona nemmeno a dargli un successore, gli faceva l'effetto d'un ninnolo di lusso, da tenersi sotto chiave come i diamanti di famiglia; perciò lungi di smettere le sue abitudini di lanzichenecco, ci s'era dato della più bella, senza prendersi nemmeno la pena di nasconderlo alla moglie, la quale era così timida, e tremava talmente, allorché ei si metteva in collera alla menoma osservazione, da sembrargli stupida. Cacciava, beveva, correva pei tetti e scavalcava le siepi, e quando ritornava ubbriaco, o di cattivo umore, guai alle mosche che si permettevano di ronzare!
Un'ultima scappata di Don Garzia però avea fatto tale scandalo, che andò a colpire nel vivo quella vittima rassegnata. La fierezza di patrizia, l'amor proprio di donna, la gelosia di moglie, si ribellarono alfine in Donna Violante, e le diedero per la prima volta un'energia fittizia.
– Mio signore, dissegli con voce tremante, ma senza chinare gli occhi dinanzi al brusco cipiglio del marito, rimandatemi al convento dal quale m'avete tolta, poiché sono tanto scaduta nella vostra stima!
– Che vuol dir ciò? borbottò Don Garzia, e chi vi ha detto di esser scaduta?
– Come va dunque, che vi rispettiate così poco voi stesso, da scendere sino alla Mena?
Il barone stava per attaccare una mezza dozzina di quei sacrati che facevan tremare il castello sino dalle fondamenta, ma si contentò di sghignazzar forte:
– Da quando in qua, madonna, al castello di Trezza le galline si permettono di alzar la cresta? Badate a covarmi dei baroni, piuttosto, com'è vostro dovere, e lasciatemi cantar mattutino e compieta secondo il mio buon piacere.
La baronessa l'indomani s'era levata pallida e sofferente, ma cogli occhi luccicanti di un insolito splendore; sembrava rassegnata, ma di una rassegnazione cupa, meditabonda, lampeggiante di tratto in tratto la ribellione e la vendetta; quel marito istesso così rozzo, così brutale, fu una volta sorpreso e impensierito dell'aria indefinibile ed insolita di quella donna che posava il capo sul suo medesimo guanciale, quantunque un sol muscolo della fisonomia di lei non si movesse, e volle mostrarle che le avea perdonato la sua velleità di resistenza con un bacio avvinazzato. – Ella non lo respinse, non si mosse, rimase cogli occhi chiusi, le labbra scolorite e serrate, le guance pallide e ombreggiate dalla lunga frangia delle sue ciglia: soltanto una lagrima ardente luccicò un momento fra quelle ciglia, e scese lenta lenta.
## IX
Una sera il barone tardava a venire; la luna specchiavasi sui vetri istoriati dell'alta finestra, e il mare fiottava sommessamente. La baronessa stava da lunga pezza assorta, sulla sua alta seggiola a braccioli, col mento nella mano, distratta o meditabonda. Corrado, il bel paggio del barone d'Arvelo, le aveva domandato inutilmente due volte se gli comandasse di montare a cavallo, e d'andare in traccia del suo signore.
Alfine donna Violante gli fissò in viso lo sguardo pensoso. – Era un bel giovanetto, Corrado, dall'occhio nero e vellutato, e dalle guance brune e fresche come quelle di una vaga fanciulla di Trezza, così timido che quelle guance dorate si imporporarono alquanto sotto lo sguardo distratto della sua signora. – Ella lo fissò a lungo senza vederlo.
– No! disse poscia. Perché?...
Si alzò, andò ad aprire la finestra, e appoggiò i gomiti al davanzale. Il mare era levigato e lucente; i pescatori sparsi per la riva, o aggruppati dinanzi agli usci delle loro casipole, chiacchieravano della pesca del tonno e della salatura delle acciughe; lontan lontano, perduto fra la bruna distesa, si udiva ad intervalli un canto monotono e orientale, le onde morivano come un sospiro ai piedi dell'alta muraglia; la spuma biancheggiava un istante, e l'acre odore marino saliva a buffi, come ad ondate anch'esso. La baronessa stette a contemplare sbadatamente tutto ciò, e sorprese se stessa, sé posta così in alto nella camera dorata di quella dimora signorile, ad ascoltare con singolare interesse i discorsi di quella gente posta così in basso al piede delle sue torri. Poi guardò il vano nero di quei poveri usci, il fiammeggiare del focolare, il fumo che svolgevasi lento lento dal tetto; infine si volse bruscamente, quasi sorpresa dal paggio che, ritto sull'uscio, attendeva i suoi ordini, guardò di nuovo la spiaggia, il mare, l'orizzonte segnato da una sfumatura di luce, l'ombra degli scogli che andava e veniva coll'onda, e tornò a fissar Corrado, questa volta più lungamente. Ad un tratto arrossì, come sorpresa della sua distrazione, e per dir qualche cosa domandò sbadatamente:
– Che ora è, Corrado?
– Son le due di notte, madonna.
– Ah!
Le sue ciglia si corrugarono di nuovo, chinò gli occhi un istante, e con un suono d'amarezza indicibile:
– Tarda molto stasera il barone!...
– Non temete, madonna, la campagna è sicura, la sera è bella, e la luna non ha una nube.
– È vero! diss'ella con uno strano sorriso. È proprio una sera da amanti!...
E seguitò a fissare il giovinetto col suo sguardo da padrona, senza pensare a lui che ne era colpito.
Lasciò la finestra e andò a sedere sulla seggiola stemmata, ai piedi della quale si teneva il paggio, non più melanconica, né meditabonda, ma inquieta, agitata, e nervosa.
– Conosci la Mena? domandò ad un tratto bruscamente.
– La mugnaia del Capo dei Molini?
– Sì, la mugnaia del Capo dei Molini! ripeté con un singolare sorriso.
– La conosco, madonna.
– E anch'io! – esclamò con voce sorda. – Me l'ha fatta conoscere mio marito!
Per l'altera castellana Corrado non era altro che un domestico, un essere che portava il suo stemma ricamato sul giustacuore di velluto, e che era leggiadro, e avea la chioma bionda e inanellata per far onore alla casa. Ella dunque parlava come fra sé, colla sua eco, perché il suo cuore era troppo pieno, perché l'amarezza non s'era sfogata in lagrime, e gli fece una singolare domanda, con singolare accento e cogli occhi fissi al suolo:
– Perché non sei l'amante della Mena anche tu?
– Io, madonna?
– Sì, tutti vanno pazzi per cotesta mugnaia!
– Io sono un povero paggio, madonna!...
Ella gli fissò in viso quello sguardo accigliato, e a poco a poco le sopracciglia si spianarono.
– Povero o no, tu sei un bel paggio. Non lo sai?
I loro occhi si incontrarono un istante e si evitarono nello stesso tempo. Se la vanità del giovinetto si fosse risvegliata a quelle parole, tutto sarebbe finito fra di loro, e l'orgoglio della patrizia si sarebbe inalberato così all'audacia del paggio, che il cuore della donna si sarebbe chiuso per sempre. Ma il giovinetto sospirò, e rispose chinando gli occhi:
– Aimè madonna!
Quel sospiro aveva un'immensa attrattiva.
Mille nuovi sentimenti confusi e violenti andavano gonfiandosi nell'animo della baronessa, come le nubi su di un mare tempestoso. Ella pura, bianca, superba, ella che discendeva da principi reali e da re castigliani, non poté fare a meno di paragonare quel giovinetto ingenuo, leggiadro, che avea cuore di cavaliere sotto una livrea di domestico, a quell'uomo rozzo, brutto, villano, coronato di barone, cui s'era data, e il quale la posponeva ad una bellezza da trivio, che portava zoccoli ai piedi e sacchi di farina sul dorso. Lagrime ardenti le luccicarono nell'orbita, asciugate subito da qualcosa di più ardente ancora, divorate in segreto; tutto quel movimento interno sembrava aver voce e parola, sembrava gridare da tutte le sue membra e da tutti i suoi pori, e il paggio osava fissare per la prima volta su quella sovrana bellezza, delirante in segreto e che faceva delirare, i suoi begli occhi azzurri scintillanti di luce insolita.
– Corrado! esclamò ella all'improvviso, con voce sorda e interrotta, come perdesse la testa; tu che la conosci... tu che sei uomo... dimmi se cotesta mugnaia... è bella... s'è più bella di me... Oh dimmelo! non aver paura...
Il giovanetto guardava affascinato quella donna corrucciata, fremente, gelosa, rossa di onta e di dispetto, bella da far dannare un angelo; impallidì e non rispose: poi colla voce tremante, colle mani giunte, con un accento che fece scuotere e trasalire la sua signora, esclamò: – Oh... abbiate pietà di me!... madonna!...
Ella gli lanciò un'occhiata fosca, senza sguardo, e si allontanò rapidamente, fuggendo; andò ad appoggiarsi al davanzale, a bere avidamente la fresca brezza della notte. Quattro ore suonavano in quel momento; non si vedeva un sol lume, né si udiva una voce. Che cosa avveniva in quell'anima combattuta? Nessuno avrebbe saputo dirlo, lei meno di ogni altro, ché tali pensieri sono vertiginosi, tempestosi anche, come è complesso il sentimento da cui emanano. E ad un tratto volgendosi bruscamente verso di lui:
– Senti, gli disse. Hai torto! Paggio o no, povero o no, sei bello e giovane da far perdere la testa, e hai torto a non essere l'amante della Mena; il tuo padrone, che è vecchio e brutto, l'ama... l'amore è la giovinezza, la beltà, il piacere; non ci credevo... ma mio marito me l'ha insegnato, – e sai, questo marito non è né giovane, né gentile. – Io mi son data a lui – ero bella, ti giuro, ero bella allora, delicata, tutta sorriso, col cuore ansioso e trepidante arcanamente sotto la ruvida mano che m'accarezzava. Nel convento avevo sognato tante volte che quella prima carezza mi sarebbe venuta da un'altra mano bianca e delicata che mi avea salutato, e che le mie vergini labbra avrebbero rabbrividito la prima volta sotto quelle altre che m'avevano sorriso, ombreggiate da baffetti d'oro, attraverso la grata. Invece furono le labbra irsute del barone d'Arvelo... – _Colui_ era bello come te, biondo come te, giovane come te, io gli rapii la mia beltà, la mia giovinezza, il mio primo bacio che gli avevo promesso col primo sguardo, il mio cuore, che era suo, per darli a quest'uomo cui m'avevano ordinato di darli, e glieli diedi lealmente. Ora senti, io sono povera come te, non possedevo che il mio bel nome e gli ho dato anche quello, e ho combattuto i miei sogni, le mie ripugnanze, i palpiti stessi del mio cuore. Adesso quest'uomo, cui ho sacrificato tutto ciò, che mi ha rapito tutto ciò; questo ladro, questo sleal cavaliere, questo marito infame, ha mescolato il mio primo bacio di vergine al bacio impuro di una cortigiana...
Ella chiuse gli occhi con un'espressione indicibile di raccapriccio.
– Tu non sai, non puoi sapere qual effetto possano fare tali infamie sull'animo di una patrizia... Ma giuro, per santa Rosalia! che mi vendicherò in tal modo, che farò tale ingiuria a quest'uomo, che lo coprirò di tale vergogna, quale non basterà a lavare tutto il sangue delle sue vene e delle mie... Io son giovane ancora, sarò ancora bella quando amerò... Ti giuro!... Vuoi? di'! vuoi?
Egli tremava tutto. – Ella gli afferrò il capo con gesto risoluto, con occhi ardenti e foschi, e gli stampò sulla bocca un bacio di fuoco.
## X
Donna Violante non chiuse occhio in tutta la notte. Stava col gomito sul guanciale, fissando uno sguardo intraducibile, immobile, istancabile, su quel marito che dormiva tranquillo accanto a lei, di cui l'alito avvinazzato le sfiorava il viso, e il quale l'avrebbe stritolata sotto il suo pugno di ferro, se avesse potuto immaginare quali fantasmi passassero per gli occhi sbarrati di lei. E all'indomani, colle guance accese di febbre, e il sorriso convulso, gli disse:
– Non vi pare che sarebbe tempo di cambiare di paggio, Don Garzia?
– Perché?
– Corrado è in età da poter servire da scudiero, e voi lasciate troppo spesso sola vostra moglie, perché egli possa starle sempre vicino senza dar da ciarlare ai vostri nemici.
Il barone aggrottò le ciglia, e rispose:
– Amici e nemici mi conoscono abbastanza perché né la cosa né le ciarle siano possibili.
Sugli occhi della donna lampeggiò un sorriso da demone.
– E poi, aggiunse Don Garzia, vi stimo abbastanza per temere che voi, nobile e fiera, possiate scendere sino ad un paggio. E buttandole galantemente le braccia al collo accostò le sue labbra a quelle di lei. Ella, bianca come una statua, gli rese il bacio con insolita energia.
Nondimeno, malgrado l'alterigia baronale, e la fiducia della sua possanza, Don Garzia era tal vecchio peccatore da non dormir più tranquillo i suoi sonni una volta che gli era stata messa nell'orecchio una pulce di quella fatta, e, andato a trovar Corrado:
– Orsù, bel giovane, gli disse, eccoti questo borsellino pel viaggio, e queste due righe di benservito, e vatti a cercar fortuna altrove.
Il giovane rimase sbalordito, e non potendo aspettarsi da che parte gli venisse il congedo, temette che qualcosa del terribile segreto fosse trapelato, e tremante, non per sé, ma per colei di cui avea sognato tutta la notte gli occhi lucenti, e l'ebbrezze convulse:
– Almeno, mio signore, balbettò, piacciavi dirmi, in grazia, perché mi scacciate!
– Perché sei già in età da guadagnarti il pane dove c'è da menar le mani, invece di stare a grattar la chitarra, ed è tempo di pensare a vestir l'arnese, invece del farsettino di velluto.
– Orbè, messere, lasciatemi al vostro servizio, in mercé, se in nulla vi dispiacqui, e in quell'ufficio che meglio vi tornerà.
Il barone si grattò il naso, come soleva fare tutte le volte che gli veniva voglia di assestare un ceffone.
– Via! gli disse con tal piglio da non dover tornar due volte sulle cose dette; levamiti dai piedi, mascalzone, ché dei tuoi servigi non so che farmene, e bada che se la sera di domani ti trova ancora nel castello non ne uscirai dalla porta.
Il povero paggio aveva perduto la testa; malgrado la gran paura che mettevagli addosso il suo signore tentò tutti i mezzi, per cercar di vedere quella donna che gli avea irradiato di luce la vita in un attimo, e che amava più della vita. Ma la baronessa lo evitava, come avesse voluto fuggire se stessa o le sue memorie. Tutti i progetti e i timori più assurdi si affollarono nella testa delirante del giovane innamorato, e credendo la vita di donna Violante minacciata dal barone, decise di far di tutto per salvarla. Finalmente, mentre sollevava una tenda sotto la quale ella passava, fiera, calma, e impenetrabile, le susurrò sottovoce.
– Se il mio sangue può giovarvi a qualcosa, prendetevelo, madonna!
Ella non si volse, non rispose, e passò oltre. Ei rimase come fulminato.
## XI
La sera che non dovea più trovarlo al castello si avvicinava rapidamente, ed egli non si rammentava nemmeno della terribile minaccia di quel signore che giammai non minacciava invano. Era pazzo di amore; avrebbe pagato colla testa un quarto d'ora di colloquio colla sua signora. Il barone prima di andare a dormire soleva fare tutte le sere una visita del castello. Corrado contava su quel momento per avere un'ultima spiegazione, o un ultimo addio dalla baronessa. Allorché tutto fu buio, s'insinuò non visto pel ballatoio, e venne a riuscire dietro la finestra di Donna Violante.
Don Garzia era seduto colle spalle alla finestra, e stava cenando. La moglie eragli di faccia, col mento sulla mano e gli occhi fissi, impietrati. Ad un tratto, fosse presentimento, fosse fluido misterioso, fosse qualche lieve rumore fatto dal giovane coll'appoggiare il viso ai vetri, ella trasalì, alzò il capo vivamente, e i suoi sguardi s'incontrarono con quelli del paggio a guisa di due correnti elettriche.
– Cos'avete? domandò il barone.
– Nulla; diss'ella, bianca e impassibile come una statua.
Il barone si voltò verso la finestra: – Che rumore è cotesto?
Donna Violante chiamò la cameriera; e le ordinò di chiudere bene; era fredda e rigida come una statua di marmo. – Sarà il vento, soggiunse, o la finestra non è ben chiusa.
Corrado ebbe appena il tempo di rannicchiarsi rasente al muro. Il barone di tanto in tanto volgeva alla sfuggita sulla moglie uno sguardo singolare, e, cosa più singolare, era sobrio! – Non bevete un sorso? domandò versandole del vino.
Ella non osò rifiutare, alzò lentamente il bicchiere, e si udirono i suoi denti urtare due o tre volte contro il vetro.
Poi rimase pensierosa, ma con certa ansietà febbrile, gettando sguardi irrequieti qua e là.
– Bisogna che vi cerchi un altro paggio, ora che Corrado è partito; disse il barone figgendole gli occhi in viso.
Donna Violante non rispose, ma levò gli occhi anche lei, e si guardarono. Il barone bevve un altro bicchier di moscato, e si alzò per andare a far la ronda della sera.
Come fu sola la donna si levò anch'essa, quasi spinta da una molla, e si diede a passeggiar per la camera, agitata e convulsa. Ogni volta che passava dinanzi alla finestra vi gettava un'occhiata scintillante. Ad un tratto vi andò risolutamente, e l'aperse.
Essi si trovarono faccia a faccia, e si guardarono in silenzio.
– Che fai qui? domandò Donna Violante con accento febbrile.
– Son venuto a morire; rispose il paggio con calma terribile.
– Ah! esclamò ella con un sorriso amaro. Lo sai che t'ho fatto scacciar io?
– Voi?
– Io!
– Perché m'avete fatto scacciare?
– Perché non ho potuto far scacciare me stessa, e perché non ho avuto il coraggio di uccidermi dopo di essermi vendicata.
– Che vi ho fatto? esclamò egli colle lagrime nella voce.
– Che m'hai fatto?... rispose la donna fissandolo con occhi stralunati. – Che m'hai fatto?... Ebbene, cosa vuoi ancora? cosa sei venuto a fare?
– Son venuto a dirvi che vi amo! diss'egli senza entusiasmo e senza amarezza.
– Tu! esclamò la baronessa celandosi il viso fra le mani.
– Perdonatemelo, madonna! aggiunse il paggio sorridendo tristamente – cotesto amore che vi offende lo sconterò in un modo terribile.
– No! diss'ella con voce delirante. Non voglio che tu muoia, non voglio più amarti, e non voglio rivederti mai più!... no! no! vattene!
Egli scosse il capo rassegnato. – Andarmene? È tardi, il ponte levatoio è tirato, e il barone mi ha detto che questa sera non avrebbe voluto trovarmi più qui. Bisognava che io arrischiassi qualche cosa per vedervi un'ultima volta, così bella come vi ho sempre dinanzi agli occhi, e che io paghi con qualcosa di prezioso il potervi dire la terribile parola che vi ho detto.
– Ebbene! rispose Donna Violante, pallida come lui, tremante come lui – anche io sconterò il mio fallo... È giusto!
In questo momento si udirono i passi del barone che ritornava accompagnato da qualcuno.
– Sia! esclamò convulsivamente la baronessa. Ti amo, son tua, sia! moriamo!
E gli cinse le braccia al collo, e gli attaccò alle labbra le labbra febbrili. Si udì la voce di don Garzia che diceva al Bruno:
– Tu va' sul ballatoio.
Corrado si strappò da quell'amplesso di morte, con uno sforzo più grande di quel che ci sarebbe voluto per precipitarsi dalla finestra di cui gli veniva chiuso lo scampo, e stringendole la mano risolutamente:
– No! voi no! Ricordatevi di me, Violante, e non temete per voi. Il povero paggio saprà morire come un gentiluomo.
E mentre si udivano già i passi del barone dietro l'uscio, e Bruno che percorreva il ballatoio, si slanciò nell'andito ch'era dietro l'alcova, e in fondo al quale spalancavasi il trabocchetto.
Don Garzia entrò con passo rapido, non guardò nemmen la moglie, la quale sembrava un cadavere, gittò un'occhiata alla finestra chiusa, ed entrò nell'andito senza dire una parola.
Non si udì più nulla. Poco dopo riapparve d'Arvelo, calmo e impenetrabile come al solito. – Tutto è tranquillo, disse. Andiamo a dormire, madonna.
## XII
La notte s'era fatta tempestosa, il vento sembrava assumere voci e gemiti umani, e le onde flagellavano la rocca con un rumore come di un tonfo che soffocasse un gemito d'agonia. Il barone dormiva.
Ella lo guardava dormire, immobile, sfinita, moribonda d'angoscia, sentiva la tempesta dentro di sé, e non osava muoversi per timor di destarlo. Avea gli occhi foschi, le labbra semiaperte, il cuore le si rompeva nel petto, e sembravale che il sangue le si travolgesse nelle vene. Provava bagliori, sfinimenti, impeti inesplicabili, vertigini che la soffocavano, tentazioni furibonde, grida che le salivano alla gola, fascini che l'agghiacciavano, terrori che la spingevano alla follìa. Sembravale di momento in momento che la vôlta dell'alcova si abbassasse a soffocarla, o che l'onda salisse e traboccasse dalla finestra, o che le imposte fossero scosse con impeto disperato da una mano che si afferrasse a qualcosa, o che il muggito del mare soffocasse un urlo delirante d'agonia; il gemito del vento le penetrava sin nelle ossa, con parole arcane ch'ella intendeva, che le dicevano arcane cose, e le facevano dirizzare i capelli sul capo – e teneva sempre gli occhi intenti e affascinati nelle orbite incavate ed oscure di quel marito dormente, il quale sembrava la guardasse attraverso le palpebre chiuse, e leggesse chiaramente tutti i terrori che sconvolgevano la sua ragione. – Di tanto in tanto si asciugava il freddo sudore che le bagnava la fronte, e ravviava macchinalmente i capelli che sembravale le formicolassero sul capo, come fossero divenuti cose animate anch'essi. Quando l'uragano taceva, provava un terrore più arcano, e con un movimento macchinale nascondeva il capo sotto le coltri, per non udire qualcosa di terribile. Ad un tratto quel suono che parevale avere udito in mezzo agli urli della tempesta, quel gemito d'agonia, visione o realtà, s'udì più chiaro e distinto. Allora mise uno strido che non aveva più nulla d'umano, e si slanciò fuori del letto.
Il barone, svegliato di soprassalto, la scorse come un bianco fantasma fuggire dalla finestra, si precipitò ad inseguirla, saltò sul ballatoio e non vide più nulla. La tempesta ruggiva come prima.
Sul precipizio fu trovato il fazzoletto che avea asciugato quel sudore d'angoscia sovrumana.
## XIII
La storia avea divertito tutti, anche quelli che la conoscevano diggià, e che la commentavano ai nuovi venuti colla leggenda degli spiriti che avevano abitato il castello. La sera era venuta, l'ora e il racconto aiutavano le vagabonde fantasticherie dell'eccellente digestione. Luciano e la signora Matilde avevano impallidito qualche volta durante quel racconto che conoscevano:
– Badate, le susurrò egli sottovoce. Vostro marito vi osserva!
Ella si fece rossa, poi impallidì, guardò il mare che imbruniva, e s'avviò la prima. Scesero le scale crollanti, e giunti al basso era quasi buio. La grossa tavola che faceva da ponte levatoio sull'abisso spaventoso il quale spalancasi sotto la rocca, a quell'ora era un passaggio pericoloso. I più prudenti si fermarono prima di metterci piede, e proposero di mandare al villaggio per cercar dei lumi.
– Avete paura, esclamò il signor Giordano con un sorrisetto sardonico.
E si mise arditamente sullo strettissimo ponte. Sua moglie lo seguì tranquilla e un po' pallida, Luciano le tenne dietro e le strinse la mano.
In quel momento, a 150 metri sul precipizio, accanto a quel marito di cui s'erano svegliati i sospetti, quella stretta di mano, di furto, fra le tenebre, avea qualcosa di sovrumano. L'altro li vide forse nell'ombra, lo indovinò, avea calcolato su di ciò... Si volse bruscamente e la chiamò per nome. Si udì un grido, un grido supremo, ella vacillò, afferrandosi a quella mano che l'avea perduta per aiutarla, e cadde con lui nell'abisso.
A Trezza si dice che nelle notti di temporale si odano di nuovo dei gemiti, e si vedano dei fantasmi fra le rovine del castello.
# VITA DEI CAMPI
# Fantasticheria
Una volta, mentre il treno passava vicino ad Aci-Trezza, voi, affacciandovi allo sportello del vagone, esclamaste: «Vorrei starci un mese laggiù!».
Noi vi ritornammo e vi passammo non un mese, ma quarantott'ore; i terrazzani che spalancavano gli occhi vedendo i vostri grossi bauli avranno creduto che ci sareste rimasta un par d'anni. La mattina del terzo giorno, stanca di vedere eternamente del verde e dell'azzurro, e di contare i carri che passavano per via, eravate alla stazione, e gingillandovi impaziente colla catenella della vostra boccettina da odore, allungavate il collo per scorgere un convoglio che non spuntava mai. In quelle quarantott'ore facemmo tutto ciò che si può fare ad Aci-Trezza: passeggiammo nella polvere della strada, e ci arrampicammo sugli scogli; col pretesto d'imparare a remare vi faceste sotto il guanto delle bollicine che rubavano i baci; passammo sul mare una notte romanticissima, gettando le reti tanto per far qualche cosa che a' barcaiuoli potesse parer meritevole di buscare dei reumatismi; e l'alba ci sorprese nell'alto del _fariglione_ , un'alba modesta e pallida, che ho ancora dinanzi agli occhi, striata di larghi riflessi violetti, sul mare di un verde cupo; raccolta come una carezza su quel gruppetto di casuccie che dormivano quasi raggomitolate sulla riva, e in cima allo scoglio, sul cielo trasparente e profondo, si stampava netta la vostra figurina, colle linee sapienti che ci metteva la vostra sarta, e il profilo fine ed elegante che ci mettevate voi. – Avevate un vestitino grigio che sembrava fatto apposta per intonare coi colori dell'alba. – Un bel quadretto davvero! e si indovinava che lo sapevate anche voi dal modo col quale vi modellavate nel vostro scialletto, e sorridevate coi grandi occhioni sbarrati e stanchi a quello strano spettacolo, e a quell'altra stranezza di trovarvici anche voi presente. Che cosa avveniva nella vostra testolina mentre contemplavate il sole nascente? Gli domandavate forse in qual altro emisfero vi avrebbe ritrovata fra un mese? Diceste soltanto ingenuamente: «Non capisco come si possa viver qui tutta la vita».
Eppure, vedete, la cosa è più facile che non sembri: basta non possedere centomila lire di entrata, prima di tutto; e in compenso patire un po' di tutti gli stenti fra quegli scogli giganteschi, incastonati nell'azzurro, che vi facevano batter le mani per ammirazione. Così poco basta perché quei poveri diavoli che ci aspettavano sonnecchiando nella barca, trovino fra quelle loro casipole sgangherate e pittoresche, che viste da lontano vi sembravano avessero il mal di mare anch'esse, tutto ciò che vi affannate a cercare a Parigi, a Nizza ed a Napoli.
È una cosa singolare; ma forse non è male che sia così – per voi, e per tutti gli altri come voi. Quel mucchio di casipole è abitato da pescatori; «gente di mare», dicon essi, come altri direbbe «gente di toga», i quali hanno la pelle più dura del pane che mangiano, quando ne mangiano, giacché il mare non è sempre gentile, come allora che baciava i vostri guanti... Nelle sue giornate nere, in cui brontola e sbuffa, bisogna contentarsi di stare a guardarlo dalla riva, colle mani in mano, o sdraiati bocconi, il che è meglio per chi non ha desinato; in quei giorni c'è folla sull'uscio dell'osteria, ma suonano pochi soldoni sulla latta del banco, e i monelli che pullulano nel paese, come se la miseria fosse un buon ingrasso, strillano e si graffiano quasi abbiano il diavolo in corpo.
Di tanto in tanto il tifo, il colèra, la malannata, la burrasca, vengono a dare una buona spazzata in quel brulicame, il quale si crederebbe che non dovesse desiderar di meglio che esser spazzato, e scomparire; eppure ripullula sempre nello stesso luogo; non so dirvi come, né perché.
Vi siete mai trovata, dopo una pioggia di autunno, a sbaragliare un esercito di formiche tracciando sbadatamente il nome del vostro ultimo ballerino sulla sabbia del viale? Qualcuna di quelle povere bestioline sarà rimasta attaccata alla ghiera del vostro ombrellino, torcendosi di spasimo; ma tutte le altre, dopo cinque minuti di pànico e di viavai, saranno tornate ad aggrapparsi disperatamente al loro monticello bruno. Voi non ci tornereste davvero, e nemmen io; ma per poter comprendere siffatta caparbietà, che è per certi aspetti eroica, bisogna farci piccini anche noi, chiudere tutto l'orizzonte fra due zolle, e guardare col microscopio le piccole cause che fanno battere i piccoli cuori. Volete metterci un occhio anche voi, a cotesta lente, voi che guardate la vita dall'altro lato del cannocchiale? Lo spettacolo vi parrà strano, e perciò forse vi divertirà.
Noi siamo stati amicissimi, ve ne rammentate? e mi avete chiesto di dedicarvi qualche pagina. Perché? _à quoi bon_? come dite voi? Che cosa potrà valere quel che scrivo per chi vi conosce? e per chi non vi conosce che cosa siete voi? Tant'è, mi son rammentato del vostro capriccio un giorno che ho rivisto quella povera donna cui solevate far l'elemosina col pretesto di comperar le sue arancie messe in fila sul panchettino dinanzi all'uscio. Ora il panchettino non c'è più; hanno tagliato il nespolo del cortile, e la casa ha una finestra nuova. La donna sola non aveva mutato, stava un po' più in là a stender la mano ai carrettieri, accoccolata sul mucchietto di sassi che barricano il vecchio _posto_ della guardia nazionale; ed io girellando, col sigaro in bocca, ho pensato che anche lei, così povera com'è, vi avea vista passare, bianca e superba.
Non andate in collera se mi son rammentato di voi in tal modo a questo proposito. Oltre i lieti ricordi che mi avete lasciati, ne ho cento altri, vaghi, confusi, disparati, raccolti qua e là, non so più dove; forse alcuni son ricordi di sogni fatti ad occhi aperti; e nel guazzabuglio che facevano nella mia mente, mentre io passava per quella viuzza dove son passate tante cose liete e dolorose, la mantellina di quella donnicciola freddolosa, accoccolata, poneva un non so che di triste e mi faceva pensare a voi, sazia di tutto, perfino dell'adulazione che getta ai vostri piedi il giornale di moda, citandovi spesso in capo alla cronaca elegante – sazia così da inventare il capriccio di vedere il vostro nome sulle pagine di un libro.
Quando scriverò il libro, forse non ci penserete più; intanto i ricordi che vi mando, così lontani da voi in ogni senso, da voi inebbriata di feste e di fiori, vi faranno l'effetto di una brezza deliziosa, in mezzo alle veglie ardenti del vostro eterno carnevale. Il giorno in cui ritornerete laggiù, se pur ci ritornerete, e siederemo accanto un'altra volta, a spinger sassi col piede, e fantasie col pensiero, parleremo forse di quelle altre ebbrezze che ha la vita altrove. Potete anche immaginare che il mio pensiero siasi raccolto in quel cantuccio ignorato del mondo, perché il vostro piede vi si è posato, – o per distogliere i miei occhi dal luccichìo che vi segue dappertutto, sia di gemme o di febbri – oppure perché vi ho cercata inutilmente per tutti i luoghi che la moda fa lieti. Vedete quindi che siete sempre al primo posto, qui come al teatro.
Vi ricordate anche di quel vecchietto che stava al timone della nostra barca? Voi gli dovete questo tributo di riconoscenza perché egli vi ha impedito dieci volte di bagnarvi le vostre belle calze azzurre. Ora è morto laggiù all'ospedale della città, il povero diavolo, in una gran corsìa tutta bianca, fra dei lenzuoli bianchi, masticando del pane bianco, servito dalle bianche mani delle suore di carità, le quali non avevano altro difetto che di non saper capire i meschini guai che il poveretto biascicava nel suo dialetto semibarbaro.
Ma se avesse potuto desiderare qualche cosa egli avrebbe voluto morire in quel cantuccio nero vicino al focolare, dove tanti anni era stata la sua cuccia «sotto le sue tegole», tanto che quando lo portarono via piangeva guaiolando, come fanno i vecchi. Egli era vissuto sempre fra quei quattro sassi, e di faccia a quel mare bello e traditore col quale dové lottare ogni giorno per trarre da esso tanto da campare la vita e non lasciargli le ossa; eppure in quei momenti in cui si godeva cheto cheto la sua «occhiata di sole» accoccolato sulla pedagna della barca, coi ginocchi fra le braccia, non avrebbe voltato la testa per vedervi, ed avreste cercato invano in quegli occhi attoniti il riflesso più superbo della vostra bellezza; come quando tante fronti altere s'inchinano a farvi ala nei saloni splendenti, e vi specchiate negli occhi invidiosi delle vostre migliori amiche.
La vita è ricca, come vedete, nella sua inesauribile varietà; e voi potete godervi senza scrupoli quella parte di ricchezza che è toccata a voi, a modo vostro. Quella ragazza, per esempio, che faceva capolino dietro i vasi di basilico, quando il fruscìo della vostra veste metteva in rivoluzione la viuzza, se vedeva un altro viso notissimo alla finestra di faccia, sorrideva come se fosse stata vestita di seta anch'essa. Chi sa quali povere gioie sognava su quel davanzale, dietro quel basilico odoroso, cogli occhi intenti in quell'altra casa coronata di tralci di vite? E il riso dei suoi occhi non sarebbe andato a finire in lagrime amare, là, nella città grande, lontana dai sassi che l'avevano vista nascere e la conoscevano, se il suo nonno non fosse morto all'ospedale, e suo padre non si fosse annegato, e tutta la sua famiglia non fosse stata dispersa da un colpo di vento che vi avea soffiato sopra – un colpo di vento funesto, che avea trasportato uno dei suoi fratelli fin nelle carceri di Pantelleria: «nei guai!» come dicono laggiù.
Miglior sorte toccò a quelli che morirono; a Lissa l'uno, il più grande, quello che vi sembrava un David di rame, ritto colla sua fiocina in pugno, e illuminato bruscamente dalla fiamma dell'ellera. Grande e grosso com'era, si faceva di brace anch'esso se gli fissavate in volto i vostri occhi arditi; nondimeno è morto da buon marinaio, sulla verga di trinchetto, fermo al sartiame, levando in alto il berretto, e salutando un'ultima volta la bandiera col suo maschio e selvaggio grido d'isolano. L'altro, quell'uomo che sull'isolotto non osava toccarvi il piede per liberarlo dal lacciuolo teso ai conigli nel quale v'eravate impigliata da stordita che siete, si perdé in una fosca notte d'inverno, solo, fra i cavalloni scatenati, quando fra la barca e il lido, dove stavano ad aspettarlo i suoi, andando di qua e di là come pazzi, c'erano sessanta miglia di tenebre e di tempesta. Voi non avreste potuto immaginare di qual disperato e tetro coraggio fosse capace per lottare contro tal morte quell'uomo che lasciavasi intimidire dal capolavoro del vostro calzolaio.
Meglio per loro che son morti, e non «mangiano il pane del re,» come quel poveretto che è rimasto a Pantelleria, e quell'altro pane che mangia la sorella, e non vanno attorno come la donna delle arancie, a viver della grazia di Dio; una grazia assai magra ad Aci-Trezza. Quelli almeno non hanno più bisogno di nulla! Lo disse anche il ragazzo dell'ostessa, l'ultima volta che andò all'ospedale per chieder del vecchio e portargli di nascosto di quelle chiocciole stufate che son così buone a succiare per chi non ha più denti, e trovò il letto vuoto, colle coperte belle e distese, e sgattaiolando nella corte andò a piantarsi dinanzi a una porta tutta brandelli di cartaccie, sbirciando dal buco della chiave una gran sala vuota, sonora e fredda anche di estate, e l'estremità di una lunga tavola di marmo, su cui era buttato un lenzuolo, greve e rigido. E dicendo che quelli là almeno non avevano più bisogno di nulla, si mise a succiare ad una ad una le chiocciole che non servivano più, per passare il tempo. Voi, stringendovi al petto il manicotto di volpe azzurra, vi rammenterete con piacere che gli avete dato cento lire al povero vecchio.
Ora rimangono quei monellucci che vi scortavano come sciacalli e assediavano le arancie; rimangono a ronzare attorno alla mendica, a brancicarle le vesti come se ci avesse sotto del pane, a raccattar torsi di cavolo, buccie d'arancie e mozziconi di sigari, tutte quelle cose che si lasciano cadere per via ma che pure devono avere ancora qualche valore, perché c'è della povera gente che ci campa su; ci campa anzi così bene che quei pezzentelli paffuti e affamati cresceranno in mezzo al fango e alla polvere della strada, e si faranno grandi e grossi come il loro babbo e come il loro nonno, e popoleranno Aci-Trezza di altri pezzentelli, i quali tireranno allegramente la vita coi denti più a lungo che potranno, come il vecchio nonno, senza desiderare altro; e se vorranno fare qualche cosa diversamente da lui, sarà di chiudere gli occhi là dove li hanno aperti, in mano del medico del paese che viene tutti i giorni sull'asinello, come Gesù, ad aiutare la buona gente che se ne va.
– Insomma l'ideale dell'ostrica! direte voi. – Proprio l'ideale dell'ostrica, e noi non abbiamo altro motivo di trovarlo ridicolo che quello di non esser nati ostriche anche noi. Per altro il tenace attaccamento di quella povera gente allo scoglio sul quale la fortuna li ha lasciati cadere mentre seminava principi di qua e duchesse di là, questa rassegnazione coraggiosa ad una vita di stenti, questa religione della famiglia, che si riverbera sul mestiere, sulla casa, e sui sassi che la circondano, mi sembrano – forse pel quarto d'ora – cose serissime e rispettabilissime anch'esse. Parmi che le irrequietudini del pensiero vagabondo s'addormenterebbero dolcemente nella pace serena di quei sentimenti miti, semplici, che si succedono calmi e inalterati di generazione in generazione. – Parmi che potrei vedervi passare, al gran trotto dei vostri cavalli, col tintinnìo allegro dei loro finimenti e salutarvi tranquillamente.
Forse perché ho troppo cercato di scorgere entro al turbine che vi circonda e vi segue, mi è parso ora di leggere una fatale necessità nelle tenaci affezioni dei deboli, nell'istinto che hanno i piccoli di stringersi fra loro per resistere alle tempeste della vita, e ho cercato di decifrare il dramma modesto e ignoto che deve aver sgominati gli attori plebei che conoscemmo insieme. Un dramma che qualche volta forse vi racconterò e di cui parmi tutto il nodo debba consistere in ciò: – che allorquando uno di quei piccoli, o più debole, o più incauto, o più egoista degli altri, volle staccarsi dal gruppo per vaghezza dell'ignoto, o per brama di meglio, o per curiosità di conoscere il mondo, il mondo da pesce vorace com'è, se lo ingoiò, e i suoi più prossimi con lui. – E sotto questo aspetto vedete che il dramma non manca d'interesse. Per le ostriche l'argomento più interessante deve essere quello che tratta delle insidie del gambero, o del coltello del palombaro che le stacca dallo scoglio.
# Jeli il pastore
Jeli, il guardiano di cavalli, aveva tredici anni quando conobbe don Alfonso, il signorino; ma era così piccolo che non arrivava alla pancia della _bianca_ , la vecchia giumenta che portava il campanaccio della mandra. Lo si vedeva sempre di qua e di là, pei monti e nella pianura, dove pascolavano le sue bestie, ritto ed immobile su qualche greppo, o accoccolato su di un gran sasso. Il suo amico don Alfonso, mentre era in villeggiatura, andava a trovarlo tutti i giorni che Dio mandava a Tebidi, e divideva con lui il suo pezzetto di cioccolata, e il pane d'orzo del pastorello, e le frutta rubate al vicino. Dapprincipio, Jeli dava dell _'eccellenza_ al signorino, come si usa in Sicilia, ma dopo che si furono accapigliati per bene, la loro amicizia fu stabilita solidamente. Jeli insegnava al suo amico come si fa ad arrampicarsi sino ai nidi delle gazze, sulle cime dei noci più alti del campanile di Licodia, a cogliere un passero a volo con una sassata, e montare con un salto sul dorso nudo delle sue bestie mezze selvaggie, acciuffando per la criniera la prima che passava a tiro, senza lasciarsi sbigottire dai nitriti di collera dei puledri indomiti, e dai loro salti disperati. Ah! le belle scappate pei campi mietuti, colle criniere al vento! i bei giorni d'aprile, quando il vento accavallava ad onde l'erba verde, e le cavalle nitrivano nei pascoli; i bei meriggi d'estate, in cui la campagna, bianchiccia, taceva, sotto il cielo fosco, e i grilli scoppiettavano fra le zolle, come se le stoppie si incendiassero! il bel cielo d'inverno attraverso i rami nudi del mandorlo, che rabbrividivano al rovajo, e il viottolo che suonava gelato sotto lo zoccolo dei cavalli, e le allodole che trillavano in alto, al caldo, nell'azzurro! le belle sere di estate che salivano adagio adagio come la nebbia; il buon odore del fieno in cui si affondavano i gomiti, e il ronzìo malinconico degli insetti della sera, e quelle due note dello zufolo di Jeli, sempre le stesse – iuh! iuh! iuh! che facevano pensare alle cose lontane, alla festa di San Giovanni, alla notte di Natale, all'alba della scampagnata, a tutti quei grandi avvenimenti trascorsi, che sembrano mesti, così lontani, e facevano guardare in alto, cogli occhi umidi, quasi tutte le stelle che andavano accendendosi in cielo vi piovessero in cuore, e l'allagassero!
Jeli, lui, non pativa di quella malinconia; se ne stava accoccolato sul ciglione, colle gote enfiate, intentissimo a suonare iuh! iuh! iuh! Poi radunava il branco a furia di gridi e di sassate, e lo spingeva nella stalla, di là del _poggio alla Croce._
Ansando, saliva la costa, di là dal vallone, e gridava qualche volta al suo amico Alfonso: – Chiamati il cane! ohé, chiamati il cane; oppure: – Tirami una buona sassata allo _zaino_ , che mi fa il signorino, e se ne viene adagio adagio, gingillandosi colle macchie del vallone; oppure: – Domattina portami un ago grosso, di quelli della gnà Lia.
Ei sapeva fare ogni sorta di lavori coll'ago; e ci aveva un batuffoletto di cenci nella sacca di tela, per rattoppare al bisogno le brache e le maniche del giubbone; sapeva anche tessere dei trecciuoli di crini di cavallo, e si lavava anche da sé colla creta del vallone il fazzoletto che si metteva al collo, quando aveva freddo. Insomma, purché ci avesse la sua sacca ad armacollo, non aveva bisogno di nessuno al mondo, fosse stato nei boschi di Resecone, o perduto in fondo alla piana di Caltagirone. La gnà Lia soleva dire: – Vedete Jeli il pastore? è stato sempre solo pei campi come se l'avessero figliato le sue cavalle, ed è perciò che sa farsi la croce con le due mani!
Del rimanente è vero che Jeli non aveva bisogno di nessuno, ma tutti quelli della fattoria avrebbero fatto volentieri qualche cosa per lui, poiché era un ragazzo servizievole, e ci era sempre il caso di buscarci qualche cosa da lui. La gnà Lia gli cuoceva il pane per amor del prossimo, ed ei la ricambiava con bei panieri di vimini per le ova, arcolai di canna, ed altre coserelle. – Facciamo come fanno le sue bestie, diceva la gnà Lia, che si grattano il collo a vicenda.
A Tebidi tutti lo conoscevano da piccolo, che non si vedeva fra le code dei cavalli, quando pascolavano nel _piano del lettighiere_ , ed era cresciuto, si può dire, sotto i loro occhi, sebbene nessuno lo vedesse mai, e ramingasse sempre di qua e di là col suo armento! «Era piovuto dal cielo, e la terra l'aveva raccolto» come dice il proverbio; era proprio di quelli che non hanno né casa né parenti. La sua mamma stava a servire a Vizzini, e non lo vedeva altro che una volta all'anno quando egli andava coi puledri alla fiera di San Giovanni; e il giorno in cui era morta, erano venuti a chiamarlo, un sabato sera, ed il lunedì Jeli tornò alla mandra, sicché il contadino che l'aveva surrogato nella guardia dei cavalli, non perse nemmeno la giornata; ma il povero ragazzo era ritornato così sconvolto che alle volte lasciava scappare i puledri nel seminato. – Ohé! Jeli! gli gridava allora Massaro Agrippino dall'aja; o che vuoi assaggiare le nerbate delle feste, figlio di cagna? – Jeli si metteva a correre dietro i puledri sbrancati, e li spingeva mogio mogio verso la collina; però davanti agli occhi ci aveva sempre la sua mamma, col capo avvolto nel fazzoletto bianco, che non gli parlava più.
Suo padre faceva il vaccaro a Ragoleti, di là di Licodia, «dove la malaria si poteva mietere» dicevano i contadini dei dintorni; ma nei terreni di malaria i pascoli sono grassi, e le vacche non prendono le febbri. Jeli quindi se ne stava nei campi tutto l'anno, o a Don Ferrante, o nelle chiuse della Commenda, o nella valle del Jacitano, e i cacciatori, o i viandanti che prendevano le scorciatoie lo vedevano sempre qua e là, come un cane senza padrone. Ei non ci pativa, perché era avvezzo a stare coi cavalli che gli camminavano dinanzi, passo passo, brucando il trifoglio, e cogli uccelli che girovagavano a stormi, attorno a lui, tutto il tempo che il sole faceva il suo viaggio lento lento, sino a che le ombre si allungavano e poi si dileguavano; egli avea il tempo di veder le nuvole accavallarsi a poco a poco e figurar monti e vallate; conosceva come spira il vento quando porta il temporale, e di che colore sia il nuvolo quando sta per nevicare. Ogni cosa aveva il suo aspetto e il suo significato, e c'era sempre che vedere e che ascoltare in tutte le ore del giorno. Così, verso il tramonto quando il pastore si metteva a suonare collo zufolo di sambuco, la cavalla mora si accostava masticando il trifoglio svogliatamente, e stava anch'essa a guardarlo, con grandi occhi pensierosi.
Dove soffriva soltanto un po' di malinconia era nelle lande deserte di Passanitello, in cui non sorge macchia né arbusto, e ne' mesi caldi non ci vola un uccello. I cavalli si radunavano in cerchio colla testa ciondoloni, per farsi ombra scambievolmente, e nei lunghi giorni della trebbiatura quella gran luce silenziosa pioveva sempre uguale ed afosa per sedici ore.
Però dove il mangime era abbondante, e i cavalli indugiavano volentieri, il ragazzo si occupava con qualche altra cosa: faceva delle gabbie di canna per i grilli, delle pipe intagliate, e dei panierini di giunco; con quattro ramoscelli, sapeva rizzare un po' di tettoia, quando la tramontana spingeva per la valle le lunghe file dei corvi, o quando le cicale battevano le ali nel sole che abbruciava le stoppie; arrostiva le ghiande del querceto nella brace de' sarmenti di sommacco, che pareva di mangiare delle bruciate, o vi abbrustoliva le larghe fette di pane allorché cominciava ad avere la barba dalla muffa, perché quando si trovava a Passanitello nell'inverno, le strade erano così cattive che alle volte passavano quindici giorni senza che si vedesse passare anima viva.
Don Alfonso che era tenuto nel cotone dai suoi genitori, invidiava al suo amico Jeli la tasca di tela dove ci aveva tutta la sua roba, il pane, le cipolle, il fiaschetto del vino, il fazzoletto pel freddo, il batuffoletto dei cenci col refe e gli aghi grossi, la scatoletta di latta coll'esca e la pietra focaja; gli invidiava pure la superba cavalla _vajata_ , quella bestia dal ciuffetto di peli irti sulla fronte, che aveva gli occhi cattivi, e gonfiava le froge al pari di un mastino ringhioso quando qualcuno voleva montarla. Da Jeli invece si lasciava montare e grattar le orecchie, di cui era gelosa, e l'andava fiutando per ascoltare quello che ei voleva dirle. – Lascia stare la _vajata_ , gli raccomandava Jeli, non è cattiva, ma non ti conosce.
Dopo che Scordu il Bucchierese si menò via la giumenta calabrese che aveva comprato a San Giovanni, col patto che gliela tenessero nell'armento sino alla vendemmia, il puledro zaino rimasto orfano non voleva darsi pace, e scorazzava su pei greppi del monte con lunghi nitriti lamentevoli, e colle froge al vento. Jeli gli correva dietro, chiamandolo con forti grida, e il puledro si fermava ad ascoltare, col collo teso e le orecchie irrequiete, sferzandosi i fianchi colla coda. – È perché gli hanno portato via la madre, e non sa più cosa si faccia – osservava il pastore. – Adesso bisogna tenerlo d'occhio perché sarebbe capace di lasciarsi andar giù nel precipizio. Anch'io, quando mi è morta la mia mamma, non ci vedevo più dagli occhi.
Poi, dopo che il puledro ricominciò a fiutare il trifoglio, e a darvi qualche boccata di malavoglia – Vedi! a poco a poco comincia a dimenticarsene.
– Ma anch'esso sarà venduto. I cavalli sono fatti per esser venduti; come gli agnelli nascono per andare al macello, e le nuvole portano la pioggia. Solo gli uccelli non hanno a far altro che cantare e volare tutto il giorno.
Le idee non gli venivano nette e filate l'una dietro l'altra, ché di rado aveva avuto con chi parlare e perciò non aveva fretta di scovarle e distrigarle in fondo alla testa, dove era abituato a lasciare che sbucciassero e spuntassero fuori a poco a poco, come fanno le gemme dei ramoscelli sotto il sole. – Anche gli uccelli, soggiunse, devono buscarsi il cibo, e quando la neve copre la terra se ne muoiono.
Poi ci pensò su un pezzetto. – Tu sei come gli uccelli; ma quando arriva l'inverno te ne puoi stare al fuoco senza far nulla.
Don Alfonso però rispondeva che anche lui andava a scuola, a imparare. Jeli allora sgranava gli occhi, e stava tutto orecchi se il signorino si metteva a leggere, e guardava il libro e lui in aria sospettosa, stando ad ascoltare con quel lieve ammiccar di palpebre che indica l'intensità dell'attenzione nelle bestie che più si accostano all'uomo. Gli piacevano i versi che gli accarezzavano l'udito con l'armonia di una canzone incomprensibile, e alle volte aggrottava le ciglia, appuntava il mento, e sembrava che un gran lavorìo si stesse facendo nel suo interno; allora accennava di sì e di sì col capo, con un sorriso furbo, e si grattava la testa. Quando poi il signorino mettevasi a scrivere per far vedere quante cose sapeva fare, Jeli sarebbe rimasto delle giornate intiere a guardarlo, e tutto a un tratto lasciava scappare un'occhiata sospettosa. Non poteva persuadersi che si potesse poi ripetere sulla carta quelle parole che egli aveva dette, o che aveva dette don Alfonso, ed anche quelle cose che non gli erano uscite di bocca, e finiva col fare quel sorriso furbo.
Ogni idea nuova che gli picchiasse nella testa per entrare, lo metteva in sospetto, e pareva la fiutasse colla diffidenza selvaggia della sua _vajata_. Però non mostrava meraviglia di nulla al mondo; gli avessero detto che in città i cavalli andavano in carrozza, egli sarebbe rimasto impassibile con quella maschera d'indifferenza orientale che è la dignità del contadino siciliano. Pareva che istintivamente si trincerasse nella sua ignoranza, come fosse la forza della povertà. Tutte le volte che rimaneva a corto di argomenti ripeteva: – Io non ne so nulla. Io sono povero – con quel sorriso ostinato che voleva essere furbo.
Aveva chiesto al suo amico Alfonso di scrivergli il nome di Mara su di un pezzetto di carta che aveva trovato chi sa dove, perché egli raccattava tutto quello che vedeva per terra, e se l'era messo nel batuffoletto dei cenci. Un giorno, dopo di esser stato un po' zitto, a guardare di qua e di là soprappensiero, gli disse serio serio:
– Io ci ho l'innamorata.
Alfonso, malgrado che sapesse leggere, sgranava gli occhi. – Sì, ripeté Jeli, Mara, la figlia di Massaro Agrippino che era qui; ed ora sta a Marineo, in quel gran casamento della pianura che si vede dal _piano del lettighiere_ , lassù.
– O ti mariti dunque?
– Sì, quando sarò grande, e avrò sei onze all'anno di salario. Mara non ne sa nulla ancora.
– Perché non gliel'hai detto?
Jeli tentennò il capo, e si mise a riflettere. Poi svolse il batuffoletto e spiegò la carta che s'era fatta scrivere.
– È proprio vero che dice Mara; l'ha letto pure don Gesualdo, il campiere, e fra Cola, quando venne giù per la cerca delle fave.
– Uno che sappia scrivere, osservò poi, è come uno che serbasse le parole nella scatola dell'acciarino, e potesse portarsele in tasca, ed anche mandarle di qua e di là.
– Ora che ne farai di quel pezzetto di carta tu che non sai leggere? gli domandò Alfonso.
Jeli si strinse nelle spalle, ma continuò ad avvolgere accuratamente il suo fogliolino scritto nel batuffoletto dei cenci.
La Mara l'aveva conosciuta da bambina, che avevano cominciato dal picchiarsi ben bene, una volta che s'erano incontrati lungo il vallone, a cogliere le more nelle siepi di rovo. La ragazzina, la quale sapeva di essere «nel fatto suo», aveva agguantato pel collo Jeli, come un ladro. Per un po' s'erano scambiati dei pugni nella schiena, uno tu ed uno io, come fa il bottaio sui cerchi delle botti, ma quando furono stanchi andarono calmandosi a poco a poco, tenendosi sempre acciuffati.
– Tu chi sei? gli domandò Mara.
E come Jeli, più salvatico, non diceva chi fosse. – Io sono Mara, la figlia di Massaro Agrippino, che è il campaio di tutti questi campi qui.
Jeli allora lasciò la presa dell'intutto, e la ragazzina si mise a raccattare le more che le erano cadute nella lotta, sbirciando di tanto in tanto il suo avversario con curiosità.
– Di là del ponticello, nella siepe dell'orto, ci son tante more grosse; aggiunse la piccina, e se le mangiano le galline.
Jeli intanto si allontanava quatto quatto, e Mara, dopo che stette ad accompagnarlo cogli occhi finché poté vederlo nel querceto, volse le spalle anche lei, e se la diede a gambe verso casa.
Ma da quel giorno in poi cominciarono ad addomesticarsi. Mara andava a filare la stoppa sul parapetto del ponticello, e Jeli adagio adagio spingeva l'armento verso le falde del _poggio del Bandito_. Da prima se ne stava in disparte ronzandole attorno, guardandola da lontano in aria sospettosa, e a poco a poco andava accostandosi coll'andatura guardinga del cane avvezzo alle sassate. Quando finalmente si trovavano accanto, ci stavano delle lunghe ore senza aprir bocca. Jeli osservando attentamente l'intricato lavorìo delle calze che la mamma aveva messo al collo alla Mara, oppure costei gli vedeva intagliare i bei zig zag sui bastoni di mandorlo. Poi se ne andavano l'uno di qua e l'altro di là, senza dirsi una parola, e la bambina, com'era in vista della casa, si metteva a correre, facendo levar alta la sottanella sulle gambe rosse.
Al tempo dei fichidindia poi si fissarono nel folto delle macchie, sbucciando dei fichi tutto il santo giorno. Vagabondavano insieme sotto i noci secolari, e Jeli ne bacchiava tante delle noci, che piovevano fitte come la gragnuola; e la ragazzina si affaticava a raccattarle con grida di giubilo più che ne poteva; e poi scappava via, lesta lesta, tenendo tese le due cocche del grembiale, dondolandosi come una vecchietta.
Durante l'inverno Mara non osò mettere fuori il naso, in quel gran freddo. Alle volte, verso sera, si vedeva il fumo dei fuocherelli di sommacchi che Jeli andava facendo sul _piano del lettighiere_ , o sul _poggio di Macca_ , per non rimanere intirizzito al pari di quelle cinciallegre che la mattina trovava dietro un sasso, o al riparo di una zolla. Anche i cavalli ci trovavano piacere a ciondolare un po' la coda attorno al fuoco, e si stringevano gli uni agli altri per star più caldi.
Col marzo tornarono le allodole nel piano, i passeri sul tetto, le foglie e i nidi nelle siepi, Mara riprese ad andare a spasso in compagnia di Jeli nell'erba soffice, fra le macchie in fiore, sotto gli alberi ancora nudi che cominciavano a punteggiarsi di verde. Jeli si ficcava negli spineti come un segugio per andare a scovare delle nidiate di merli che guardavano sbalorditi coi loro occhietti di pepe; i due fanciulli portavano spesso nel petto della camicia dei piccoli conigli allora stanati, quasi nudi, ma dalle lunghe orecchie diggià inquiete. Scorazzavano pei campi al seguito del branco dei cavalli, entrando nelle stoppie dietro i mietitori, passo passo coll'armento, fermandosi ogni volta che una giumenta si fermava a strappare una boccata d'erba. La sera, giunti al ponticello, se ne andavano l'uno di qua e l'altra di là, senza dirsi addio.
Così passarono tutta l'estate. Intanto il sole cominciava a tramontare dietro il _poggio alla Croce_ , e i pettirossi gli andavano dietro verso la montagna, come imbruniva, seguendolo fra le macchie dei fichidindia. I grilli e le cicale non si udivano più, e in quell'ora per l'aria si spandeva una grande malinconia.
In quel tempo arrivò al casolare di Jeli suo padre, il vaccaro, che aveva preso la malaria a Ragoleti, e non poteva nemmen reggersi sull'asino che l'aveva portato. Jeli accese il fuoco, lesto lesto, e corse «alle case» per cercargli qualche uovo di gallina. – Piuttosto stendi un po' di strame vicino al fuoco, gli disse suo padre; ché mi sento tornare la febbre.
Il ribrezzo della febbre era così forte che compare Menu, seppellito sotto il suo gran tabarro, la bisaccia dell'asino, e la sacca di Jeli, tremava come fanno le foglie in novembre, davanti alla gran vampa di sarmenti che gli faceva il viso bianco bianco come un morto. I contadini della fattoria venivano a domandargli: – Come vi sentite, compare Menu? Il poveretto non rispondeva altro che con un guaito come fa un cagnuolo di latte. – È malaria di quella che ammazza meglio di una schioppettata, dicevano gli amici, scaldandosi le mani al fuoco.
Fu chiamato anche il medico, ma erano denari buttati via, perché la malattia era di quelle chiare e conosciute che anche un ragazzo saprebbe curarla, e se la febbre non era di quelle che ammazzano ad ogni modo, col solfato si sarebbe guarita subito. Compare Menu ci spese gli occhi della testa in tanto solfato, ma era come buttarlo nel pozzo. – Prendete un buon decotto di _ecalibbiso_ che non costa nulla, suggeriva Massaro Agrippino, e se non serve a nulla come il solfato, almeno non vi rovinate a spendere. – Si prendeva anche il decotto di eucaliptus, eppure la febbre tornava sempre, e anche più forte. Jeli assisteva il genitore come meglio sapeva. Ogni mattina, prima d'andarsene coi puledri, gli lasciava il decotto preparato nella ciotola, il fascio dei sarmenti sotto la mano, le uova nella cenere calda, e tornava presto alla sera colle altre legne per la notte e il fiaschetto del vino e qualche pezzetto di carne di montone che era corso a comperare sino a Licodia. Il povero ragazzo faceva ogni cosa con garbo, come una brava massaia, e suo padre, accompagnandolo cogli occhi stanchi nelle sue faccenduole qua e là pel casolare, di tanto in tanto sorrideva pensando che il ragazzo avrebbe saputo aiutarsi, quando fosse rimasto solo.
I giorni in cui la febbre cessava per qualche ora, compare Menu si alzava tutto stravolto e col capo stretto nel fazzoletto, e si metteva sull'uscio ad aspettare Jeli, mentre il sole era ancora caldo. Come Jeli lasciava cadere accanto all'uscio il fascio della legna e posava sulla tavola il fiasco e le uova, ei gli diceva: – Metti a bollire l' _ecalibbiso_ per stanotte, – oppure – guarda che l'oro di tua madre l'ha in consegna la zia Agata, quando non ci sarò più. – Jeli diceva di sì col capo.
– È inutile; ripeteva Massaro Agrippino ogni volta che tornava a vedere compare Menu colla febbre. Il sangue oramai è tutto una peste. – Compare Menu ascoltava senza batter palpebra, col viso più bianco della sua berretta.
Diggià non si alzava più. Jeli si metteva a piangere quando non gli bastavano le forze per aiutarlo a voltarsi da un lato all'altro; poco per volta compare Menu finì per non parlare nemmen più. Le ultime parole che disse al suo ragazzo furono:
– Quando sarò morto andrai dal padrone delle vacche a Ragoleti, e ti farai dare le tre onze e i dodici tumoli di frumento che avanzo da maggio a questa parte.
– No, rispose Jeli, sono soltanto 2 onze e quindici, perché avete lasciato le vacche che è più di un mese, e bisogna fare il conto giusto col padrone.
– È vero! affermò compare Menu socchiudendo gli occhi.
– Ora son proprio solo al mondo come un puledro smarrito, che se lo possono mangiare i lupi! pensò Jeli quando gli ebbero portato il babbo al cimitero di Licodia.
Mara era venuta a vedere anche lei la casa del morto colla curiosità acuta che destano le cose spaventose. – Vedi come son rimasto? le disse Jeli, la ragazzetta si tirò indietro sbigottita per paura che la facesse entrare nella casa dove era stato il morto.
Jeli andò a riscuotere il denaro del babbo, e poscia partì coll'armento per Passanitello, dove l'erba era già alta sul terreno lasciato pel maggese e il mangime era abbondante; perciò i puledri vi restarono a pascolarvi per molto tempo. Frattanto Jeli s'era fatto grande, ed anche Mara doveva esser cresciuta, pensava egli sovente mentre suonava il suo zufolo; e quando tornò a Tebidi dopo tanto tempo, spingendosi innanzi adagio adagio le giumente per i viottoli sdrucciolevoli della _fontana dello zio Cosimo_ , andava cercando cogli occhi il ponticello del vallone, e il casolare nella _valle del Iacitano_ , e il tetto delle «case grandi» dove svolazzavano sempre i colombi. Ma in quel tempo il padrone aveva licenziato Massaro Agrippino e tutta la famiglia di Mara stava sloggiando. Jeli trovò la ragazza la quale s'era fatta grandicella e belloccia alla porta del cortile, che teneva d'occhio la sua roba mentre la caricavano sulla carretta. Ora la stanza vuota sembrava più scura e affumicata del solito. La tavola, e il letto, e il cassettone, e le immagini della Vergine e di San Giovanni, e fino i chiodi per appendervi le zucche delle sementi ci avevano lasciato il segno sulle pareti dove erano state per tanti anni. – Andiamo via, gli disse Mara come lo vide osservare. Ce ne andiamo laggiù a Marineo dove c'è quel gran casamento nella pianura.
Jeli si diede ad aiutare Massaro Agrippino e la gnà Lia nel caricare la carretta, e allorché non ci fu altro da portare via dalla stanza andò a sedere con Mara sul parapetto dell'abbeveratojo. – Anche le case, le disse quand'ebbe visto accatastare l'ultima cesta sulla carretta, anche le case, come se ne toglie via qualche oggetto non sembrano più quelle.
– A Marineo, rispose Mara, ci avremo una camera più bella, ha detto la mamma, e grande come il magazzino dei formaggi.
– Ora che tu sarai via, non voglio venirci più qui; ché mi parrà di esser tornato l'inverno a veder quell'uscio chiuso.
– A Marineo invece troveremo dell'altra gente, Pudda la rossa, e la figlia del campiere; si starà allegri, per la messe verranno più di ottanta mietitori, colla cornamusa, e si ballerà sull'aja.
Massaro Agrippino e sua moglie si erano avviati colla carretta, Mara correva loro dietro tutta allegra, portando il paniere coi piccioni. Jeli volle accompagnarla sino al ponticello, e quando Mara stava per scomparire nella vallata la chiamò: – Mara! oh! Mara!
– Che vuoi? disse Mara.
Egli non lo sapeva che voleva. – O tu, cosa farai qui tutto solo? gli domandò allora la ragazza.
– Io resto coi puledri.
Mara se ne andò saltellando, e lui rimase lì fermo, finché poté udire il rumore della carretta che rimbalzava sui sassi. Il sole toccava le roccie alte del _poggio alla Croce_ , le chiome grigie degli ulivi sfumavano nel crepuscolo, e per la campagna vasta, lontan lontano, non si udiva altro che il campanaccio della _bianca_ nel silenzio che si allargava.
Mara, come se ne fu andata a Marineo in mezzo alla gente nuova, e alle faccende della vendemmia, si scordò di lui; ma Jeli ci pensava sempre a lei, perché non aveva altro da fare, nelle lunghe giornate che passava a guardare la coda delle sue bestie. Adesso non aveva poi motivo alcuno per calar nella valle, di là del ponticello, e nessuno lo vedeva più alla fattoria. In tal modo ignorò per un pezzo che Mara si era fatta sposa, giacché dell'acqua intanto ne era passata e passata sotto il ponticello. Egli rivide soltanto la ragazza il dì della festa di San Giovanni, come andò alla fiera coi puledri da vendere: una festa che gli si mutò tutta in veleno, e gli fece cascare il pan di bocca per un accidente toccato ad uno dei puledri del padrone, Dio ne scampi.
Il giorno della fiera il fattore aspettava i puledri sin dall'alba, andando su e giù cogli stivali inverniciati dietro le groppe dei cavalli e dei muli, messi in fila di qua e di là dello stradone. La fiera era già sul finire, né Jeli spuntava ancora colle bestie, di là del gomito che faceva lo stradone. Sulle pendici riarse del _Calvario_ e del _Mulino a vento_ , rimaneva tuttora qualche branco di pecore, strette in cerchio col muso a terra e l'occhio spento, e qualche pariglia di buoi, dal pelo lungo, di quelli che si vendono per pagare il fitto delle terre, che aspettavano immobili, sotto il sole cocente. Laggiù, verso la valle, la campana di San Giovanni suonava la messa grande, accompagnata dal lungo crepitìo dei mortaletti. Allora il campo della fiera sembrava trasalire, e correva un gridìo che si prolungava fra le tende dei trecconi schierate nella salita dei Galli, scendeva per le vie del paese, e sembrava ritornare dalla valle dov'era la chiesa. Viva San Giovanni!
– Santo diavolone! strillava il fattore, quell'assassino di Jeli mi farà perdere la fiera!
Le pecore levavano il muso attonito, e si mettevano a belare tutte in una volta, e anche i buoi facevano qualche passo lentamente, guardando in giro, con grandi occhi intenti.
Il fattore era così in collera perché quel giorno dovevasi pagare il fitto delle chiuse grandi, «come San Giovanni fosse arrivato sotto l'olmo,» diceva il contratto, e a completare la somma si era fatto assegnamento sulla vendita dei puledri. Intanto di puledri, e cavalli, e muli ce n'erano quanti il Signore ne aveva fatti, tutti strigliati e lucenti, e ornati di fiocchi, e nappine, e sonagli, che scodinzolavano per scacciare la noia, e voltavano la testa verso ognuno che passava, e pareva che aspettassero un'anima caritatevole che volesse comprarli.
– Si sarà messo a dormire, quell'assassino! seguitava a gridare il fattore; e mi lascia i puledri sulla pancia!
Invece Jeli aveva camminato tutta la notte acciocché i puledri arrivassero freschi alla fiera, e prendessero un buon posto nell'arrivare, ed era giunto al piano del Corvo che ancora i _tre re_ non erano tramontati, e luccicavano sul _monte Arturo_ , colle braccia in croce. Per la strada passavano continuamente carri, e gente a cavallo che andavano alla festa; per questo il giovanetto teneva ben aperti gli occhi, acciò i puledri, spaventati dall'insolito via vai, non si sbandassero, ma andassero uniti lungo il ciglione della strada, dietro la _bianca_ che camminava diritta e tranquilla, col campanaccio al collo. Di tanto in tanto, allorché la strada correva sulla sommità delle colline, si udiva sin là la campana di San Giovanni, che anche nel bujo e nel silenzio della campagna si sentiva la festa, e per tutto lo stradone, lontan lontano, sin dove c'era gente a piedi o a cavallo che andava a Vizzini si udiva gridare: – Viva San Giovanni! – e i razzi salivano diritti e lucenti dietro i monti della Canziria, come le stelle che piovono in agosto.
– È come la notte di Natale! andava dicendo Jeli al ragazzo che l'aiutava a condurre il branco, – che in ogni fattoria si fa festa e luminaria, e per tutta la campagna si vedono qua e là dei fuochi.
Il ragazzo sonnecchiava, spingendo adagio adagio una gamba dietro l'altra, e non rispondeva nulla; ma Jeli che si sentiva rimescolare tutto il sangue da quella campana, non poteva star zitto, come se ognuno di quei razzi che strisciavano sul bujo taciti e lucenti dietro il monte gli sbocciassero dall'anima.
– Mara sarà andata anche lei alla festa di San Giovanni, diceva, perché ci va tutti gli anni.
E senza curarsi che Alfio il ragazzo, non rispondeva nulla:
– Tu non sai? ora Mara è alta così, che è più grande di sua madre che l'ha fatta, e quando l'ho rivista non mi pareva vero che fosse proprio quella stessa con cui si andava a cogliere i fichidindia, e a bacchiare le noci.
E si mise a cantare ad alta voce tutte le canzoni che sapeva.
– O Alfio, che dormi? gli gridò quand'ebbe finito. Bada che la _bianca_ ti vien sempre dietro, bada!
– No, non dormo! rispose Alfio con voce rauca.
– La vedi la _puddara_ , che sta ad ammiccarci lassù, verso Granvilla, come sparassero dei razzi anche a Santa Domenica? Poco può passare a romper l'alba; pure alla fiera arriveremo in tempo per trovare un buon posto. Ehi! morellino bello! che ci avrai la cavezza nuova, colle nappine rosse, per la fiera! e anche tu, _stellato_!
Così andava parlando all'uno e all'altro dei puledri perché si rinfrancassero sentendo la sua voce nel buio. Ma gli doleva che lo _stellato_ e il _morellino_ andassero alla fiera per esser venduti.
– Quando saran venduti, se ne andranno col padrone nuovo, e non si vedranno più nella mandria, com'è stato di Mara, dopo che se ne fu andata a Marineo.
– Suo padre sta benone laggiù a Marineo; ché quando andai a trovarli mi misero dinanzi pane, vino, formaggio, e ogni ben di Dio, che egli è quasi il fattore, ed ha le chiavi di ogni cosa, e avrei potuto mangiarmi tutta la fattoria se avessi voluto. Mara non mi conosceva quasi più da tanto che non ci vedevamo! e si mise a gridare: – Oh! guarda! è Jeli, il guardiano dei cavalli, quello di Tebidi! Gli è come quando uno torna da lontano, che al vedere soltanto il cocuzzolo di un monte gli basta a riconoscere subito il paese dove è cresciuto. La gnà Lia non voleva che le dessi più del tu, alla Mara, ora che sua figlia si è fatta grande, perché la gente che non sa nulla, chiacchiera facilmente. Mara invece rideva, e sembrava che avesse infornato il pane allora allora, tanto era rossa; apparecchiava la tavola, e spiegava la tovaglia che non pareva più quella. – O che non ti rammenti più di Tebidi? le chiesi appena la gnà Lia fu sortita per spillare del vino fresco dalla botte. – Sì, sì, me ne rammento, mi disse ella, a Tebidi c'era la campana col campanile che pareva un manico di saliera, e si suonava dal ballatoio, e c'erano pure due gatti di sasso, che facevano le fusa sul cancello del giardino. – Io me le sentivo qui dentro tutte quelle cose, come ella andava dicendole. Mara mi guardava da capo a piedi con tanto d'occhi, e tornava a dire: – Come ti sei fatto grande! e si mise pure a ridere, e mi diede uno scapaccione qui, sulla testa.
In tal modo Jeli, il guardiano dei cavalli, perdette il pane, perché giusto in quel punto sopravveniva all'improvviso una carrozza che non si era udita prima, mentre saliva l'erta passo passo, e s'era messa al trotto com'era giunta al piano, con gran strepito di frusta e di sonagli, quasi la portasse il diavolo. I puledri, spaventati, si sbandarono in un lampo, che pareva un terremoto, e ce ne vollero delle chiamate, e delle grida e degli ohi! ohi! ohi! di Jeli e del ragazzo prima di raccoglierli attorno alla _bianca_ , la quale anch'essa trotterellava svogliatamente, col campanaccio al collo. Appena Jeli ebbe contato le sue bestie, si accorse che mancava lo _stellato_ , e si cacciò le mani nei capelli, perché in quel posto la strada correva lungo il burrone, e fu nel burrone che lo _stellato_ si fracassò le reni, un puledro che valeva dodici onze come dodici angeli del paradiso! Piangendo e gridando egli andava chiamando il puledro – ahu! ahu! ahu! che non ci si vedeva ancora. Lo _stellato_ rispose finalmente dal fondo del burrone, con un nitrito doloroso, come avesse avuto la parola, povera bestia!
– Oh! mamma mia! andavano gridando Jeli e il ragazzo. Oh! che disgrazia, mamma mia!
I viandanti che andavano alla festa, e sentivano piangere a quel modo in mezzo al buio, domandavano cosa avessero perso; e poi, come sapevano di che si trattava, andavano per la loro strada.
Lo _stellato_ rimaneva immobile dove era caduto colle zampe in aria, e mentre Jeli l'andava tastando per ogni dove, piangendo e parlandogli quasi avesse potuto farsi intendere, la povera bestia rizzava il collo penosamente, e voltava la testa verso di lui e allora si udiva l'anelito rotto dallo spasimo.
– Qualche cosa si sarà rotto! piagnuccolava Jeli, disperato di non poter vedere nulla pel buio; e il puledro inerte come un sasso lasciava ricadere il capo di peso. Alfio rimasto sulla strada a custodia del branco, s'era rasserenato per il primo e aveva tirato fuori il pane dalla sacca. Ora il cielo s'era fatto bianchiccio e i monti tutto intorno parevano che spuntassero ad uno ad uno, neri ed alti. Dalla svolta dello stradone si cominciava a scorgere il paese, col _monte del Calvario_ e _del Mulino a vento_ stampato sull'albore, ancora foschi, seminati dalle chiazze bianche delle pecore, e come i buoi che pascolavano sul cocuzzolo del monte, nell'azzurro, andavano di qua e di là, sembrava che il profilo del monte stesso si animasse e formicolasse di vita. La campana dal fondo del burrone non si udiva più, i viandanti si erano fatti più rari, e quei pochi che passavano avevano fretta di arrivare alla fiera. Il povero Jeli non sapeva a qual santo votarsi in quella solitudine; lo stesso Alfio da solo non poteva giovargli per niente; perciò costui andava sbocconcellando pian piano il suo pezzo di pane.
Finalmente si vide venire a cavallo il fattore, il quale da lontano strepitava e bestemmiava accorrendo, al vedere gli animali fermi sulla strada, sicché lo stesso Alfio se la diede a gambe per la collina. Ma Jeli non si mosse d'accanto allo _stellato_. Il fattore lasciò la mula sulla strada, e scese nel burrone anche lui, cercando di aiutare il puledro ad alzarsi e tirandolo per la coda. – Lasciatelo stare! diceva Jeli bianco in viso come se si fosse fracassate le reni lui. Lasciatelo stare! Non vedete che non si può muovere, povera bestia!
Lo _stellato_ infatti ad ogni movimento, e ad ogni sforzo che gli facevano fare metteva un rantolo che pareva un cristiano. Il fattore si sfogava a calci e scapaccioni su di Jeli, e tirava pei piedi gli angeli e i santi del paradiso. Allora Alfio più rassicurato era tornato sulla strada, per non lasciare le bestie senza custodia, e badava a scolparsi dicendo: – Io non ci ho colpa. Io andavo innanzi colla _bianca_.
– Qui non c'è più nulla da fare, disse alfine il fattore, dopo che si persuase che era tutto tempo perso. Qui non se ne può prendere altro che la pelle, sinché è buona.
Jeli si mise a tremare come una foglia quando vide il fattore andare a staccare lo schioppo dal basto della mula. – Levati di lì, paneperso! gli urlò il fattore, ché non so chi mi tenga dallo stenderti per terra accanto a quel puledro che valeva assai più di te, con tutto il battesimo porco che ti diede quel prete ladro!
Lo _stellato_ , non potendosi muovere, volgeva il capo con grandi occhi sbarrati quasi avesse inteso ogni cosa, e il pelo gli si arricciava ad onde, lungo le costole, sembrava ci corresse sotto un brivido. In tal modo il fattore uccise sul luogo lo _stellato_ per cavarne almeno la pelle, e il rumore fiacco che fece dentro le carni vive il colpo tirato a bruciapelo parve a Jeli di sentirselo dentro di sé.
– Ora se vuoi sapere il mio consiglio, gli lasciò detto il fattore, cerca di non farti veder più dal padrone per quel salario che avanzi, perché te lo pagherebbe salato assai!
Il fattore se ne andò insieme ad Alfio, cogli altri puledri che non si voltavano nemmeno a vedere dove rimanesse lo _stellato_ , e andavano strappando l'erba dal ciglione. Lo _stellato_ se ne stava solo nel burrone, aspettando che venissero a scuoiarlo, cogli occhi ancora spalancati, e le quattro zampe distese, che allora solo aveva potuto distenderle. Jeli, ora che aveva visto come il fattore aveva potuto prender di mira il puledro che penosamente voltava la testa sbigottito, e gli fosse bastato il cuore per tirare il colpo, non piangeva più, e stava a guardare lo _stellato_ duro duro, seduto sul sasso, fin quando arrivarono gli uomini che dovevano prendersi la pelle.
Adesso poteva andarsene a spasso, a godersi la festa, o starsene in piazza tutto il giorno, a vedere i galantuomini nel caffè, come meglio gli piaceva, ché non aveva più né pane, né tetto, e bisognava cercarsi un padrone, se pure qualcuno lo voleva, dopo la disgrazia dello _stellato_.
Le cose del mondo vanno così: mentre Jeli andava cercando un padrone colla sacca ad armacollo e il bastone in mano, la banda suonava in piazza allegramente, coi pennacchi nel cappello, in mezzo a una folla di berrette bianche fitte come le mosche, e i galantuomini stavano a godersela seduti nel caffè. Tutta la gente era vestita da festa, come gli animali della fiera, e in un canto della piazza c'era una donna colla gonnella corta e le calze color di carne che pareva colle gambe nude, e picchiava sulla gran cassa, davanti a un gran lenzuolo dipinto, dove si vedeva una carneficina di cristiani, col sangue che colava a torrenti, e nella folla che stava a guardare a bocca aperta c'era pure massaro Cola, il quale lo conosceva da quando stava a Passanitello, e gli disse che il padrone glielo avrebbe trovato lui, poiché compare Isidoro Macca cercava un guardiano per i porci. – Però non dir nulla dello _stellato_ , gli raccomandò massaro Cola. Una disgrazia come questa può accadere a tutti, nel mondo. Ma è meglio non dir nulla.
Andarono perciò a cercare compare Macca, il quale era al ballo, e nel tempo che Massaro Cola andò a fare l'imbasciata Jeli aspettò sulla strada, in mezzo alla folla che stava a guardare dalla porta della bottega. Nella stanzaccia c'era un mondo di gente che saltava e si divertiva, tutti rossi e scalmanati, e facevano un gran pestare di scarponi sull'ammattonato, che non si udiva nemmeno il ron ron del contrabasso, e appena finiva una suonata, che costava un grano, levavano il dito per far segno che ne volevano un'altra; e quello del contrabasso faceva una croce col carbone sulla parete, per fare il conto all'ultimo, e ricominciava da capo. – Costoro li spendono senza pensarci, s'andava dicendo Jeli, e vuol dire che hanno la tasca piena, e non sono in angustia come me, per difetto di un padrone, se sudano e s'affannano a saltare per loro piacere come se li pagassero a giornata! – Massaro Cola tornò dicendo che compare Macca non aveva bisogno di nulla. Allora Jeli volse le spalle e se ne andò mogio mogio.
Mara stava di casa verso Sant'Antonio, dove le case s'arrampicano sul monte, di fronte al vallone della Canziria, tutto verde di fichidindia, e colle ruote dei mulini che spumeggiavano in fondo, sul torrente; ma Jeli non ebbe il coraggio di andare da quelle parti ora che non l'avevano voluto nemmeno per guardare i porci, e girandolando in mezzo alla folla che lo urtava e lo spingeva senza curarsi di lui, gli pareva di essere più solo di quando era coi puledri nelle lande di Passanitello, e si sentiva voglia di piangere. Finalmente massaro Agrippino lo incontrò nella piazza, che andava di qua e di là colle braccia ciondoloni, godendosi la festa, e cominciò a gridargli dietro – Oh! Jeli! oh! – e se lo menò a casa. Mara era in gran gala, con tanto d'orecchini che le sbattevano sulle guancie, e stava sull'uscio, colle mani sulla pancia, cariche d'anelli, ad aspettare che imbrunisse per andare a vedere i fuochi.
– Oh! gli disse Mara, sei venuto anche tu per la festa di San Giovanni!
Jeli non avrebbe voluto entrare perché era vestito male, però massaro Agrippino lo spinse per le spalle dicendogli che non si vedevano allora per la prima volta, e che si sapeva che era venuto per la fiera coi puledri del padrone. La gnà Lia gli versò un bel bicchiere di vino e vollero condurlo con loro a veder la luminaria, insieme alle comari ed ai vicini.
Arrivando in piazza, Jeli rimase a bocca aperta dalla meraviglia; tutta la piazza pareva un mare di fuoco, come quando si incendiavano le stoppie, per il gran numero di razzi che i devoti accendevano sotto gli occhi del santo, il quale stava a goderseli dall'imboccatura del Rosario, tutto nero sotto il baldacchino d'argento. I devoti andavano e venivano fra le fiamme come tanti diavoli, e c'era persino una donna discinta, spettinata, cogli occhi fuori della testa, che accendeva i razzi anch'essa, e un prete colla sottana nera, senza cappello, che pareva un ossesso dalla devozione.
– Quello lì è il figliuolo di massaro Neri, il fattore della Salonia, e spende più di dieci lire di razzi! diceva la gnà Lia accennando a un giovinotto che andava in giro per la piazza tenendo due razzi alla volta nelle mani, al pari di due candele, sicché tutte le donne se lo mangiavano cogli occhi, e gli gridavano – Viva San Giovanni.
– Suo padre è ricco e possiede più di venti capi di bestiame, aggiungeva massaro Agrippino.
Mara sapeva anche che aveva portato lo stendardo grande, nella processione e lo reggeva diritto come un fuso, tanto era forte e bel giovane.
Il figlio di massaro Neri pareva che li sentisse, e accendesse i suoi razzi per la Mara, facendo la ruota dinanzi a lei; e dopo che i fuochi furono cessati si accompagnò con loro, e li condusse al ballo, e al cosmorama, dove si vedeva il mondo vecchio e il mondo nuovo, pagando lui per tutti, anche per Jeli il quale andava dietro la comitiva come un cane senza padrone, a veder ballare il figlio di massaro Neri colla Mara, la quale girava in tondo e si accoccolava come una colombella sulle tegole, e teneva tesa con bel garbo una cocca del grembiale, e il figlio di massaro Neri saltava come un puledro, tanto che la gnà Lia piangeva come una bimba dalla consolazione, e massaro Agrippino faceva cenno di sì col capo, che la cosa andava bene.
Infine, quando furono stanchi, se ne andarono di qua e di là _nel passeggio_ , trascinati dalla folla come fossero in mezzo a una fiumana, a vedere i trasparenti illuminati, dove tagliavano il collo a San Giovanni, che avrebbe fatto pietà agli stessi turchi, e il santo sgambettava come un capriuolo sotto la mannaja. Lì vicino c'era la banda che suonava, sotto un gran paracqua di legno tutto illuminato, e nella piazza c'era una folla tanto grande che mai s'erano visti alla fiera tanti cristiani.
Mara andava al braccio del figlio di massaro Neri come una signorina, e gli parlava nell'orecchio, e rideva che pareva si divertisse assai. Jeli non ne poteva più dalla stanchezza, e si mise a dormire seduto sul marciapiede fin quando lo svegliarono i primi petardi del fuoco d'artifizio. In quel momento Mara era sempre al fianco del figlio di massaro Neri, gli si appoggiava colle due mani intrecciate sulla spalla, e al lume dei fuochi colorati sembrava ora tutta bianca ed ora tutta rossa. Quando scapparono pel cielo gli ultimi razzi in folla, il figlio di massaro Neri si voltò verso di lei, verde in viso, e le diede un bacio.
Jeli non disse nulla, ma in quel punto gli si cambiò in veleno tutta la festa che aveva goduto sin allora, e tornò a pensare a tutte le sue disgrazie che gli erano uscite di mente, e che era rimasto senza padrone, e non sapeva più che fare, né dove andare, e non aveva più né pane né tetto, che potevano mangiarselo i cani al pari dello _stellato_ il quale era rimasto in fondo al burrone, scuoiato sino agli zoccoli.
Intanto attorno a lui la gente faceva gazzarra ancora nel buio che si era fatto, Mara colle compagne saltava, e cantava per la stradicciola sassosa, mentre tornavano a casa.
– Buona notte! buona notte! andavano dicendo le compagne a misura che si lasciavano per la strada.
Mara dava la buona notte, che pareva che cantasse, tanta contentezza ci aveva nella voce e il figlio di massaro Neri poi sembrava proprio che non volesse lasciarla andare più, mentre massaro Agrippino e la gnà Lia litigavano nell'aprire l'uscio di casa. Nessuno badava a Jeli, soltanto massaro Agrippino si rammentò di lui, e gli chiese:
– Ed ora dove andrai?
– Non lo so – disse Jeli.
– Domani vieni a trovarmi, e t'aiuterò a cercar dall'allogarti. Per stanotte torna in piazza dove siamo stati a sentir suonare la banda; un posto su qualche panchetta lo troverai, e a dormire allo scoperto tu devi esserci avvezzo.
Jeli c'era avvezzo, ma quello che gli faceva pena era che Mara non gli diceva nulla, e lo lasciasse a quel modo sull'uscio come un pezzente; e il domani, tornando a cercar di massaro Agrippino, appena furono soli colla ragazza le disse:
– Oh gnà Mara! come li scordate gli amici!
– Oh, sei tu Jeli? disse Mara. No, io non ti ho scordato. Ma ero così stanca dopo i fuochi!
– Gli volete bene almeno, al figlio di massaro Neri? chiese lui voltando e rivoltando il bastone fra le mani.
– Che discorsi andate facendo! rispose bruscamente la gnà Mara. Mia madre è di là che sente tutto.
Massaro Agrippino gli trovò da allogarlo come pecoraio alla Salonia, dov'era fattore massaro Neri, ma siccome Jeli era poco pratico del mestiere si dovette contentare di una grossa diminuzione di salario.
Adesso badava alle sue pecore, e ad imparare come si fa il formaggio, e la ricotta, e il caciocavallo, e ogni altro frutto di mandra, ma fra le chiacchiere che si facevano alla sera nel cortile cogli altri pastori e contadini, mentre le donne sbucciavano le fave della minestra, se si veniva a parlare del figlio di massaro Neri, il quale si prendeva in moglie Mara di massaro Agrippino, Jeli non diceva più nulla, e nemmeno osava di aprir bocca. Una volta che il campajo lo motteggiò dicendogli che Mara non aveva voluto saperne più di lui, dopo che tutti avevano detto che sarebbero stati marito e moglie, Jeli che badava alla pentola in cui bolliva il latte, rispose facendo sciogliere il caglio adagio adagio:
– Ora Mara si è fatta più bella col crescere, che sembra una signora.
Però siccome egli era paziente e laborioso, imparò presto ogni cosa del mestiere meglio di uno che ci fosse nato, e siccome era avvezzo a star colle bestie amava le sue pecore come se le avesse fatte lui, e quindi il _male_ alla Salonia non faceva tanta strage, e la mandra prosperava ch'era un piacere per massaro Neri tutte le volte che veniva alla fattoria, tanto che ad anno nuovo si persuase ad indurre il padrone perché aumentasse il salario di Jeli, sicché costui venne ad avere quasi quello che prendeva col fare il guardiano dei cavalli. Ed erano danari bene spesi, ché Jeli non badava a contar le miglia e miglia per cercare i migliori pascoli ai suoi animali, e se le pecore figliavano o erano malate se le portava a pascolare dentro le bisaccie dell'asinello, e si recava in collo gli agnelli che gli belavano sulla faccia col muso fuori del sacco, e gli poppavano le orecchie. Nella nevicata famosa della notte di Santa Lucia la neve cadde alta quattro palmi nel _lago morto_ alla Salonia, e tutto all'intorno per miglia e miglia che non si vedeva altro per tutta la campagna, come venne il giorno, – e delle pecore non sarebbero rimaste nemmeno le orecchie, se Jeli non si fosse alzato nella notte tre o quattro volte a cacciare le pecore pel chiuso, così le povere bestie si scuotevano la neve di dosso, e non rimasero seppellite come tante ce ne furono nelle mandre vicine – a quel che disse Massaro Agrippino quando venne a dare un'occhiata ad un campicello di fave che ci aveva alla Salonia, e disse pure che di quell'altra storia del figlio di massaro Neri, il quale doveva sposare sua figlia Mara, non era vero niente, ché Mara aveva tutt'altro per il capo.
– Se avevano detto che dovevano sposarsi a Natale, disse Jeli.
– Non è vero niente, non dovevano sposare nessuno; tutte chiacchiere di gente invidiosa che si immischia negli affari altrui; rispose massaro Agrippino.
Però il campajo, il quale la sapeva più lunga, per averne sentito parlare in piazza, quando andava in paese la domenica, raccontò invece la cosa tale e quale com'era, dopo che massaro Agrippino se ne fu andato. Non si sposavano più perché il figlio di massaro Neri aveva risaputo che Mara di massaro Agrippino se la intendeva con don Alfonso, il signorino, il quale aveva conosciuta Mara da piccola; e massaro Neri aveva detto che il suo ragazzo voleva che fosse onorato come suo padre, e delle corna in casa non ne voleva altre che quelle dei suoi buoi.
Jeli era lì presente anche lui, seduto in circolo cogli altri a colezione, e in quel momento stava affettando il pane. Egli non disse nulla, ma l'appetito gli andò via per quel giorno.
Mentre conduceva al pascolo le pecore tornò a pensare a Mara quando era ragazzina, che stavano insieme tutto il giorno e andavano nella _valle del Jacitano_ e sul _poggio alla Croce_ , ed ella stava a guardarlo col mento in aria mentre egli si arrampicava a prendere i nidi sulle cime degli alberi; e pensava anche a don Alfonso il quale veniva a trovarlo dalla villa vicina e si sdraiavano bocconi sull'erba a stuzzicare con un fuscellino i nidi di grilli. Tutte quelle cose andava rimuginando per ore ed ore, seduto sull'orlo del fossato, tenendosi i ginocchi fra le braccia, e i noci alti di Tebidi, e le folte macchie dei valloni, e le pendici delle colline verdi di sommacchi, e gli ulivi grigi che si addossavano nella valle come nebbia, e i tetti rossi del casamento, e il campanile «che sembrava un manico di saliera» fra gli aranci del giardino. – Qui la campagna gli si stendeva dinanzi brulla, deserta, chiazzata dall'erba riarsa, sfumando silenziosa nell'afa lontana.
In primavera, appena i baccelli delle fave cominciavano a piegare il capo, Mara venne alla Salonia col babbo e la mamma, e il ragazzo e l'asinello, a raccogliere le fave, e tutti insieme venivano a dormire alla fattoria per quei due o tre giorni che durò la raccolta. Jeli in tal modo vedeva la ragazza mattina e sera, e spesso sedevano accanto sul muricciuolo dell'ovile, a discorrere insieme, mentre il ragazzo contava le pecore. – Mi pare d'essere a Tebidi, diceva Mara, quando eravamo piccoli, e stavamo sul ponticello della viottola.
Jeli si rammentava di ogni cosa anche lui, sebbene non dicesse nulla perché era stato sempre un ragazzo giudizioso e di poche parole.
Finita la raccolta, alla vigilia della partenza, Mara venne a salutare il giovanotto, nel tempo che ei stava facendo la ricotta, ed era tutto intento a raccogliere il siero colla cazza. – Ora ti dico addio, gli disse ella, perché domani torniamo a Vizzini.
– Come sono andate le fave?
– Male sono andate! la _lupa_ le ha mangiate tutte questo anno.
– Dipende dalla pioggia che è stata scarsa, disse Jeli, noi siamo stati costretti ad uccidere anche le agnelle perché non avevano da mangiare; su tutta la Salonia non è venuta tre dita di erba.
– Ma a te poco te ne importa. Il salario l'hai sempre, buona o mal'annata!
– Sì, è vero, disse lui: ma mi rincresce dare quelle povere bestie in mano al beccajo.
– Ti ricordi quando sei venuto per la festa di San Giovanni, ed eri rimasto senza padrone?
– Sì, me ne ricordo.
– Fu mio padre che ti allogò qui, da massaro Neri.
– E tu perché non l'hai sposato il figlio di massaro Neri?
– Perché non c'era la volontà di Dio. Mio padre è stato sfortunato, riprese di lì a poco. Dacché ce ne siamo andati a Marineo ogni cosa ci è riescita male. La fava, il seminato, quel pezzetto di vigna che ci abbiamo lassù. Poi mio fratello è andato soldato, e ci è morta pure una mula che valeva quarant'onze.
– Lo so, rispose Jeli, la mula baia!
– Ora che abbiamo perso la roba, chi vuoi che mi sposi?
Mara andava sminuzzando uno sterpolino di pruno, mentre parlava, col mento sul seno, e gli occhi bassi, e col gomito stuzzicava un po' il gomito di Jeli, senza badarci. Ma Jeli cogli occhi sulla zangola anche lui non rispondeva nulla; ed ella riprese:
– A Tebidi dicevano che saremmo stati marito e moglie, lo rammenti?
– Sì, disse Jeli, e posò la cazza sull'orlo della zangola. Ma io sono un povero pecoraio e non posso pretendere alla figlia di un massaro come sei tu.
La Mara rimase un pochino zitta e poi disse:
– Se tu mi vuoi, io per me ti piglio volentieri.
– Davvero?
– Sì, davvero.
– E massaro Agrippino che cosa dirà?
– Mio padre dice che ora il mestiere lo sai, e tu non sei di quelli che vanno a spendere il loro salario, ma di un soldo ne fai due, e non mangi per non consumare il pane, così arriverai ad aver delle pecore anche tu, e ti farai ricco.
– Se è così, conchiuse Jeli, ti piglio volentieri anch'io.
– To'! gli disse Mara come si era fatto buio, e le pecore andavano tacendosi a poco a poco. Se vuoi un bacio adesso te lo dò, perché saremo marito e moglie.
Jeli se lo prese in santa pace, e non sapendo che dire soggiunse:
– Io t'ho sempre voluto bene, anche quando volevi lasciarmi pel figlio di massaro Neri; ma non ebbe cuore di dirgli di quell'altro.
– Non lo vedi? eravamo destinati! conchiuse Mara.
Massaro Agrippino infatti disse di sì, e la gnà Lia mise insieme presto presto un giubbone nuovo, e un paio di brache di velluto per il genero. Mara era bella e fresca come una rosa, con quella mantellina bianca che sembrava l'agnello pasquale, e quella collana d'ambra che le faceva il collo bianco; sicché Jeli quando andava per le strade al fianco di lei, camminava impalato, tutto vestito di panno e di velluto nuovo, e non osava soffiarsi il naso, col fazzoletto di seta rosso, per non farsi scorgere, e i vicini e tutti quelli che sapevano la storia di Don Alfonso gli ridevano sul naso. Quando Mara disse _sissignore_ , e il prete gliela diede in moglie con un gran crocione, Jeli se la condusse a casa, e gli parve che gli avessero dato tutto l'oro della Madonna, e tutte le terre che aveva visto cogli occhi.
– Ora che siamo marito e moglie, – le disse giunti a casa, seduto di faccia a lei e facendosi piccino piccino, – ora che siamo marito e moglie posso dirtelo che non mi par vero come tu m'abbia voluto... mentre avresti potuto prenderne tanti meglio di me... così bella e graziosa come sei!...
Il poveraccio non sapeva dirle altro, e non capiva nei panni nuovi dalla contentezza di vedersi Mara per la casa, che rassettava e toccava ogni cosa, e faceva la padrona. Egli non trovava il verso di spiccicarsi dall'uscio per tornarsene alla Salonia; quando fu venuto il lunedì, indugiava nell'assettare sul basto dell'asinello le bisacce e il tabarro e il paracqua incerato. – Tu dovresti venirtene alla Salonia anche te! diceva alla moglie che stava a guardarlo dalla soglia. Tu dovresti venirtene con me. – Ma la donna si mise a ridere, e gli rispose che ella non era nata a far la pecoraia, e non aveva nulla da andare a farci alla Salonia.
Infatti Mara non era nata a far la pecoraia, e non ci era avvezza alla tramontana di gennaio quando le mani si irrigidiscono sul bastone, e sembra che vi caschino le unghie, e ai furiosi acquazzoni, in cui l'acqua vi penetra fino alle ossa, e alla polvere soffocante delle strade, quando le pecore camminano sotto il sole cocente, e al giaciglio duro e al pane muffito, e alle lunghe giornate silenziose e solitarie, in cui per la campagna arsa non si vede altro di lontano, rare volte, che qualche contadino nero dal sole, il quale si spinge innanzi silenzioso l'asinello, per la strada bianca e interminabile. Almeno Jeli sapeva che Mara stava al caldo sotto le coltri, o filava davanti al fuoco, in crocchio colle vicine, o si godeva il sole sul ballatojo, mentre egli tornava dal pascolo stanco ed assetato, o fradicio di pioggia, o quando il vento spingeva la neve dentro il casolare, e spegneva il fuoco di sarmenti. Ogni mese Mara andava a riscuotere il salario dal padrone, e non le mancavano né le uova nel pollaio, né l'olio nella lucerna, né il vino nel fiasco. Due volte al mese poi Jeli andava a trovarla, ed ella lo aspettava sul ballatojo, col fuso in mano; e dopo che egli avea legato l'asino nella stalla e toltogli il basto, messogli la biada nella greppia, e riposta la legna sotto la tettoja nel cortile, o quel che portava in cucina, Mara l'aiutava ad appendere il tabarro al chiodo, e a togliersi le gambiere di pelle, davanti al focolare, e gli versava il vino, metteva a bollire la minestra, apparecchiava il desco, cheta cheta e previdente come una brava massaia, nel tempo stesso che gli parlava di questo e di quello, della chioccia che aveva messo a covare, della tela che era sul telaio, del vitello che allevavano, senza dimenticare una sola delle faccenduole che andava facendo. Jeli quando si trovava in casa sua, si sentiva d'essere di più del papa.
Ma la notte di Santa Barbara tornò a casa ad ora insolita, che tutti i lumi erano spenti nella stradicciuola, e l'orologio della città suonava la mezzanotte. Egli veniva perché la cavalla che il padrone aveva lasciata al pascolo s'era ammalata all'improvviso, e si vedeva chiaro che quella era cosa che ci voleva il maniscalco subito subito, e ce n'era voluto per condurla sino in paese, colla pioggia che cadeva come una fiumara, e colle strade dove si sprofondava sino a mezza gamba. Tuttavia ebbe un bel bussare e chiamar Mara da dietro l'uscio, gli toccò d'aspettare mezzora sotto la grondaja, sicché l'acqua gli usciva dalle calcagna. Sua moglie venne ad aprirgli finalmente, e cominciò a strapazzarlo peggio che se fosse stata lei a scorazzare per i campi con quel tempaccio. – O cos'hai? gli domandava lui.
– Ho che m'hai fatto paura a quest'ora! che ti par ora da cristiani questa? Domani sarò ammalata!
– Va' a coricarti, il fuoco l'accenderò io.
– No, bisogna che vada a prender la legna.
– Andrò io.
– No, ti dico!
Quando Mara ritornò colla legna nelle braccia Jeli le disse:
– Perché hai aperto l'uscio del cortile? Non ce n'era più di legna in cucina?
– No, sono andata a prenderla sotto la tettoja.
Ella si lasciò baciare, fredda fredda, e volse il capo dall'altra parte.
– Sua moglie lo lascia a infradiciare dietro l'uscio, dicevano i vicini, quando in casa c'è il tordo!
Ma Jeli non sapeva nulla, ch'era becco, né gli altri si curavano di dirglielo, perché a lui non gliene importava niente, e s'era accollata la donna col danno, dopo che il figlio di massaro Neri l'aveva piantata per aver saputo la storia di don Alfonso. Jeli invece ci viveva beato e contento nel vituperio, e s'ingrassava come un majale, «ché le corna sono magre, ma mantengono la casa grassa!».
Una volta infine il ragazzo della mandra glielo disse in faccia, mentre si abbaruffavano per le pezze di formaggio che si trovavano tosate. – Ora che don Alfonso vi ha preso la moglie, vi pare di essere suo cognato, e avete messo superbia che vi par di essere un re di corona con quelle corna che avete in testa.
Il fattore e il campajo si aspettavano di veder scorrere il sangue a quelle parole; ma invece Jeli rimase istupidito come se non le avesse udite, o come se non fosse stato fatto suo, con una faccia da bue che le corna gli stavano bene davvero.
Ora si avvicinava la Pasqua e il fattore mandava tutti gli uomini della fattoria a confessarsi, colla speranza che pel timor di Dio non rubassero più. Jeli andò anche lui e all'uscir di chiesa cercò del ragazzo con cui erano corse quelle parole e gli buttò le braccia al collo dicendogli:
– Il confessore mi ha detto di perdonarti; ma io non sono in collera con te per quelle chiacchiere; e se tu non toserai più il formaggio a me non me ne importa nulla di quello che mi hai detto nella collera.
Fu da quel momento che lo chiamarono per soprannome _Corna d'oro_ , e il soprannome gli rimase, a lui e tutti i suoi, anche dopo che ei si lavò le corna nel sangue.
La Mara era andata a confessarsi anche lei, e tornava di chiesa tutta raccolta nella mantellina, e cogli occhi bassi che sembrava una santa Maria Maddalena. Jeli il quale l'aspettava taciturno sul ballatojo, come la vide venire a quel modo, che si vedeva come ci avesse il Signore in corpo, la stava a guardare pallido pallido dai piedi alla testa, come la vedesse per la prima volta, o gliela avessero cambiata la sua Mara, e quasi non osava alzare gli occhi su di lei, mentre ella sciorinava la tovaglia, e metteva in tavola le scodelle, tranquilla e pulita al suo solito.
Poi dopo averci pensato un gran pezzo le domandò:
– È vero che te la intendi con don Alfonso?
Mara gli piantò in faccia i suoi occhioni neri neri, e si fece il segno della croce. – Perché volete farmi far peccato in questo giorno! esclamò.
– Io non ci ho creduto, perché con don Alfonso eravamo sempre insieme, quando eravamo ragazzi, e non passava giorno ch'ei non venisse a Tebidi, quand'era in campagna lì vicino. E poi egli è ricco che i denari li ha a palate, e se volesse delle donne potrebbe maritarsi, né gli mancherebbe la roba, o il pane da mangiare.
Mara però andavasi riscaldando, e cominciò a strapazzarlo in mal modo, sicché il poveraccio non osava alzare il naso dal piatto.
Infine perché quella grazia di Dio che stavano mangiando non andasse in tossico Mara cambiò discorso, e gli domandò se ci avesse pensato a far zappare quel po' di lino che avevano seminato nel campo delle fave.
– Sì, rispose Jeli, e il lino verrà bene.
– Se è così, disse Mara, in questo inverno ti farò due camicie nuove che ti terranno caldo.
Insomma Jeli non lo capiva quello che vuol dire becco, e non sapeva cosa fosse la gelosia; ogni cosa nuova stentava ad entrargli in capo, e questa poi gli riesciva così grossa che addirittura faceva una fatica del diavolo ad entrarci; massime allorché si vedeva dinanzi la sua Mara, tanto bella, e bianca, e pulita, che l'aveva voluto ella stessa, ed alla quale egli aveva pensato tanti anni e tanti anni, fin da quando era ragazzo, che il giorno in cui gli avevano detto com'ella volesse sposarne un altro non aveva avuto più cuore di mangiare o di bere tutto il giorno – ed anche se pensava a don Alfonso, col quale erano stati tante volte insieme, ed ei gli portava ogni volta dei dolci e del pane bianco, gli pareva di averlo tuttora dinanzi agli occhi con quei vestitini nuovi, e i capelli ricciuti, e il viso bianco e liscio come una fanciulla, e dacché non lo aveva più visto, perché egli era un povero pecoraio, e stava tutto l'anno in campagna, gli era sempre rimasto in cuore a quel modo. Ma la prima volta che per sua disgrazia rivide don Alfonso, dopo tanti anni, Jeli si sentì dentro come se lo cuocessero. Don Alfonso s'era fatto grande, da non sembrare più quello; ed ora aveva una bella barba ricciuta al pari dei capelli, e una giacchetta di velluto, e una catenella d'oro sul panciotto. Però riconobbe Jeli, e gli batté anche sulle spalle salutandolo. Era venuto col padrone della fattoria insieme a una brigata d'amici, a fare una scampagnata nel tempo che si tosavano le pecore; ed era venuta pure Mara all'improvviso col pretesto che era incinta e aveva voglia di ricotta fresca.
Era una bella giornata calda, nei campi biondi, colle siepi in fiore, e i lunghi filari verdi delle vigne, le pecore saltellavano e belavano dal piacere, al sentirsi spogliate da tutta quella lana, e nella cucina le donne facevano un gran fuoco per cuocere la gran roba che il padrone aveva portato per il desinare. I signori intanto che aspettavano si erano messi all'ombra, sotto i carrubi, e facevano suonare i tamburelli e le cornamuse, e ballavano colle donne della fattoria che parevano tutt'una cosa. Jeli mentre andava tosando le pecore, si sentiva qualcosa dentro di sé, senza sapere perché, come uno spino, come un chiodo, come una forbice che gli lavorasse internamente minuta minuta, come un veleno. Il padrone aveva ordinato che gli sgozzassero due capretti, e il castrato di un anno, e dei polli, e un tacchino. Insomma voleva fare le cose in grande, e senza risparmio, per farsi onore coi suoi amici, e mentre tutte quelle bestie schiamazzavano dal dolore, e i capretti strillavano sotto il coltello, Jeli si sentiva tremare le ginocchia e di tratto in tratto gli pareva che la lana che andava tosando e l'erba in cui le pecore saltellavano avvampassero di sangue.
– Non andare! disse egli a Mara, come don Alfonso la chiamava perché venisse a ballare cogli altri. Non andare, Mara!
– Perché?
– Non voglio che tu vada. Non andare!
– Lo senti che mi chiamano.
Egli non profferiva più alcuna parola intelligibile, mentre stava curvo sulle pecore che tosava. Mara si strinse nelle spalle, e se ne andò a ballare. Ella era rossa ed allegra cogli occhi neri che sembravano due stelle, e rideva che le si vedevano i denti bianchi, e tutto l'oro che aveva indosso le sbatteva e le scintillava sulle guancie e sul petto che pareva la Madonna tale e quale. Jeli s'era rizzato sulla vita, colla lunga forbice in pugno, e così bianco in viso, così bianco come aveva visto una volta suo padre il vaccajo, quando tremava di febbre accanto al fuoco, nel casolare. Tutt'a un tratto come vide che don Alfonso, colla bella barba ricciuta, e la giacchetta di velluto e la catenella d'oro sul panciotto, prese Mara per la mano per ballare, solo allora, come vide che la toccava, si slanciò su di lui, e gli tagliò la gola di un sol colpo, proprio come un capretto.
Più tardi, mentre lo conducevano dinanzi al giudice, legato, disfatto, senza che avesse osato opporre la menoma resistenza.
– Come! – diceva – Non dovevo ucciderlo nemmeno?... Se mi aveva preso la Mara!...
# Rosso Malpelo
Malpelo si chiamava così perché aveva i capelli rossi; ed aveva i capelli rossi perché era un ragazzo malizioso e cattivo, che prometteva di riescire un fior di birbone. Sicché tutti alla cava della rena rossa lo chiamavano Malpelo; e persino sua madre col sentirgli dir sempre a quel modo aveva quasi dimenticato il suo nome di battesimo.
Del resto, ella lo vedeva soltanto il sabato sera, quando tornava a casa con quei pochi soldi della settimana; e siccome era _malpelo_ c'era anche a temere che ne sottraesse un paio di quei soldi; e nel dubbio, per non sbagliare, la sorella maggiore gli faceva la ricevuta a scapaccioni.
Però il padrone della cava aveva confermato che i soldi erano tanti e non più; e in coscienza erano anche troppi per Malpelo, un monellaccio che nessuno avrebbe voluto vedersi davanti, e che tutti schivavano come un can rognoso, e lo accarezzavano coi piedi, allorché se lo trovavano a tiro.
Egli era davvero un brutto ceffo, torvo, ringhioso, e selvatico. Al mezzogiorno, mentre tutti gli altri operai della cava si mangiavano in crocchio la loro minestra, e facevano un po' di ricreazione, egli andava a rincantucciarsi col suo corbello fra le gambe, per rosicchiarsi quel suo pane di otto giorni, come fanno le bestie sue pari; e ciascuno gli diceva la sua motteggiandolo, e gli tiravan dei sassi, finché il soprastante lo rimandava al lavoro con una pedata. Ei c'ingrassava fra i calci e si lasciava caricare meglio dell'asino grigio, senza osar di lagnarsi. Era sempre cencioso e lordo di rena rossa, ché la sua sorella s'era fatta sposa, e aveva altro pel capo: nondimeno era conosciuto come la bettonica per tutto Monserrato e la Carvana, tanto che la cava dove lavorava la chiamavano «la cava di Malpelo», e cotesto al padrone gli seccava assai. Insomma lo tenevano addirittura per carità e perché mastro Misciu, suo padre, era morto nella cava.
Era morto così, che un sabato aveva voluto terminare certo lavoro preso a cottimo, di un pilastro lasciato altra volta per sostegno nella cava, e che ora non serviva più, e s'era calcolato così ad occhio col padrone per 35 o 40 carra di rena. Invece mastro Misciu sterrava da tre giorni e ne avanzava ancora per la mezza giornata del lunedì. Era stato un magro affare e solo un minchione come mastro Misciu aveva potuto lasciarsi gabbare a questo modo dal padrone; perciò appunto lo chiamavano mastro Misciu Bestia, ed era l'asino da basto di tutta la cava. Ei, povero diavolaccio, lasciava dire e si contentava di buscarsi il pane colle sue braccia, invece di menarle addosso ai compagni, e attaccar brighe. Malpelo faceva un visaccio come se quelle soperchierie cascassero sulle sue spalle, e così piccolo com'era aveva di quelle occhiate che facevano dire agli altri: – Va' là, che tu non ci morrai nel tuo letto, come tuo padre.
Invece nemmen suo padre ci morì nel suo letto, tuttoché fosse una buona bestia. Zio Mommu lo sciancato, aveva detto che quel pilastro lì ei non l'avrebbe tolto per venti onze, tanto era pericoloso; ma d'altra parte tutto è pericoloso nelle cave, e se si sta a badare al pericolo, è meglio andare a fare l'avvocato.
Adunque il sabato sera mastro Misciu raschiava ancora il suo pilastro che l'avemaria era suonata da un pezzo, e tutti i suoi compagni avevano accesa la pipa e se n'erano andati dicendogli di divertirsi a grattarsi la pancia per amor del padrone, e raccomandandogli di non fare _la morte del sorcio._ Ei, che c'era avvezzo alle beffe, non dava retta, e rispondeva soltanto cogli ah! ah! dei suoi bei colpi di zappa in pieno; e intanto borbottava: – Questo è per il pane! Questo pel vino! Questo per la gonnella di Nunziata! – e così andava facendo il conto del come avrebbe speso i denari del suo _appalto –_ il cottimante!
Fuori della cava il cielo formicolava di stelle, e laggiù la lanterna fumava e girava al pari di un arcolaio; ed il grosso pilastro rosso, sventrato a colpi di zappa, contorcevasi e si piegava in arco come se avesse il mal di pancia, e dicesse: _ohi! ohi!_ anch'esso. Malpelo andava sgomberando il terreno, e metteva al sicuro il piccone, il sacco vuoto ed il fiasco del vino. Il padre che gli voleva bene, poveretto, andava dicendogli: «Tirati indietro!» oppure «Sta' attento! Sta' attento se cascano dall'alto dei sassolini o della rena grossa». Tutt'a un tratto non disse più nulla, e Malpelo, che si era voltato a riporre i ferri nel corbello, udì un rumore sordo e soffocato, come fa la rena allorché si rovescia tutta in una volta; ed il lume si spense.
Quella sera in cui vennero a cercare in tutta fretta l'ingegnere che dirigeva i lavori della cava ei si trovava a teatro, e non avrebbe cambiato la sua poltrona con un trono, perch'era gran dilettante. Rossi rappresentava l' _Amleto_ , e c'era un bellissimo teatro. Sulla porta si vide accerchiato da tutte le femminucce di Monserrato, che strillavano e si picchiavano il petto per annunziare la gran disgrazia ch'era toccata a comare Santa, la sola, poveretta, che non dicesse nulla, e sbatteva i denti quasi fosse in gennaio. L'ingegnere, quando gli ebbero detto che il caso era accaduto da circa quattro ore, domandò cosa venissero a fare da lui dopo quattro ore. Nondimeno ci andò con scale e torcie a vento, ma passarono altre due ore, e fecero sei, e lo sciancato disse che a sgomberare il sotterraneo dal materiale caduto ci voleva una settimana.
Altro che quaranta carra di rena! Della rena ne era caduta una montagna, tutta fina e ben bruciata dalla lava, che si sarebbe impastata colle mani e dovea prendere il doppio di calce. Ce n'era da riempire delle carra per delle settimane. Il bell'affare di mastro Bestia!
L'ingegnere se ne tornò a veder seppellire Ofelia; e gli altri minatori si strinsero nelle spalle, e se ne tornarono a casa ad uno ad uno. Nella ressa e nel gran chiacchierìo non badarono a una voce di fanciullo, la quale non aveva più nulla di umano, e strillava: – Scavate! scavate qui! presto! – To'! – disse lo sciancato – è Malpelo! – Da dove è venuto fuori Malpelo? – Se tu non fossi stato Malpelo, non te la saresti scappata, no! – Gli altri si misero a ridere, e chi diceva che Malpelo avea il diavolo dalla sua, un altro che avea il cuoio duro a mo' dei gatti. Malpelo non rispondeva nulla, non piangeva nemmeno, scavava colle unghie colà nella rena, dentro la buca, sicché nessuno s'era accorto di lui; e quando si accostarono col lume gli videro tal viso stravolto, e tali occhiacci invetrati, e tale schiuma alla bocca da far paura; le unghie gli si erano strappate e gli pendevano dalle mani tutte in sangue. Poi quando vollero toglierlo di là fu un affar serio; non potendo più graffiare, mordeva come un cane arrabbiato e dovettero afferrarlo pei capelli, per tirarlo via a viva forza.
Però infine tornò alla cava dopo qualche giorno, quando sua madre piagnuccolando ve lo condusse per mano; giacché, alle volte il pane che si mangia non si può andare a cercarlo di qua e di là. Anzi non volle più allontanarsi da quella galleria, e sterrava con accanimento, quasi ogni corbello di rena lo levasse di sul petto a suo padre. Alle volte, mentre zappava, si fermava bruscamente, colla zappa in aria, il viso torvo e gli occhi stralunati, e sembrava che stesse ad ascoltare qualche cosa che il suo diavolo gli susurrava negli orecchi, dall'altra parte della montagna di rena caduta. In quei giorni era più tristo e cattivo del solito, talmente che non mangiava quasi, e il pane lo buttava al cane, come se non fosse _grazia di Dio._ Il cane gli voleva bene, perché i cani non guardano altro che la mano la quale dà loro il pane. Ma l'asino grigio, povera bestia, sbilenca e macilenta, sopportava tutto lo sfogo della cattiveria di Malpelo; ei lo picchiava senza pietà, col manico della zappa, e borbottava: – Così creperai più presto!
Dopo la morte del babbo pareva che gli fosse entrato il diavolo in corpo, e lavorava al pari di quei bufali feroci che si tengono coll'anello di ferro al naso. Sapendo che era _malpelo_ , ei si acconciava ad esserlo il peggio che fosse possibile, e se accadeva una disgrazia, o che un operaio smarriva i ferri, o che un asino si rompeva una gamba, o che crollava un pezzo di galleria, si sapeva sempre che era stato lui; e infatti ei si pigliava le busse senza protestare, proprio come se le pigliano gli asini che curvano la schiena, ma seguitano a fare a modo loro. Cogli altri ragazzi poi era addirittura crudele, e sembrava che si volesse vendicare sui deboli di tutto il male che s'immaginava gli avessero fatto, a lui e al suo babbo. Certo ei provava uno strano diletto a rammentare ad uno ad uno tutti i maltrattamenti ed i soprusi che avevano fatto subire a suo padre, e del modo in cui l'avevano lasciato crepare. E quando era solo borbottava: «Anche con me fanno così! e a mio padre gli dicevano Bestia, perché ei non faceva così!». E una volta che passava il padrone, accompagnandolo con un'occhiata torva: «È stato lui, per trentacinque tarì!». E un'altra volta, dietro allo sciancato: «E anche lui! e si metteva a ridere! Io l'ho udito, quella sera!».
Per un raffinamento di malignità sembrava aver preso a proteggere un povero ragazzetto, venuto a lavorare da poco tempo nella cava, il quale per una caduta da un ponte s'era lussato il femore, e non poteva far più il manovale. Il poveretto, quando portava il suo corbello di rena in spalla, arrancava in modo che sembrava ballasse la tarantella, e aveva fatto ridere tutti quelli della cava, così che gli avevano messo nome Ranocchio; ma lavorando sotterra, così ranocchio com'era, il suo pane se lo buscava; e Malpelo gliene dava anche del suo, per prendersi il gusto di tiranneggiarlo, dicevano.
Infatti egli lo tormentava in cento modi. Ora lo batteva senza un motivo e senza misericordia, e se Ranocchio non si difendeva, lo picchiava più forte, con maggiore accanimento, e gli diceva: – To'! Bestia! Bestia sei! Se non ti senti l'animo di difenderti da me che non ti voglio male, vuol dire che ti lascerai pestare il viso da questo e da quello!
O se Ranocchio si asciugava il sangue che gli usciva dalla bocca o dalle narici: – Così, come ti cuocerà il dolore delle busse, imparerai a darne anche tu! – Quando cacciava un asino carico per la ripida salita del sotterraneo, e lo vedeva puntare gli zoccoli, rifinito, curvo sotto il peso, ansante e coll'occhio spento, ei lo batteva senza misericordia, col manico della zappa, e i colpi suonavano secchi sugli stinchi e sulle costole scoperte. Alle volte la bestia si piegava in due per le battiture, ma stremo di forze non poteva fare un passo, e cadeva sui ginocchi, e ce n'era uno il quale era caduto tante volte, che ci aveva due piaghe alle gambe; e Malpelo allora confidava a Ranocchio: – L'asino va picchiato, perché non può picchiar lui; e s'ei potesse picchiare, ci pesterebbe sotto i piedi e ci strapperebbe la carne a morsi.
Oppure: – Se ti accade di dar delle busse, procura di darle più forte che puoi; così coloro su cui cadranno ti terranno per da più di loro, e ne avrai tanti di meno addosso.
Lavorando di piccone o di zappa poi menava le mani con accanimento, a mo' di uno che l'avesse con la rena, e batteva e ribatteva coi denti stretti, e con quegli _ah! ah!_ che aveva suo padre. – La rena è traditora, diceva a Ranocchio sottovoce; somiglia a tutti gli altri, che se sei più debole ti pestano la faccia, e se sei più forte, o siete in molti, come fa lo Sciancato, allora si lascia vincere. Mio padre la batteva sempre, ed egli non batteva altro che la rena, perciò lo chiamavano Bestia, e la rena se lo mangiò a tradimento, perché era più forte di lui.
Ogni volta che a Ranocchio toccava un lavoro troppo pesante, e Ranocchio piagnuccolava a guisa di una femminuccia, Malpelo lo picchiava sul dorso e lo sgridava: – Taci pulcino! – e se Ranocchio non la finiva più, ei gli dava una mano, dicendo con un certo orgoglio: – Lasciami fare; io sono più forte di te. – Oppure gli dava la sua mezza cipolla, e si contentava di mangiarsi il pane asciutto, e si stringeva nelle spalle, aggiungendo: – Io ci sono avvezzo.
Era avvezzo a tutto lui, agli scapaccioni, alle pedate, ai colpi di manico di badile, o di cinghia da basto, a vedersi ingiuriato e beffato da tutti, a dormire sui sassi, colle braccia e la schiena rotta da quattordici ore di lavoro; anche a digiunare era avvezzo, allorché il padrone lo puniva levandogli il pane o la minestra. Ei diceva che la razione di busse non gliela aveva levata mai il padrone; ma le busse non costavano nulla. Non si lamentava però, e si vendicava di soppiatto, a tradimento, con qualche tiro di quelli che sembrava ci avesse messo la coda il diavolo: perciò ei si pigliava sempre i castighi anche quando il colpevole non era stato lui; già se non era stato lui sarebbe stato capace di esserlo, e non si giustificava mai: per altro sarebbe stato inutile. E qualche volta come Ranocchio spaventato lo scongiurava piangendo di dire la verità e di scolparsi, ei ripeteva: – A che giova? Sono _malpelo_! – e nessuno avrebbe potuto dire se quel curvare il capo e le spalle sempre fosse effetto di bieco orgoglio o di disperata rassegnazione, e non si sapeva nemmeno se la sua fosse selvatichezza o timidità. Il certo era che nemmeno sua madre aveva avuta mai una carezza da lui, e quindi non gliene faceva mai.
Il sabato sera, appena arrivava a casa con quel suo visaccio imbrattato di lentiggini e di rena rossa, e quei cenci che gli piangevano addosso da ogni parte, la sorella afferrava il manico della scopa se si metteva sull'uscio in quell'arnese, ché avrebbe fatto scappare il suo damo se avesse visto che razza di cognato gli toccava sorbirsi; la madre era sempre da questa o da quella vicina, e quindi egli andava a rannicchiarsi sul suo saccone come un cane malato. Adunque, la domenica, in cui tutti gli altri ragazzi del vicinato si mettevano la camicia pulita per andare a messa o per ruzzare nel cortile, ei sembrava non avesse altro spasso che di andar randagio per le vie degli orti, a dar la caccia a sassate alle povere lucertole, le quali non gli avevano fatto nulla, oppure a sforacchiare le siepi dei fichidindia. Per altro le beffe e le sassate degli altri fanciulli non gli piacevano.
La vedova di mastro Misciu era disperata di aver per figlio quel malarnese, come dicevano tutti, ed egli era ridotto veramente come quei cani, che a furia di buscarsi dei calci e delle sassate da questo e da quello, finiscono col mettersi la coda fra le gambe e scappare alla prima anima viva che vedono, e diventano affamati, spelati e selvatici come lupi. Almeno sottoterra, nella cava della rena, brutto e cencioso e sbracato com'era, non lo beffavano più, e sembrava fatto apposta per quel mestiere persin nel colore dei capelli, e in quegli occhiacci di gatto che ammiccavano se vedevano il sole. Così ci sono degli asini che lavorano nelle cave per anni ed anni senza uscirne mai più, ed in quei sotterranei, dove il pozzo di ingresso è verticale, ci si calan colle funi, e ci restano finché vivono. Sono asini vecchi, è vero, comprati dodici o tredici lire, quando stanno per portarli alla Plaja, a strangolarli; ma pel lavoro che hanno da fare laggiù sono ancora buoni; e Malpelo, certo, non valeva di più, e se veniva fuori dalla cava il sabato sera, era perché aveva anche le mani per aiutarsi colla fune, e doveva andare a portare a sua madre la paga della settimana.
Certamente egli avrebbe preferito di fare il manovale, come Ranocchio, e lavorare cantando sui ponti, in alto, in mezzo all'azzurro del cielo, col sole sulla schiena – o il carrettiere, come compare Gaspare che veniva a prendersi la rena della cava, dondolandosi sonnacchioso sulle stanghe, colla pipa in bocca, e andava tutto il giorno per le belle strade di campagna – o meglio ancora avrebbe voluto fare il contadino che passa la vita fra i campi, in mezzo al verde, sotto i folti carrubi, e il mare turchino là in fondo, e il canto degli uccelli sulla testa. Ma quello era stato il mestiere di suo padre, e in quel mestiere era nato lui. E pensando a tutto ciò, indicava a Ranocchio il pilastro che era caduto addosso al genitore, e dava ancora della rena fina e bruciata che il carrettiere veniva a caricare colla pipa in bocca, e dondolandosi sulle stanghe, e gli diceva che quando avrebbero finito di sterrare si sarebbe trovato il cadavere di suo padre, il quale doveva avere dei calzoni di fustagno quasi nuovi. Ranocchio aveva paura, ma egli no. Ei narrava che era stato sempre là, da bambino, e aveva sempre visto quel buco nero, che si sprofondava sotterra, dove il padre soleva condurlo per mano. Allora stendeva le braccia a destra e a sinistra, e descriveva come l'intricato laberinto delle gallerie si stendesse sotto i loro piedi dappertutto, di qua e di là, sin dove potevano vedere la sciara nera e desolata, sporca di ginestre riarse, e come degli uomini ce n'erano rimasti tanti, o schiacciati, o smarriti nel buio, e che camminano da anni e camminano ancora, senza poter scorgere lo spiraglio del pozzo pel quale sono entrati, e senza poter udire le strida disperate dei figli, i quali li cercano inutilmente.
Ma una volta in cui riempiendo i corbelli si rinvenne una delle scarpe di mastro Misciu, ei fu colto da tal tremito che dovettero tirarlo all'aria aperta colle funi, proprio come un asino che stesse per dar dei calci al vento. Però non si poterono trovare né i calzoni quasi nuovi, né il rimanente di mastro Misciu; sebbene i pratici asserissero che quello dovea essere il luogo preciso dove il pilastro gli si era rovesciato addosso; e qualche operaio, nuovo del mestiere, osservava curiosamente come fosse capricciosa la rena, che aveva sbatacchiato il Bestia di qua e di là, le scarpe da una parte e i piedi dall'altra.
Dacché poi fu trovata quella scarpa, Malpelo fu colto da tal paura di veder comparire fra la rena anche il piede nudo del babbo, che non volle mai più darvi un colpo di zappa; gliela dessero a lui sul capo, la zappa. Egli andò a lavorare in un altro punto della galleria e non volle più tornare da quelle parti. Due o tre giorni dopo scopersero infatti il cadavere di mastro Misciu, coi calzoni indosso, e steso bocconi che sembrava imbalsamato. Lo zio Mommu osservò che aveva dovuto stentar molto a morire, perché il pilastro gli si era piegato in arco addosso, e l'aveva seppellito vivo; si poteva persino vedere tuttora che mastro Bestia avea tentato istintivamente di liberarsi scavando nella rena, e avea le mani lacerate e le unghie rotte. – Proprio come suo figlio Malpelo! – ripeteva lo sciancato – ei scavava di qua, mentre suo figlio scavava di là. – Però non dissero nulla al ragazzo per la ragione che lo sapevano maligno e vendicativo.
Il carrettiere sbarazzò il sotterraneo dal cadavere al modo istesso che lo sbarazzava della rena caduta e dagli asini morti, ché stavolta oltre al lezzo del carcame, c'era che il carcame era _di carne battezzata_ ; e la vedova rimpiccolì i calzoni e la camicia, e li adattò a Malpelo, il quale così fu vestito quasi a nuovo per la prima volta, e le scarpe furono messe in serbo per quando ei fosse cresciuto, giacché rimpiccolirsi le scarpe non si potevano, e il fidanzato della sorella non ne aveva volute di scarpe del morto.
Malpelo se li lisciava sulle gambe quei calzoni di fustagno quasi nuovo, gli pareva che fossero dolci e lisci come le mani del babbo che solevano accarezzargli i capelli, così ruvidi e rossi com'erano. Quelle scarpe le teneva appese ad un chiodo, sul saccone, quasi fossero state le pantofole del papa, e la domenica se le pigliava in mano, le lustrava e se le provava; poi le metteva per terra, l'una accanto all'altra, e stava a contemplarsele coi gomiti sui ginocchi, e il mento nelle palme per delle ore intere, rimugginando chi sa quali idee in quel cervellaccio.
Ei possedeva delle idee strane, Malpelo! Siccome aveva ereditato anche il piccone e la zappa del padre, se ne serviva, quantunque fossero troppo pesanti per l'età sua; e quando gli aveano chiesto se voleva venderli, che glieli avrebbero pagati come nuovi, egli aveva risposto di no; suo padre li ha resi così lisci e lucenti nel manico colle sue mani, ed ei non avrebbe potuto farsene degli altri più lisci e lucenti di quelli, se ci avesse lavorato cento e poi cento anni.
In quel tempo era crepato di stenti e di vecchiaia l'asino grigio; e il carrettiere era andato a buttarlo lontano nella sciara. – Così si fa, brontolava Malpelo; gli arnesi che non servono più si buttano lontano. – Ei andava a visitare il carcame del _grigio_ in fondo al burrone, e vi conduceva a forza anche Ranocchio, il quale non avrebbe voluto andarci; e Malpelo gli diceva che a questo mondo bisogna avvezzarsi a vedere in faccia ogni cosa bella o brutta; e stava a considerare con l'avida curiosità di un monellaccio i cani che accorrevano da tutte le fattorie dei dintorni a disputarsi le carni del _grigio._ I cani scappavano guaendo, come comparivano i ragazzi, e si aggiravano ustolando sui greppi dirimpetto, ma il Rosso non lasciava che Ranocchio li scacciasse a sassate. – Vedi quella cagna nera, gli diceva, che non ha paura delle tue sassate; non ha paura perché ha più fame degli altri. Gliele vedi quelle costole! Adesso non soffriva più, l'asino grigio, e se ne stava tranquillo colle quattro zampe distese, e lasciava che i cani si divertissero a vuotargli le occhiaie profonde e a spolpargli le ossa bianche e i denti che gli laceravano le viscere non gli avrebbero fatto piegar la schiena come il più semplice colpo di badile che solevano dargli onde mettergli in corpo un po' di vigore quando saliva la ripida viuzza. Ecco come vanno le cose! Anche il _grigio_ ha avuto dei colpi di zappa e delle guidalesche, e anch'esso quando piegava sotto il peso e gli mancava il fiato per andare innanzi, aveva di quelle occhiate, mentre lo battevano, che sembrava dicesse: Non più! non più! Ma ora gli occhi se li mangiano i cani, ed esso se ne ride dei colpi e delle guidalesche con quella bocca spolpata e tutta denti. E se non fosse mai nato sarebbe stato meglio.
La sciara si stendeva malinconica e deserta fin dove giungeva la vista, e saliva e scendeva in picchi e burroni, nera e rugosa, senza un grillo che vi trillasse, o un uccello che vi volasse su. Non si udiva nulla, nemmeno i colpi di piccone di coloro che lavoravano sotterra. E ogni volta Malpelo ripeteva che al di sotto era tutta scavata dalle gallerie, per ogni dove, verso il monte e verso la valle; tanto che una volta un minatore c'era entrato coi capelli neri, e n'era uscito coi capelli bianchi, e un altro cui s'era spenta la torcia aveva invano gridato aiuto ma nessuno poteva udirlo. Egli solo ode le sue stesse grida! diceva, e a quell'idea, sebbene avesse il cuore più duro della sciara, trasaliva.
– Il padrone mi manda spesso lontano, dove gli altri hanno paura d'andare. Ma io sono Malpelo, e se io non torno più, nessuno mi cercherà.
Pure, durante le belle notti d'estate, le stelle splendevano lucenti anche sulla sciara, e la campagna circostante era nera anch'essa, come la sciara, ma Malpelo stanco della lunga giornata di lavoro, si sdraiava sul sacco, col viso verso il cielo, a godersi quella quiete e quella luminaria dell'alto; perciò odiava le notti di luna, in cui il mare formicola di scintille, e la campagna si disegna qua e là vagamente – allora la sciara sembra più brulla e desolata. – Per noi che siamo fatti per vivere sotterra, pensava Malpelo, ci dovrebbe essere buio sempre e dappertutto. – La civetta strideva sulla sciara, e ramingava di qua e di là; ei pensava: – Anche la civetta sente i morti che son qua sotterra e si dispera perché non può andare a trovarli.
Ranocchio aveva paura delle civette e dei pipistrelli; ma il Rosso lo sgridava perché chi è costretto a star solo non deve aver paura di nulla, e nemmeno l'asino grigio aveva paura dei cani che se lo spolpavano, ora che le sue carni non sentivano più il dolore di esser mangiate.
– Tu eri avvezzo a lavorar sui tetti come i gatti – gli diceva – e allora era tutt'altra cosa. Ma adesso che ti tocca a viver sotterra, come i topi, non bisogna più aver paura dei topi, né dei pipistrelli, che son topi vecchi con le ali, e i topi ci stanno volentieri in compagnia dei morti.
Ranocchio invece provava una tale compiacenza a spiegargli quel che ci stessero a far le stelle lassù in alto; e gli raccontava che lassù c'era il paradiso, dove vanno a stare i morti che sono stati buoni e non hanno dato dispiaceri ai loro genitori. – Chi te l'ha detto? – domandava Malpelo, e Ranocchio rispondeva che glielo aveva detto la mamma.
Allora Malpelo si grattava il capo, e sorridendo gli faceva un certo verso da monellaccio malizioso che la sa lunga. – Tua madre ti dice così perché, invece dei calzoni, tu dovresti portar la gonnella. –
E dopo averci pensato su un po':
– Mio padre era buono e non faceva male a nessuno, tanto che gli dicevano Bestia. Invece è là sotto, ed hanno persino trovato i ferri e le scarpe e questi calzoni qui che ho indosso io. –
Da lì a poco, Ranocchio il quale deperiva da qualche tempo, si ammalò in modo che la sera dovevano portarlo fuori dalla cava sull'asino, disteso fra le corbe, tremante di febbre come un pulcin bagnato. Un operaio disse che quel ragazzo _non ne avrebbe fatto osso duro_ a quel mestiere, e che per lavorare in una miniera senza lasciarvi la pelle bisognava nascervi. Malpelo allora si sentiva orgoglioso di esserci nato e di mantenersi così sano e vigoroso in quell'aria malsana, e con tutti quegli stenti. Ei si caricava Ranocchio sulle spalle, e gli faceva animo alla sua maniera, sgridandolo e picchiandolo. Ma una volta nel picchiarlo sul dorso Ranocchio fu colto da uno sbocco di sangue, allora Malpelo spaventato si affannò a cercargli nel naso e dentro la bocca cosa gli avesse fatto, e giurava che non avea potuto fargli quel gran male, così come l'aveva battuto, e a dimostrarglielo, si dava dei gran pugni sul petto e sulla schiena con un sasso; anzi un operaio, lì presente, gli sferrò un gran calcio sulle spalle, un calcio che risuonò come su di un tamburo, eppure Malpelo non si mosse, e soltanto dopo che l'operaio se ne fu andato, aggiunse: – Lo vedi? Non mi ha fatto nulla! E ha picchiato più forte di me, ti giuro!
Intanto Ranocchio non guariva e seguitava a sputar sangue, e ad aver la febbre tutti i giorni. Allora Malpelo rubò dei soldi della paga della settimana, per comperargli del vino e della minestra calda, e gli diede i suoi calzoni quasi nuovi che lo coprivano meglio. Ma Ranocchio tossiva sempre e alcune volte sembrava soffocasse, e la sera non c'era modo di vincere il ribrezzo della febbre, né con sacchi, né coprendolo di paglia, né mettendolo dinanzi alla fiammata. Malpelo se ne stava zitto ed immobile chino su di lui, colle mani sui ginocchi, fissandolo con quei suoi occhiacci spalancati come se volesse fargli il ritratto, e allorché lo udiva gemere sottovoce, e gli vedeva il viso trafelato e l'occhio spento, preciso come quello dell'asino grigio allorché ansava rifinito sotto il carico nel salire la viottola, ei gli borbottava: – È meglio che tu crepi presto! Se devi soffrire in tal modo, è meglio che tu crepi! – E il padrone diceva che Malpelo era capace di schiacciargli il capo a quel ragazzo, e bisognava sorvegliarlo.
Finalmente un lunedì Ranocchio non venne più alla cava, e il padrone se ne lavò le mani, perché allo stato in cui era ridotto oramai era più di impiccio che d'altro. Malpelo si informò dove stesse di casa, e il sabato andò a trovarlo. Il povero Ranocchio era più di là che di qua, e sua madre piangeva e si disperava come se il suo figliolo fosse di quelli che guadagnano dieci lire la settimana.
Cotesto non arrivava a comprendere Malpelo, e domandò a Ranocchio perché sua madre strillasse a quel modo, mentre che da due mesi ei non guadagnava nemmeno quel che si mangiava. Ma il povero Ranocchio non gli dava retta e sembrava che badasse a contare quanti travicelli c'erano sul tetto. Allora il Rosso si diede ad almanaccare che la madre di Ranocchio strillasse a quel modo perché il suo figliuolo era sempre stato debole e malaticcio, e l'aveva tenuto come quei marmocchi che non si slattano mai. Egli invece era stato sano e robusto, ed era _malpelo_ , e sua madre non aveva mai pianto per lui perché non aveva mai avuto timore di perderlo.
Poco dopo, alla cava dissero che Ranocchio era morto, ed ei pensò che la civetta adesso strideva anche per lui nella notte, e tornò a visitare le ossa spolpate del _grigio_ , nel burrone dove solevano andare insieme con Ranocchio. Ora del _grigio_ non rimanevano più che le ossa sgangherate, ed anche di Ranocchio sarebbe stato così, e sua madre si sarebbe asciugati gli occhi, poiché anche la madre di Malpelo s'era asciugati i suoi dopo che mastro Misciu era morto, e adesso si era maritata un'altra volta, ed era andata a stare a Cifali; anche la sorella si era maritata e avevano chiusa la casa. D'ora in poi, se lo battevano, a loro non importava più nulla, e a lui nemmeno, e quando sarebbe divenuto come il _grigio_ o come Ranocchio, non avrebbe sentito più nulla.
Verso quell'epoca venne a lavorare nella cava uno che non s'era mai visto, e si teneva nascosto il più che poteva; gli altri operai dicevano fra di loro che era scappato dalla prigione, e se lo pigliavano ce lo tornavano a chiudere per degli anni e degli anni. Malpelo seppe in quell'occasione che la prigione era un luogo dove si mettevano i ladri, e i malarnesi come lui, e si tenevano sempre chiusi là dentro e guardati a vista.
Da quel momento provò una malsana curiosità per quell'uomo che aveva provata la prigione e n'era scappato. Dopo poche settimane però il fuggitivo dichiarò chiaro e tondo che era stanco di quella vitaccia da talpa e piuttosto si contentava di stare in galera tutta la vita, ché la prigione, in confronto, era un paradiso e preferiva tornarci coi suoi piedi. – Allora perché tutti quelli che lavorano nella cava non si fanno mettere in prigione? – domandò Malpelo.
– Perché non sono _malpelo_ come te! – rispose lo sciancato. – Ma non temere, che tu ci andrai e ci lascerai le ossa.
Invece le ossa le lasciò nella cava, Malpelo, come suo padre, ma in modo diverso. Una volta si doveva esplorare un passaggio che si riteneva comunicasse col pozzo grande a sinistra, verso la valle, e se la cosa era vera, si sarebbe risparmiata una buona metà di mano d'opera nel cavar fuori la rena. Ma se non era vero, c'era il pericolo di smarrirsi e di non tornare mai più. Sicché nessun padre di famiglia voleva avventurarvisi, né avrebbe permesso che ci si arrischiasse il sangue suo per tutto l'oro del mondo.
Ma Malpelo non aveva nemmeno chi si prendesse tutto l'oro del mondo per la sua pelle, se pure la sua pelle valeva tutto l'oro del mondo; sua madre si era rimaritata e se n'era andata a stare a Cifali, e sua sorella s'era maritata anch'essa. La porta della casa era chiusa, ed ei non aveva altro che le scarpe di suo padre appese al chiodo; perciò gli commettevano sempre i lavori più pericolosi, e le imprese più arrischiate, e s'ei non si aveva riguardo alcuno, gli altri non ne avevano certamente per lui. Quando lo mandarono per quella esplorazione si risovvenne del minatore, il quale si era smarrito, da anni ed anni, e cammina e cammina ancora al buio gridando aiuto, senza che nessuno possa udirlo; ma non disse nulla. Del resto a che sarebbe giovato? Prese gli arnesi di suo padre, il piccone, la zappa, la lanterna, il sacco col pane, e il fiasco del vino, e se ne andò: né più si seppe nulla di lui.
Così si persero persin le ossa di Malpelo, e i ragazzi della cava abbassano la voce quando parlano di lui nel sotterraneo, ché hanno paura di vederselo comparire dinanzi, coi capelli rossi e gli occhiacci grigi.
# Cavalleria rusticana
Turiddu Macca, il figlio della gnà Nunzia, come tornò da fare il soldato, ogni domenica si pavoneggiava in piazza coll'uniforme da bersagliere e il berretto rosso, che sembrava quello della buona ventura, quando mette su banco colla gabbia dei canarini. Le ragazze se lo rubavano cogli occhi, mentre andavano a messa col naso dentro la mantellina, e i monelli gli ronzavano attorno come le mosche. Egli aveva portato anche una pipa col re a cavallo che pareva vivo, e accendeva gli zolfanelli sul dietro dei calzoni, levando la gamba, come se desse una pedata. Ma con tutto ciò Lola di massaro Angelo non si era fatta vedere né alla messa, né sul ballatoio ché si era fatta sposa con uno di Licodia, il quale faceva il carrettiere e aveva quattro muli di Sortino in stalla. Dapprima Turiddu come lo seppe, santo diavolone! voleva trargli fuori le budella dalla pancia, voleva trargli, a quel di Licodia! però non ne fece nulla, e si sfogò coll'andare a cantare tutte le canzoni di sdegno che sapeva sotto la finestra della bella.
– Che non ha nulla da fare Turiddu della gnà Nunzia, dicevano i vicini, che passa le notti a cantare come una passera solitaria?
Finalmente s'imbatté in Lola che tornava dal _viaggio_ alla Madonna del Pericolo, e al vederlo, non si fece né bianca né rossa quasi non fosse stato fatto suo.
– Beato chi vi vede! le disse.
– Oh, compare Turiddu, me l'avevano detto che siete tornato al primo del mese.
– A me mi hanno detto delle altre cose ancora! rispose lui. Che è vero che vi maritate con compare Alfio, il carrettiere?
– Se c'è la volontà di Dio! rispose Lola tirandosi sul mento le due cocche del fazzoletto.
– La volontà di Dio la fate col tira e molla come vi torna conto! E la volontà di Dio fu che dovevo tornare da tanto lontano per trovare ste belle notizie, gnà Lola!
Il poveraccio tentava di fare ancora il bravo, ma la voce gli si era fatta roca; ed egli andava dietro alla ragazza dondolandosi colla nappa del berretto che gli ballava di qua e di là sulle spalle. A lei, in coscienza, rincresceva di vederlo così col viso lungo, però non aveva cuore di lusingarlo con belle parole.
– Sentite, compare Turiddu, gli disse alfine, lasciatemi raggiungere le mie compagne. Che direbbero in paese se mi vedessero con voi?...
– È giusto, rispose Turiddu; ora che sposate compare Alfio, che ci ha quattro muli in stalla, non bisogna farla chiacchierare la gente. Mia madre invece, poveretta, la dovette vendere la nostra mula baia, e quel pezzetto di vigna sullo stradone, nel tempo ch'ero soldato. Passò quel tempo che Berta filava, e voi non ci pensate più al tempo in cui ci parlavamo dalla finestra sul cortile, e mi regalaste quel fazzoletto, prima d'andarmene, che Dio sa quante lagrime ci ho pianto dentro nell'andar via lontano tanto che si perdeva persino il nome del nostro paese. Ora addio, gnà Lola, _facemu cuntu ca chioppi e scampau, e la nostra amicizia finiu._
La gnà Lola si maritò col carrettiere; e la domenica si metteva sul ballatoio, colle mani sul ventre per far vedere tutti i grossi anelli d'oro che le aveva regalati suo marito. Turiddu seguitava a passare e ripassare per la stradicciuola, colla pipa in bocca e le mani in tasca, in aria d'indifferenza, e occhieggiando le ragazze; ma dentro ci si rodeva che il marito di Lola avesse tutto quell'oro, e che ella fingesse di non accorgersi di lui quando passava. – Voglio fargliela proprio sotto gli occhi a quella cagnaccia! borbottava.
Di faccia a compare Alfio ci stava massaro Cola, il vignaiuolo, il quale era ricco come un maiale, dicevano, e aveva una figliuola in casa. Turiddu tanto disse e tanto fece che entrò camparo da massaro Cola, e cominciò a bazzicare per la casa e a dire le paroline dolci alla ragazza.
– Perché non andate a dirle alla gnà Lola ste belle cose? rispondeva Santa.
– La gnà Lola è una signorona! La gnà Lola ha sposato un re di corona, ora!
– Io non me li merito i re di corona.
– Voi ne valete cento delle Lole, e conosco uno che non guarderebbe la gnà Lola, né il suo santo, quando ci siete voi, ché la gnà Lola, non è degna di portarvi le scarpe, non è degna.
– La volpe quando all'uva non ci poté arrivare...
– Disse: come sei bella, _racinedda_ mia!
– Ohé! quelle mani, compare Turiddu.
– Avete paura che vi mangi?
– Paura non ho né di voi, né del vostro Dio.
– Eh! vostra madre era di Licodia, lo sappiamo! Avete il sangue rissoso! Uh! che vi mangerei cogli occhi!
– Mangiatemi pure cogli occhi, che briciole non ne faremo; ma intanto tiratemi su quel fascio.
– Per voi tirerei su tutta la casa, tirerei!
Ella, per non farsi rossa, gli tirò un ceppo che aveva sottomano, e non lo colse per miracolo.
– Spicciamoci, che le chiacchiere non ne affastellano sarmenti.
– Se fossi ricco, vorrei cercarmi una moglie come voi, gnà Santa.
– Io non sposerò un re di corona come la gnà Lola, ma la mia dote ce l'ho anch'io, quando il Signore mi manderà qualcheduno.
– Lo sappiamo che siete ricca, lo sappiamo!
– Se lo sapete allora spicciatevi, ché il babbo sta per venire, e non vorrei farmi trovare nel cortile.
Il babbo cominciava a torcere il muso, ma la ragazza fingeva di non accorgersi, poiché la nappa del berretto del bersagliere gli aveva fatto il solletico dentro il cuore, e le ballava sempre dinanzi gli occhi. Come il babbo mise Turiddu fuori dell'uscio, la figliuola gli aprì la finestra, e stava a chiacchierare con lui tutta la sera, che tutto il vicinato non parlava d'altro.
– Per te impazzisco, diceva Turiddu, e perdo il sonno e l'appetito.
– Chiacchiere.
– Vorrei essere il figlio di Vittorio Emanuele per sposarti!
– Chiacchiere.
– Per la madonna che ti mangerei come il pane!
– Chiacchiere!
– Ah! sull'onor mio!
– Ah! mamma mia!
Lola che ascoltava ogni sera, nascosta dietro il vaso di basilico, e si faceva pallida e rossa, un giorno chiamò Turiddu.
– E così, compare Turiddu, gli amici vecchi non si salutano più?
– Ma! sospirò il giovinotto, beato chi può salutarvi!
– Se avete intenzione di salutarmi, lo sapete dove sto di casa! rispose Lola.
Turiddu tornò a salutarla così spesso che Santa se ne avvide, e gli batté la finestra sul muso. I vicini se lo mostravano con un sorriso, o con un moto del capo, quando passava il bersagliere. Il marito di Lola era in giro per le fiere con le sue mule.
– Domenica voglio andare a confessarmi, ché stanotte ho sognato dell'uva nera, disse Lola.
– Lascia stare! lascia stare! supplicava Turiddu.
– No, ora che s'avvicina la Pasqua, mio marito lo vorrebbe sapere il perché non sono andata a confessarmi.
– Ah! mormorava Santa di massaro Cola, aspettando ginocchioni il suo turno dinanzi al confessionario dove Lola stava facendo il bucato dei suoi peccati. Sull'anima mia non voglio mandarti a Roma per la penitenza!
Compare Alfio tornò colle sue mule, carico di soldoni, e portò in regalo alla moglie una bella veste nuova per le feste.
– Avete ragione di portarle dei regali, gli disse la vicina Santa, perché mentre voi siete via vostra moglie vi adorna la casa!
Compare Alfio era di quei carrettieri che portano il berretto sull'orecchio, e a sentir parlare in tal modo di sua moglie cambiò di colore come se l'avessero accoltellato. – Santo diavolone! esclamò, se non avete visto bene, non vi lascierò gli occhi per piangere! a voi e a tutto il vostro parentado!
– Non son usa a piangere! rispose Santa; non ho pianto nemmeno quando ho visto con questi occhi Turiddu della gnà Nunzia entrare di notte in casa di vostra moglie.
– Va bene, rispose compare Alfio, grazie tante.
Turiddu, adesso che era tornato il gatto, non bazzicava più di giorno per la stradicciuola, e smaltiva l'uggia all'osteria, cogli amici; e la vigilia di Pasqua avevano sul desco un piatto di salsiccia. Come entrò compare Alfio, soltanto dal modo in cui gli piantò gli occhi addosso, Turiddu comprese che era venuto per quell'affare e posò la forchetta sul piatto.
– Avete comandi da darmi, compare Alfio? gli disse.
– Nessuna preghiera, compare Turiddu, era un pezzo che non vi vedevo, e voleva parlarvi di quella cosa che sapete voi.
Turiddu da prima gli aveva presentato il bicchiere, ma compare Alfio lo scansò colla mano. Allora Turiddu si alzò e gli disse:
– Son qui, compar Alfio.
Il carrettiere gli buttò le braccia al collo.
– Se domattina volete venire nei fichidindia della Canziria potremo parlare di quell'affare, compare.
– Aspettatemi sullo stradone allo spuntar del sole, e ci andremo insieme.
Con queste parole si scambiarono il bacio della sfida. Turiddu strinse fra i denti l'orecchio del carrettiere, e così gli fece promessa solenne di non mancare.
Gli amici avevano lasciato la salciccia zitti zitti, e accompagnarono Turiddu sino a casa. La gnà Nunzia, poveretta, l'aspettava sin tardi ogni sera.
– Mamma, le disse Turiddu, vi rammentate quando sono andato soldato, che credevate non avessi a tornar più? Datemi un bel bacio come allora, perché domattina andrò lontano.
Prima di giorno si prese il suo coltello a molla, che aveva nascosto sotto il fieno quando era andato coscritto, e si mise in cammino pei fichidindia della Canziria.
– Oh! Gesummaria! dove andate con quella furia? piagnucolava Lola sgomenta, mentre suo marito stava per uscire.
– Vado qui vicino, rispose compar Alfio, ma per te sarebbe meglio che io non tornassi più.
Lola, in camicia, pregava ai piedi del letto e si stringeva sulle labbra il rosario che le aveva portato fra Bernardino dai Luoghi Santi, e recitava tutte le avemarie che potevano capirvi.
– Compare Alfio, cominciò Turiddu dopo che ebbe fatto un pezzo di strada accanto al suo compagno, il quale stava zitto, e col berretto sugli occhi. Come è vero Iddio so che ho torto e mi lascierei ammazzare. Ma prima di venir qui ho visto la mia vecchia che si era alzata per vedermi partire, col pretesto di governare il pollaio, quasi il cuore le parlasse, e quant'è vero Iddio vi ammazzerò come un cane per non far piangere la mia vecchierella.
– Così va bene, rispose compare Alfio, spogliandosi del farsetto, e picchieremo sodo tutt'e due.
Entrambi erano bravi tiratori; Turiddu toccò la prima botta, e fu a tempo a prenderla nel braccio; come la rese, la rese buona, e tirò all'inguinaia.
– Ah! compare Turiddu! avete proprio intenzione di ammazzarmi!
– Sì, ve l'ho detto; ora che ho visto la mia vecchia nel pollaio, mi pare di averla sempre dinanzi agli occhi.
– Apriteli bene, gli occhi! gli gridò compar Alfio, che sto per rendervi la buona misura.
Come egli stava in guardia tutto raccolto per tenersi la sinistra sulla ferita, che gli doleva, e quasi strisciava per terra col gomito, acchiappò rapidamente una manata di polvere e la gettò negli occhi dell'avversario.
– Ah! urlò Turiddu accecato, son morto.
Ei cercava di salvarsi facendo salti disperati all'indietro; ma compar Alfio lo raggiunse con un'altra botta nello stomaco e una terza nella gola.
– E tre! questa è per la casa che tu m'hai adornato. Ora tua madre lascierà stare le galline.
Turiddu annaspò un pezzo di qua e di là fra i fichidindia e poi cadde come un masso. Il sangue gli gorgogliava spumeggiando nella gola, e non poté profferire nemmeno: – Ah! mamma mia!
# La Lupa
Era alta, magra; aveva soltanto un seno fermo e vigoroso da bruna e pure non era più giovane; era pallida come se avesse sempre addosso la malaria, e su quel pallore due occhi grandi così, e delle labbra fresche e rosse, che vi mangiavano.
Al villaggio la chiamavano _la Lupa_ perché non era sazia giammai – di nulla. Le donne si facevano la croce quando la vedevano passare, sola come una cagnaccia, con quell'andare randagio e sospettoso della lupa affamata; ella si spolpava i loro figliuoli e i loro mariti in un batter d'occhio, con le sue labbra rosse, e se li tirava dietro alla gonnella solamente a guardarli con quegli occhi da satanasso, fossero stati davanti all'altare di Santa Agrippina. Per fortuna _la Lupa_ non veniva mai in chiesa né a Pasqua, né a Natale, né per ascoltar messa, né per confessarsi. – Padre Angiolino di Santa Maria di Gesù, un vero servo di Dio, aveva persa l'anima per lei.
Maricchia, poveretta, buona e brava ragazza, piangeva di nascosto, perché era figlia della _Lupa_ , e nessuno l'avrebbe tolta in moglie, sebbene ci avesse la sua bella roba nel cassettone, e la sua buona terra al sole, come ogni altra ragazza del villaggio.
Una volta _la Lupa_ si innamorò di un bel ragazzo che era tornato da soldato, e mieteva il fieno con lei nelle chiuse del notaro, ma proprio quello che si dice innamorarsi, sentirsene ardere le carni sotto al fustagno del corpetto, e provare, fissandolo negli occhi, la sete che si ha nelle ore calde di giugno, in fondo alla pianura. Ma colui seguitava a mietere tranquillamente col naso sui manipoli, e le diceva: – O che avete, gnà Pina? Nei campi immensi, dove scoppiettava soltanto il volo dei grilli, quando il sole batteva a piombo, _la Lupa_ affastellava manipoli su manipoli, e covoni su covoni, senza stancarsi mai, senza rizzarsi un momento sulla vita, senza accostare le labbra al fiasco, pur di stare sempre alle calcagna di Nanni, che mieteva e mieteva, e le domandava di quando in quando: – Che volete, gnà Pina?
Una sera ella glielo disse, mentre gli uomini sonnecchiavano nell'aia, stanchi della lunga giornata, ed i cani uggiolavano per la vasta campagna nera: – Te voglio! Te che sei bello come il sole, e dolce come il miele. Voglio te!
– Ed io invece voglio vostra figlia, che è zitella, rispose Nanni ridendo.
_La Lupa_ si cacciò le mani nei capelli, grattandosi le tempie senza dir parola, e se ne andò, né più comparve nell'aia. Ma in ottobre rivide Nanni, al tempo che cavavano l'olio, perché egli lavorava accanto alla sua casa, e lo scricchiolìo del torchio non la faceva dormire tutta notte.
– Prendi il sacco delle ulive, disse alla figliuola, e vieni con me.
Nanni spingeva colla pala le ulive sotto la macina, e gridava ohi! alla mula perché non si arrestasse. – La vuoi mia figlia Maricchia? gli domandò la gnà Pina. – Cosa gli date a vostra figlia Maricchia? rispose Nanni. – Essa ha la roba di suo padre, e dippiù io le dò la mia casa; a me mi basterà che mi lasciate un cantuccio nella cucina, per stendervi un po' di pagliericcio. – Se è così se ne può parlare a Natale, disse Nanni. – Nanni era tutto unto e sudicio dell'olio e delle ulive messe a fermentare, e Maricchia non lo voleva a nessun patto; ma sua madre l'afferrò pe' capelli, davanti al focolare, e le disse co' denti stretti: – Se non lo pigli ti ammazzo!
_La Lupa_ era quasi malata, e la gente andava dicendo che il diavolo quando invecchia si fa eremita. Non andava più in qua e in là; non si metteva più sull'uscio, con quegli occhi da spiritata. Suo genero, quando ella glieli piantava in faccia quegli occhi, si metteva a ridere, e cavava fuori l'abitino della Madonna per segnarsi. Maricchia stava in casa ad allattare i figliuoli, e sua madre andava nei campi, a lavorare cogli uomini, proprio come un uomo, a sarchiare, a zappare, a governare le bestie, a potare le viti, fosse stato greco e levante di gennaio, oppure scirocco di agosto, allorquando i muli lasciavano cader la testa penzoloni, e gli uomini dormivano bocconi a ridosso del muro a tramontana. _In quell'ora fra vespero e nona, in cui non ne va in volta femmina buona_ , la gnà Pina era la sola anima viva che si vedesse errare per la campagna, sui sassi infuocati delle viottole, fra le stoppie riarse dei campi immensi, che si perdevano nell'afa, lontan lontano, verso l'Etna nebbioso, dove il cielo si aggravava sull'orizzonte.
– Svegliati! disse _la Lupa_ a Nanni che dormiva nel fosso, accanto alla siepe polverosa, col capo fra le braccia. Svegliati, ché ti ho portato il vino per rinfrescarti la gola.
Nanni spalancò gli occhi imbambolati, fra veglia e sonno, trovandosela dinanzi ritta, pallida, col petto prepotente, e gli occhi neri come il carbone, e stese brancolando le mani.
– No! non ne va in volta femmina buona nell'ora fra vespero e nona! singhiozzava Nanni, ricacciando la faccia contro l'erba secca del fossato, in fondo in fondo, colle unghie nei capelli. – Andatevene! Andatevene! non ci venite più nell'aia!
Ella se ne andava infatti, _la Lupa_ , riannodando le trecce superbe, guardando fisso dinanzi ai suoi passi nelle stoppie calde, cogli occhi neri come il carbone.
Ma nell'aia ci tornò delle altre volte, e Nanni non le disse nulla; e quando tardava a venire, nell'ora fra vespero e nona, egli andava ad aspettarla in cima alla viottola bianca e deserta, col sudore sulla fronte; – e dopo si cacciava le mani nei capelli, e le ripeteva ogni volta: Andatevene! andatevene! Non ci tornate più nell'aia! – Maricchia piangeva notte e giorno, e alla madre le piantava in faccia gli occhi ardenti di lagrime e di gelosia, come una lupacchiotta anch'essa, quando la vedeva tornare da' campi pallida e muta ogni volta. – Scellerata! le diceva. Mamma scellerata!
– Taci!
– Ladra! ladra!
– Taci!
– Andrò dal brigadiere, andrò!
– Vacci!
E ci andò davvero, coi figli in collo, senza temere di nulla, e senza versare una lagrima, come una pazza, perché adesso l'amava anche lei quel marito che le avevano dato per forza, unto e sudicio dalle ulive messe a fermentare.
Il brigadiere fece chiamare Nanni, e lo minacciò della galera, e della forca. Nanni si diede a singhiozzare ed a strapparsi i capelli; non negò nulla, non tentò scolparsi. – È la tentazione! diceva; è la tentazione dell'inferno! si buttò ai piedi del brigadiere supplicandolo di mandarlo in galera.
– Per carità, signor brigadiere, levatemi da questo inferno! fatemi ammazzare, mandatemi in prigione; non me la lasciate veder più, mai! mai!
– No! rispose però _la Lupa_ al brigadiere. Io mi son riserbato un cantuccio della cucina per dormirvi, quando gli ho data la mia casa in dote. La casa è mia. Non voglio andarmene!
Poco dopo, Nanni s'ebbe nel petto un calcio dal mulo e fu per morire; ma il parroco ricusò di portargli il Signore se _la Lupa_ non usciva di casa. _La Lupa_ se ne andò, e suo genero allora si poté preparare ad andarsene anche lui da buon cristiano; si confessò e comunicò con tali segni di pentimento e di contrizione che tutti i vicini e i curiosi piangevano davanti al letto del moribondo. E meglio sarebbe stato per lui che fosse morto in quel tempo, prima che il diavolo tornasse a tentarlo e a ficcarglisi nell'anima e nel corpo quando fu guarito. – Lasciatemi stare! diceva alla _Lupa_ ; per carità, lasciatemi in pace! Io ho visto la morte cogli occhi! La povera Maricchia non fa che disperarsi. Ora tutto il paese lo sa! Quando non vi vedo è meglio per voi e per me...
Ed avrebbe voluto strapparsi gli occhi per non vedere quelli della _Lupa_ , che quando gli si ficcavano ne' suoi gli facevano perdere l'anima ed il corpo. Non sapeva più che fare per svincolarsi dall'incantesimo. Pagò delle messe alle anime del Purgatorio e andò a chiedere aiuto al parroco e al brigadiere. A Pasqua andò a confessarsi, e fece pubblicamente sei palmi di lingua a strasciconi sui ciottoli del sacrato innanzi alla chiesa, in penitenza, e poi, come _la Lupa_ tornava a tentarlo:
– Sentite! le disse, non ci venite più nell'aia, perché se tornate a cercarmi, com'è vero Iddio, vi ammazzo!
– Ammazzami, rispose _la Lupa_ , ché non me ne importa; ma senza di te non voglio starci.
Ei come la scorse da lontano, in mezzo a' seminati verdi, lasciò di zappare la vigna, e andò a staccare la scure dall'olmo. _La Lupa_ lo vide venire, pallido e stralunato, colla scure che luccicava al sole, e non si arretrò di un sol passo, non chinò gli occhi, seguitò ad andargli incontro, con le mani piene di manipoli di papaveri rossi, e mangiandoselo con gli occhi neri. – Ah! malanno all'anima vostra! balbettò Nanni.
# L'amante di Gramigna
Caro Farina, eccoti non un racconto ma l'abbozzo di un racconto. Esso almeno avrà il merito di esser brevissimo, e di esser storico – un documento umano, come dicono oggi; interessante forse per te, e per tutti coloro che studiano nel gran libro del cuore. Io te lo ripeterò così come l'ho raccolto pei viottoli dei campi, press'a poco colle medesime parole semplici e pittoresche della narrazione popolare, e tu veramente preferirai di trovarti faccia a faccia col fatto nudo e schietto, senza stare a cercarlo fra le linee del libro, attraverso la lente dello scrittore. Il semplice fatto umano farà pensare sempre; avrà sempre l'efficacia dell' _essere stato_ , delle lagrime vere, delle febbri e delle sensazioni che sono passate per la carne; il misterioso processo per cui le passioni si annodano, si intrecciano, maturano, si svolgono nel loro cammino sotterraneo nei loro andirivieni che spesso sembrano contraddittorî, costituirà per lungo tempo ancora la possente attrattiva di quel fenomeno psicologico che dicesi l'argomento di un racconto, e che l'analisi moderna si studia di seguire con scrupolo scientifico. Di questo che ti narro oggi ti dirò soltanto il punto di partenza e quello d'arrivo, e per te basterà, e un giorno forse basterà per tutti.
Noi rifacciamo il processo artistico al quale dobbiamo tanti monumenti gloriosi, con metodo diverso, più minuzioso e più intimo; sacrifichiamo volentieri l'effetto della catastrofe, del risultato psicologico, intravvisto con intuizione quasi divina dai grandi artisti del passato, allo sviluppo logico, necessario di esso, ridotto meno imprevisto, meno drammatico, ma non meno fatale; siamo più modesti, se non più umili; ma le conquiste che facciamo delle verità psicologiche non saranno un fatto meno utile all'arte dell'avvenire. Si arriverà mai a tal perfezionamento nello studio delle passioni, che diventerà inutile il proseguire in cotesto studio dell'uomo interiore? La scienza del cuore umano, che sarà il frutto della nuova arte, svilupperà talmente e così generalmente tutte le risorse dell'immaginazione che nell'avvenire i soli romanzi che si scriveranno saranno _i fatti diversi_?
Intanto io credo che il trionfo del romanzo, la più completa e la più umana delle opere d'arte, si raggiungerà allorché l'affinità e la coesione di ogni sua parte sarà così completa che il processo della creazione rimarrà un mistero, come lo svolgersi delle passioni umane; e che l'armonia delle sue forme sarà così perfetta, la sincerità della sua realtà così evidente, il suo modo e la sua ragione di essere così necessarie, che la mano dell'artista rimarrà assolutamente invisibile, e il romanzo avrà l'impronta dell'avvenimento reale, e l'opera d'arte sembrerà _essersi fatta da sé_ , aver maturato ed esser sorta spontanea come un fatto naturale, senza serbare alcun punto di contatto col suo autore; che essa non serbi nelle sue forme viventi alcuna impronta della mente in cui germogliò, alcuna ombra dell'occhio che la intravvide, alcuna traccia delle labbra che ne mormorarono le prime parole come il _fiat_ creatore; ch'essa stia per ragion propria, pel solo fatto che è come dev'essere, ed è necessario che sia, palpitante di vita ed immutabile al pari di una statua di bronzo, di cui l'autore abbia avuto il coraggio divino di eclissarsi e sparire nella sua opera immortale.
Parecchi anni or sono, laggiù lungo il Simeto, davano la caccia a un brigante, certo Gramigna, se non erro, un nome maledetto come l'erba che lo porta, il quale da un capo all'altro della provincia s'era lasciato dietro il terrore della sua fama. Carabinieri, soldati, e militi a cavallo lo inseguivano da due mesi, senza esser riesciti a mettergli le unghie addosso: era solo, ma valeva per dieci, e la mala pianta minacciava di abbarbicare. Per giunta si approssimava il tempo della messe, il fieno era già steso pei campi, le spighe chinavano il capo e dicevano di sì ai mietitori che avevano già la falce in pugno, e nonostante nessun proprietario osava affacciare il naso al disopra della siepe del suo podere, per timore di incontrarvi Gramigna che se ne stesse sdraiato fra i solchi, colla carabina fra le gambe, pronto a far saltare il capo al primo che venisse a guardare nei fatti suoi. Sicché le lagnanze erano generali. Allora il prefetto si fece chiamare tutti quei signori della questura, dei carabinieri, e dei compagni d'armi, e disse loro due paroline di quelle che fanno drizzar le orecchie. Il giorno dopo un terremoto per ogni dove; pattuglie, squadriglie, vedette per ogni fossato, e dietro ogni muricciolo; se lo cacciavano dinanzi come una mala bestia per tutta la provincia, di giorno, di notte, a piedi, a cavallo, col telegrafo. Gramigna sgusciava loro di mano, e rispondeva a schioppettate se gli camminavano un po' troppo sulle calcagna. Nelle campagne, nei villaggi, per le fattorie, sotto le frasche delle osterie, nei luoghi di ritrovo, non si parlava d'altro che di lui, di Gramigna, di quella caccia accanita, di quella fuga disperata; i cavalli dei carabinieri cascavano stanchi morti; i compagni d'armi si buttavano rifiniti per terra in tutte le stalle, le pattuglie dormivano all'impiedi; egli solo, Gramigna, non era stanco mai, non dormiva mai, fuggiva sempre, s'arrampicava sui precipizi, strisciava fra le messi, correva carponi nel folto dei fichidindia, sgattajolava come un lupo nel letto asciutto dei torrenti. Il principale argomento di ogni discorso, nei crocchi, davanti agli usci del villaggio, era la sete divorante che doveva soffrire il perseguitato, nella pianura immensa, arsa, sotto il sole di giugno. I fannulloni spalancavano gli occhi.
Peppa, una delle più belle ragazze di Licodia, doveva sposare in quel tempo compare Finu «candela di sego» che aveva terre al sole e una mula baia in stalla, ed era un giovanotto grande e bello come il sole, che portava lo stendardo di Santa Margherita come fosse un pilastro, senza piegare le reni.
La madre di Peppa piangeva dalla contentezza per la gran fortuna toccata alla figliuola, e passava il tempo a voltare e rivoltare nel baule il corredo della sposa, «tutto di roba bianca a quattro» come quella di una regina, e orecchini che le arrivavano alle spalle, e anelli d'oro per le dieci dita delle mani; dell'oro ne aveva quanto ne poteva avere Santa Margherita, e dovevano sposarsi giusto per santa Margherita, che cadeva in giugno, dopo la mietitura del fieno. «Candela di sego» nel tornare ogni sera dalla campagna, lasciava la mula all'uscio della Peppa, e veniva a dirle che i seminati erano un incanto, se Gramigna non vi appiccava il fuoco, e il graticcio di contro al letto non sarebbe bastato a contenere tutto il grano della raccolta, che gli pareva mill'anni di condursi la sposa in casa, in groppa alla mula baia. Ma Peppa un bel giorno gli disse: – La vostra mula lasciatela stare, perché non voglio maritarmi.
Il povero «candela di sego» rimase sbalordito e la vecchia si mise a strapparsi i capelli come udì che sua figlia rifiutava il miglior partito del villaggio. – Io voglio bene a Gramigna, le disse la ragazza, e non voglio sposare altri che lui!
– Ah! gridava la mamma per la casa, coi capelli grigi al vento, che pareva una strega. – Ah! quel demonio è venuto sin qui a stregarmi la mia figliuola!
– No! rispondeva Peppa coll'occhio fisso che pareva d'acciajo. – No, non è venuto qui.
– Dove l'hai visto dunque?
– Io non l'ho visto. Ne ho sentito parlare. Sentite! ma lo sento qui, che mi brucia!
In paese la cosa fece rumore, per quanto la tenessero nascosta. Le comari che avevano invidiato a Peppa il seminato prosperoso, la mula baia, e il bel giovanotto che portava lo stendardo di Santa Margherita senza piegar le reni, andavano dicendo ogni sorta di brutte storie, che Gramigna veniva a trovarla di notte nella cucina, e che glielo avevano visto nascosto sotto il letto. La povera madre aveva acceso una lampada alle anime del purgatorio, e persino il curato era andato in casa di Peppa, a toccarle il cuore colla stola, onde scacciare quel diavolo di Gramigna che ne aveva preso possesso. Però ella seguitava a dire che non lo conosceva neanche di vista quel cristiano; ma che la notte lo vedeva in sogno, e alla mattina si levava colle labbra arse quasi avesse provato anch'essa tutta la sete ch'ei doveva soffrire.
Allora la vecchia la chiuse in casa, perché non sentisse più parlare di Gramigna; e tappò tutte le fessure dell'uscio con immagini di santi. Peppa ascoltava quello che dicevano nella strada dietro le immagini benedette, e si faceva pallida e rossa, come se il diavolo le soffiasse tutto l'inferno nella faccia.
Finalmente sentì dire che avevano scovato Gramigna nei fichidindia di Palagonia. – Ha fatto due ore di fuoco! dicevano, c'è un carabiniere morto, e più di tre compagni d'armi feriti. Ma gli hanno tirato addosso tal gragnuola di fucilate che stavolta hanno trovato un lago di sangue dove egli si trovava.
Allora Peppa si fece la croce dinanzi al capezzale della vecchia, e fuggì dalla finestra.
Gramigna era nei fichidindia di Palagonia, che non avevano potuto scovarlo in quel forteto da conigli, lacero, insanguinato, pallido per due giorni di fame, arso dalla febbre, e colla carabina spianata: come la vide venire, risoluta, in mezzo alle macchie dei fichidindia, nel fosco chiarore dell'alba, ci pensò un momento, se dovesse lasciare partire il colpo. – Che vuoi? le chiese. Che vieni a far qui?
– Vengo a star con te; gli disse lei guardandolo fisso. Sei tu Gramigna?
– Sì, son io Gramigna. Se vieni a buscarti quelle venti oncie della taglia, hai sbagliato il conto.
– No, vengo a star con te! rispose lei.
– Vattene! diss'egli. Con me non puoi starci, ed io non voglio nessuno con me! Se vieni a cercar denaro hai sbagliato il conto ti dico, io non ho nulla, guarda! Sono due giorni che non ho nemmeno un pezzo di pane.
– Adesso non posso più tornare a casa, disse lei; la strada è tutta piena di soldati.
– Vattene! cosa m'importa? ciascuno per la sua pelle!
Mentre ella voltava le spalle, come un cane scacciato a pedate, Gramigna la chiamò. – Senti, va' a prendermi un fiasco d'acqua, laggiù nel torrente, se vuoi stare con me bisogna rischiar la pelle.
Peppa andò senza dir nulla, e quando Gramigna udì la fucilata si mise a sghignazzare, e disse fra sé: – Questa era per me. – Ma come la vide comparire poco dopo, col fiasco al braccio, pallida e insanguinata, prima le si buttò addosso, per strapparle il fiasco, e poi quando ebbe bevuto che pareva il fiato le mancasse le chiese – L'hai scappata? Come hai fatto?
– I soldati erano sull'altra riva, e c'era una macchia folta da questa parte.
– Però t'hanno bucata la pelle. Hai del sangue nelle vesti?
– Sì.
– Dove sei ferita?
– Sulla spalla.
– Non fa nulla. Potrai camminare.
Così le permise di stare con lui. Ella lo seguiva tutta lacera, colla febbre della ferita, senza scarpe, e andava a cercargli un fiasco d'acqua o un tozzo di pane, e quando tornava colle mani vuote, in mezzo alle fucilate, il suo amante, divorato dalla fame e dalla sete, la batteva. Finalmente una notte in cui brillava la luna nei fichidindia, Gramigna le disse – Vengono! e la fece addossare alla rupe, in fondo al crepaccio, poi fuggì dall'altra parte. Fra le macchie si udivano spesseggiare le fucilate, e l'ombra avvampava qua e là di brevi fiamme. Ad un tratto Peppa udì un calpestìo vicino a sé e vide tornar Gramigna che si strascinava con una gamba rotta, e si appoggiava ai ceppi dei fichidindia per ricaricare la carabina. – È finita! gli disse lui. Ora mi prendono; – e quello che le agghiacciò il sangue più di ogni cosa fu il luccicare che ci aveva negli occhi, da sembrare un pazzo. Poi quando cadde sui rami secchi come un fascio di legna, i compagni d'armi gli furono addosso tutti in una volta.
Il giorno dopo lo strascinarono per le vie del villaggio, su di un carro, tutto lacero e sanguinoso. La gente che si accalcava per vederlo, si metteva a ridere trovandolo così piccolo, pallido e brutto, che pareva un pulcinella. Era per lui che Peppa aveva lasciato compare Finu «candela di sego»! Il povero «candela di sego» andò a nascondersi quasi toccasse a lui di vergognarsi, e Peppa la condussero fra i soldati, ammanettata, come una ladra anche lei, lei che ci aveva dell'oro quanto santa Margherita! La povera madre di Peppa dovette vendere «tutta la roba bianca» del corredo, e gli orecchini d'oro, e gli anelli per le dieci dita, onde pagare gli avvocati di sua figlia, e tirarsela di nuovo in casa, povera, malata, svergognata, brutta anche lei come Gramigna, e col figlio di Gramigna in collo. Ma quando gliela diedero, alla fine del processo, recitò l'avemaria, nella casermeria nuda e già scura, in mezzo ai carabinieri; le parve che le dessero un tesoro, alla povera vecchia, che non possedeva più nulla e piangeva come una fontana dalla consolazione. Peppa invece sembrava che non ne avesse più di lagrime, e non diceva nulla, né in paese nessuno la vide più mai, nonostante che le due donne andassero a buscarsi il pane colle loro braccia. La gente diceva che Peppa aveva imparato il mestiere, nel bosco, e andava di notte a rubare. Il fatto era che stava rincantucciata nella cucina come una bestia feroce, e ne uscì soltanto allorché la sua vecchia fu morta di stenti, e dovette vendere la casa.
– Vedete! le diceva «candela di sego» che pure le voleva sempre bene. – Vi schiaccierei la testa fra due sassi pel male che avete fatto a voi e agli altri.
– È vero! rispondeva Peppa, lo so! Questa è stata la volontà di Dio.
Dopo che fu venduta la casa e quei pochi arnesi che le restavano se ne andò via dal paese, di notte come era venuta, senza voltarsi indietro a guardare il tetto sotto cui aveva dormito tanto tempo, e se ne andò a fare la volontà di Dio in città, col suo ragazzo, vicino al carcere dove era rinchiuso Gramigna. Ella non vedeva altro che le gelosie tetre, sulla gran facciata muta, e le sentinelle la scacciavano se si fermava a cercare cogli occhi dove potesse esser lui. Finalmente le dissero che egli non ci era più da un pezzo, che l'avevano condotto via, di là del mare, ammanettato e colla sporta al collo. Ella non disse nulla. Non si mosse più di là, perché non sapeva dove andare, e non l'aspettava più nessuno. Vivacchiava facendo dei servizii ai soldati, ai carcerieri, come facesse parte ella stessa di quel gran fabbricato tetro e silenzioso, e pei carabinieri poi che le avevano preso Gramigna nel folto dei fichidindia, e gli avevano rotto la gamba a fucilate, sentiva una specie di tenerezza rispettosa, come l'ammirazione bruta della forza. La festa, quando li vedeva col pennacchio, e gli spallini lucenti, rigidi ed impettiti nell'uniforme di gala, se li mangiava cogli occhi, ed era sempre per la caserma spazzando i cameroni e lustrando gli stivali, tanto che la chiamavano «lo strofinacciolo dei carabinieri». Soltanto allorché li vedeva caricare le armi a notte fatta, e partire a due a due, coi calzoni rimboccati, il revolver sullo stomaco, o quando montavano a cavallo, sotto il lampione che faceva luccicare la carabina, e udiva perdersi nelle tenebre lo scalpito dei cavalli, e il tintinnìo della sciabola, diventava pallida ogni volta, e mentre chiudeva la porta della stalla rabbrividiva; e quando il suo marmocchio giocherellava cogli altri monelli nella spianata davanti al carcere, correndo fra le gambe dei soldati, e i monelli gli dicevano «il figlio di Gramigna, il figlio di Gramigna!» ella si metteva in collera, e li inseguiva a sassate.
# Guerra di Santi
Tutt'a un tratto, mentre San Rocco se ne andava tranquillamente per la sua strada, sotto il baldacchino, coi cani al guinzaglio, e un gran numero di ceri accesi tutt'intorno, e la banda, la processione, la calca dei devoti, accadde un parapiglia, un fuggi fuggi, un casa del diavolo: preti che scappavano colle sottane per aria, trombe e clarinetti sulla faccia, donne che strillavano, il sangue a rigagnoli, e le legnate che piovevano come pere fradicie fin sotto il naso di San Rocco benedetto. Accorsero il pretore, il sindaco, i carabinieri; le ossa rotte furono portate all'ospedale, i più riottosi andarono a dormire in prigione, il santo tornò in chiesa a corsa piuttosto che a passo di processione, e la festa finì come le commedie di Pulcinella.
Tutto ciò per l'invidia di que' del quartiere di San Pasquale. Quell'anno i devoti di San Rocco avevano speso gli occhi della testa per far le cose in grande; era venuta la banda dalla città, si erano sparati più di duemila mortaretti, e c'era persino uno stendardo nuovo, tutto ricamato d'oro, che pesava più d'un quintale, dicevano, e in mezzo alla folla sembrava «una spuma d'oro» addirittura. La qual cosa doveva fare maledettamente il solletico a quei di San Pasquale, sicché uno di costoro alla fine perse la pazienza, e si diede a urlare, pallido come un morto: – Viva San Pasquale! – Allora s'erano messe le legnate.
Poiché andare a dire viva San Pasquale sul mostaccio di San Rocco in persona è una provocazione bella e buona; è come venirvi a sputare in casa, o come uno che si diverta a dar dei pizzicotti alla donna che avete sotto il braccio. In tal caso non c'è più né cristi né diavoli, e si mette sotto i piedi quel po' di rispetto che si ha anche per gli altri santi, che infine fra di loro son tutti parenti. Se si è in chiesa, vanno in aria le panche, nelle processioni piovono pezzi di torcetti come pipistrelli, e a tavola volano le scodelle.
– Santo diavolone! – urlava compare Nino, tutto pesto e malconcio. – Voglio un po' vedere chi gli basta l'anima di gridare ancora viva San Pasquale!
– Io! – rispose furibondo Turi il «conciapelli» il quale doveva essergli cognato, ed era fuori di sé per un pugno acchiappato nella mischia, che lo aveva mezzo accecato. – Viva San Pasquale sino alla morte!
– Per l'amor di Dio! per l'amor di Dio! – strillava sua sorella Saridda, cacciandosi tra il fratello ed il fidanzato, ché tutti e tre erano andati a spasso d'amore e d'accordo sino a quel momento.
Compare Nino, il fidanzato, vociava per ischerno: – Viva i miei stivali! viva san stivale!
– Te'! – urlò Turi colla spuma alla bocca, e l'occhio gonfio e livido al pari d'una petronciana. – Te' per San Rocco, tu dei stivali! Prendi!
Così si scambiarono dei pugni che avrebbero accoppato un bue, sino a quando gli amici riuscirono a separarli a furia di busse e di pedate. Saridda scaldatasi anche lei, strillava viva San Pasquale, che per poco non si presero a ceffoni collo sposo, come fossero già stati marito e moglie.
In tali occasioni si accapigliano i genitori coi figliuoli, e le mogli si separano dai mariti, se per disgrazia una del quartiere di San Pasquale ha sposato uno di San Rocco.
– Non voglio sentirne parlare più di quel cristiano! – sbraitava Saridda coi pugni sui fianchi, alle vicine che le domandavano come era andato all'aria il matrimonio. – Neanche se me lo danno vestito d'oro e d'argento, sentite!
– Per me Saridda può far la muffa! – diceva dal canto suo compare Nino, mentre gli lavavano all'osteria il viso tutto sporco di sangue. Una manica di pezzenti e di poltroni, in quel quartiere di conciapelli! Quando m'è saltato in testa d'andare a cercarmi colà l'innamorata dovevo essere ubbriaco.
– Giacché è così! – aveva conchiuso il sindaco – e non si può portare un santo in piazza senza legnate, che è una vera porcheria, non voglio più feste, né quarantore, e se mi mettono fuori un moccolo, che è un moccolo! li caccio tutti in prigione.
La faccenda poi s'era fatta grossa, perché il vescovo della diocesi aveva accordato il privilegio di portar la mozzetta ai preti di San Pasquale. Quelli di San Rocco, che avevano i preti senza mozzetta, erano andati sino a Roma, a fare il diavolo ai piedi del Santo Padre, coi documenti in mano, in carta bollata, e ogni cosa; ma tutto era stato inutile, giacché i loro avversari del quartiere basso, che ognuno se li rammentava senza scarpe ai piedi, s'erano arricchiti come porci, colla nuova industria della concia delle pelli, e a questo mondo si sa che la giustizia si compra e vende come l'anima di Giuda.
A San Pasquale aspettavano il delegato di monsignore, il quale era un uomo di proposito, che ci aveva due fibbie d'argento di mezza libbra l'una alle scarpe, chi l'aveva visto, e veniva a portare la mozzetta ai canonici; perciò avevano fatto venire anche loro la banda, per andare ad incontrare il delegato di monsignore tre miglia fuori del paese, e si diceva che la sera ci sarebbero stati i fuochi in piazza, con tanto di «Viva San Pasquale» a lettere di scatola.
Gli abitanti del quartiere alto erano quindi in gran fermento, e alcuni, più eccitati, mondavano certi randelli di pero o di ciriegio grossi come pertiche, e borbottavano:
– Se ci dev'esser la musica si ha da portar la battuta!
Il delegato del vescovo correva un gran pericolo di uscirne colle ossa rotte dalla sua entrata trionfale. Ma il reverendo, furbo, lasciò la banda ad aspettarlo fuor del paese, e a piedi, per le scorciatoie, se ne venne pian piano alla casa del parroco, dove fece riunire i caporioni dei due partiti.
Come quei galantuomini si trovarono faccia a faccia, dopo tanto tempo che litigavano, cominciarono a guardarsi nel bianco degli occhi, quasi sentissero una gran voglia di strapparseli a vicenda, e ci volle tutta l'autorità del reverendo, il quale s'era messo per la circostanza il ferraiuolo di panno nuovo, per far servire i gelati e gli altri rinfreschi senza inconvenienti.
– Così va bene! – approvava il sindaco col naso nel bicchiere – quando mi volete per la pace, mi ci trovate sempre.
Il delegato disse infatti ch'egli era venuto per la conciliazione, col ramoscello d'ulivo in bocca, come la colomba di Noè, e facendo il fervorino andava distribuendo sorrisi e strette di mano, e andava dicendo: – Loro signori favoriranno in sagrestia, a prendere la cioccolata, il dì della festa.
– Lasciamo stare la festa, disse il vice-pretore, se no nasceranno degli altri guai.
– I guai nasceranno se si fanno di queste prepotenze, che uno non è più padrone di spassarsela come vuole, spendendo i suoi denari! – esclamò Bruno il carradore.
– Io me ne lavo le mani. Gli ordini del governo sono precisi. Se fate la festa mando a chiamare i carabinieri. Io voglio l'ordine.
– Dell'ordine rispondo io! sentenziò il sindaco, picchiando in terra coll'ombrella, e girando lo sguardo intorno.
– Bravo! come se non si sapesse che chi vi tira i mantici in consiglio è vostro cognato Bruno! – ripicchiò il vice-pretore.
– E voi fate l'opposizione per la picca di quella contravvenzione del bucato che non potete mandar giù!
– Signori miei! signori miei! – andava raccomandando il delegato. – Così non facciamo nulla!
– Faremo la rivoluzione, faremo! – urlava Bruno colle mani in aria.
Per fortuna il parroco aveva messo in salvo, lesto lesto, le chicchere e i bicchieri, e il sagrestano era corso a rompicollo a licenziare la banda, che, saputo l'arrivo del delegato, accorreva a dargli il benvenuto, soffiando nei corni e nei clarinetti.
– Così non si fa nulla! borbottava il delegato, e gli seccava pure che le messi fossero già mature di là delle sue parti, mentre ei se ne stava a perdere il suo tempo con compare Bruno e col vice-pretore che volevano mangiarsi l'anima. – Cos'è questa storia della contravvenzione pel bucato?
– Le solite prepotenze. Ora non si può sciorinare un fazzoletto da naso alla finestra, che subito vi chiappano la multa. La moglie del vice-pretore, fidandosi che suo marito era in carica, – sinora un po' di riguardo c'era sempre stato per le autorità, – soleva asciugare sul terrazzino tutto il bucato della settimana, si sa... quel po' di grazia di Dio... Ma adesso colla nuova legge è peccato mortale, e son proibiti perfino i cani e le galline, e gli altri animali, con rispetto, che fino ad ora facevano la polizia nelle strade; e alla prima pioggia, Dio ce la mandi buona di non affogare tutti nel sudiciume. La verità vera poi è che Bruno l'assessore l'ha contro il vice-pretore, per certa sentenza che gli ha dato contro.
Il delegato, per conciliare gli animi, stava inchiodato nel confessionario come una civetta dalla mattina alla sera, e tutte le donne volevano essere confessate dal rappresentante del vescovo, il quale ci aveva l'assoluzione plenaria per ogni sorta di peccati, come se fosse stata la persona stessa di monsignore.
– Padre! – gli diceva Saridda col naso alla graticola del confessionario. – Compare Nino ogni domenica mi fa far peccati in chiesa.
– In che modo, figliuola mia?
– Quel cristiano doveva esser mio marito, prima che vi fossero queste chiacchiere in paese, ma ora che il matrimonio è rotto, si pianta vicino all'altar maggiore, per guardarmi e ridere coi suoi amici tutto il tempo della santa messa.
E come il reverendo cercava di toccare il cuore a compare Nino:
– È lei piuttosto che mi volta le spalle quando mi vede, quasi fossi un pezzente, – rispondeva il contadino.
Egli invece se la gnà Saridda passava dalla piazza la domenica, affettava di esser tutt'uno col brigadiere, o con qualche altro pezzo grosso, e non si accorgeva nemmeno di lei. Saridda era occupatissima a preparare lampioncini di carta colorata, e glieli schierava sul mostaccio, lungo il davanzale, col pretesto di metterli ad asciugare. Una volta che si trovarono insieme in un battesimo non si salutarono nemmeno, come se non si fossero mai visti, e anzi Saridda fece la civetta col compare che aveva battezzata la bambina.
– Compare da strapazzo! – sogghignava Nino. – Compare di bambina! Quando nasce una femmina si rompono persino i travicelli del tetto.
E Saridda, fingendo di parlare colla puerpera:
– Tutto il male non viene per nuocere. Alle volte, quando vi pare d'aver perso un tesoro, dovete ringraziar Dio e San Pasquale; ché prima di conoscere bene una persona bisogna mangiare sette salme di sale.
– Già le disgrazie bisogna pigliarle come vengono, e il peggio è guastarsi il sangue per cose che non ne valgono la pena. Morto un papa, se ne fa un altro.
– I bambini sono destinati come devono nascere, al pari dei matrimoni; perché è meglio sposare uno che vi voglia bene davvero e non lo faccia per secondo fine, anche se non abbia né roba, né chiuse, né mule, né nulla.
In piazza suonava il tamburo, quello della meta. – Il sindaco dice che vi sarà la festa – susurravano nella folla.
– Litigherò sino alla consumazione dei secoli! mi ridurrò povero e in camicia come il santo Giobbe, ma quelle cinque lire di multa non le pagherò! dovessi lasciarlo nel testamento!
– Sangue d'un cane! che festa vogliono fare se quest'anno morremo tutti di fame! – esclamava Nino.
Sin dal mese di marzo non pioveva una goccia d'acqua, e i seminati gialli, che scoppiettavano come l'esca «morivano di sete». Bruno il carradore diceva invece che quando San Pasquale esciva in processione pioveva di certo. Ma che gliene importava della pioggia a lui se faceva il carradore, e a tutti gli altri conciapelli del suo partito?... Infatti portarono San Pasquale in processione a levante e a ponente, e l'affacciarono sul poggio, a benedir la campagna, in una giornata afosa di maggio, tutta nuvoli: una di quelle giornate in cui i contadini si strappano i capelli dinanzi ai campi «bruciati» e le spighe chinano il capo proprio come se morissero.
– San Pasquale maledetto! – gridava Nino sputando in aria, e correndo come un pazzo pel seminato. – M'avete rovinato, San Pasquale! non mi avete lasciato altro che la falce per segarmi il collo!
Nel quartiere alto era una desolazione, una di quelle annate lunghe in cui la fame comincia a giugno, e le donne stanno sugli usci, spettinate e senza far nulla, coll'occhio fisso. La gnà Saridda, all'udire che si vendeva in piazza la mula di compare Nino onde pagare il fitto della terra che non aveva dato nulla, si sentì sbollire la collera in un attimo, e mandò in fretta e in furia suo fratello Turi, con quei soldi che avevano da parte, per aiutarlo.
Nino era in un canto della piazza, cogli occhi astratti e le mani in tasca, mentre gli vendevano la mula tutta in fronzoli e colla cavezza nuova.
– Non voglio nulla, ei rispose torvo. – Le braccia mi restano ancora, se Dio vuole! Bel santo, quel San Pasquale, eh!
Turi gli voltò le spalle per non finirla brutta, e se ne andò. Ma la verità era che gli animi si trovavano esasperati, ora che San Pasquale l'avevano portato in processione a levante e a ponente con quel bel risultato. Il peggio era che molti del quartiere di San Rocco si erano lasciati indurre ad andare colla processione anche loro, picchiandosi come asini, e colla corona di spine in capo, per amor del seminato. Ora poi si sfogavano in improperi, tanto che il delegato di monsignore aveva dovuto battersela a piedi e senza banda com'era venuto.
Il vice-pretore, per prendersi una rivincita sul carradore, telegrafava che gli animi erano eccitati, e l'ordine pubblico compromesso; sicché un bel giorno si udì la notizia che nella notte erano arrivati i compagni d'arme, e ognuno poteva andare a vederli nello stallatico.
– Son venuti pel colera – dicevano però degli altri. – Laggiù nella città la gente muore come le mosche.
Lo speziale mise il catenaccio alla bottega, e il dottore scappò il primo perché non l'accoppassero.
– Non sarà nulla, – dicevano quei pochi rimasti in paese, che non erano potuti fuggire qua e là per la campagna. – San Rocco benedetto lo guarderà il suo paese, e il primo che va in giro di notte gli faremo la pelle.
E anche quelli del quartiere basso erano corsi a piedi scalzi nella chiesa di San Rocco. Però di lì a poco i morti cominciarono a spesseggiare come i goccioloni grossi che annunziano il temporale, e di questo dicevasi ch'era un maiale, e aveva voluto morire per fare una scorpacciata di fichidindia, e di quell'altro che era tornato da campagna a notte fatta. Insomma il colera era venuto bello e buono, malgrado la guardia, e in barba a San Rocco, nonostante che una vecchia in odore di santità avesse sognato che San Rocco in persona le diceva:
– Del colera non abbiate paura, che ci penso io, e non sono come quel disutilaccio di San Pasquale.
Nino e Turi non si erano più visti dopo l'affare della mula; ma appena il contadino intese dire che fratello e sorella erano malati tutti e due, corse alla loro casa, e trovò Saridda nera e contraffatta, in fondo alla stanzuccia, accanto a suo fratello, il quale stava meglio, lui, ma si strappava i capelli e non sapeva più che fare.
– Ah! San Rocco ladro! si mise a gemere Nino. – Questa non me l'aspettava! O gnà Saridda, che non mi conoscete più? Nino, quello di una volta?
La gnà Saridda lo guardava con certi occhi infossati che ci voleva la lanterna a trovarli, e Nino ci aveva due fontane ai suoi occhi. – Ah! San Rocco! diceva lui, questo tiro è più birbone di quello che mi ha fatto San Pasquale!
Però la Saridda guarì, e mentre stava sull'uscio, col capo avvolto nel fazzoletto, e gialla come la cera vergine, gli andava dicendo:
– San Rocco mi ha fatto il miracolo, e dovete venirci anche voi, a portargli la candela per la sua festa.
Nino, col cuore gonfio, diceva di sì col capo; ma intanto aveva preso il male anche lui, e stette per morire. Saridda allora si graffiava il viso, e diceva che voleva morire con lui, e si sarebbe tagliati i capelli e glieli avrebbe messi nel cataletto, ché nessuno l'avrebbe più vista in faccia finché era viva.
– No! no! – rispondeva Nino col viso disfatto. – I capelli torneranno a crescere; ma chi non ti vedrà più sarò io che sarò morto.
– Bel miracolo che ti ha fatto San Rocco! – gli diceva Turi per consolarlo.
E tutti e due, convalescenti, mentre si scaldavano al sole, colle spalle al muro e il viso lungo si gettavano in viso l'un l'altro San Rocco e San Pasquale.
Una volta passò Bruno il carradore, che tornava da campagna a colera finito, e disse:
– Vogliamo fare una gran festa, per ringraziare San Pasquale di averci salvati dal colera. D'ora innanzi non ci saranno più arruffapopoli, né oppositori, ora che è morto quel vice-pretore che ha lasciato la lite nel testamento.
– Sì, la festa per quelli che son morti! – sogghignò Nino.
– E tu che sei vivo per San Rocco forse?
– La volete finire, saltò su Saridda, che poi ci vorrà un altro colera per far la pace!
# Pentolaccia
Giacché facciamo come se fossimo al cosmorama, quando c'è la festa nel paese, che si mette l'occhio al vetro, e si vedono passare ad uno ad uno Garibaldi e Vittorio Emanuele, adesso viene «Pentolaccia» ch'è un bello originale anche lui, e ci fa bella figura fra tanti matti che hanno avuto il giudizio nelle calcagna, e hanno fatto tutto il contrario di quel che suol fare un cristiano il quale voglia mangiarsi il suo pane in santa pace.
Ora se si ha a fare l'esame di coscienza a tutti coloro che hanno avuto il bel gusto di far parlare di sé, nell'aia, nell'ora delle chiacchiere, dopo colezione; e se si deve fare come fa il fattore il sabato sera che dice a questo: – Cosa ti viene per le tue giornate? – e a quell'altro: – Tu che hai fatto nella settimana? – non si può lasciar «Pentolaccia» senza dirgli il fatto suo, un brutto fatto in verità, ché gli avevano messo quel bel nomignolo per la brutta cosa che sapete.
Già si sa che la gelosia è un difetto che l'abbiamo tutti, chi più chi meno, e per questo i galletti si spennacchiano fra loro prima ancora di mettere la cresta, e i muli sparano calci nella stalla. Ma quando uno non ha mai avuto questo vizio, e ha chinato sempre il capo in santa pace, che sant'Isidoro ce ne scampi, non si sa capire come abbia a infuriare tutt'a un tratto, al pari di un toro nel mese di luglio, e faccia cose da matto, come uno che non ci vegga più dagli occhi pel mal di denti; ché quelle cose lì sono appunto come i denti, che dànno un martoro da far perdere la ragione allorché spuntano, ma dopo non dànno più noia, e servono a masticare il pane; e lui ci masticava così bene che aveva messo pancia, come un galantuomo, e pareva un canonico; per questo la gente lo chiamava «Pentolaccia» perché ci aveva la pentola al fuoco tutti i giorni, ché gliela manteneva sua moglie Venera con don Liborio.
Egli aveva voluto sposare la Venera per forza, sebbene non ci avesse né re né regno, e anche lui dovesse far capitale sulle sue braccia per buscarsi il pane. Invano sua madre, poveretta, gli andava dicendo: – Lascia star la Venera, che non fa per te; porta la mantellina a mezza testa, e fa vedere il piede quando va per la strada. – I vecchi ne sanno più di noi, e bisogna ascoltarli pel nostro meglio.
Ma lui ci aveva sempre pel capo quella scarpetta e quegli occhi ladri che cercavano il marito fuori della mantellina; perciò se la prese senza volere udir altro, e la madre uscì di casa dopo trent'anni che c'era stata, perché suocera e nuora insieme ci stanno proprio come due mule selvaggie alla stessa mangiatoia. La nuora, con quel suo bocchino melato, tanto disse e tanto fece che la povera vecchia brontolona dovette lasciarle il campo libero, e andarsene a morire in un tugurio; e fra marito e moglie succedeva anche una quistione ogni volta che doveva pagarsi la mesata del tugurio. E allorché il figlio accorse trafelato, al sentire che alla vecchiarella le avevano portato il viatico, non poté ricevere la benedizione, né cavare l'ultima parola di bocca alla moribonda, la quale aveva già le labbra incollate dalla morte, e il viso disfatto, nell'angolo della casuccia dove cominciava a farsi scuro, e aveva vivi solamente gli occhi, coi quali pareva che volesse dirgli tante cose. – Eh?... Eh?...
Chi non rispetta i genitori fa il suo malanno e non fa buona fine.
La povera vecchia era morta col rammarico della mala riuscita che aveva fatto la moglie di suo figlio; e Dio le aveva accordato la grazia di andarsene da questo mondo, portandosi al mondo di là tutto quello che ci aveva nello stomaco contro la nuora, e che sapeva come gli avrebbe fatto piangere il cuore al figliuolo. Appena la nuora era rimasta padrona della casa, e colla briglia sul collo, ne aveva fatte tante e poi tante, che la gente ormai non chiamava altrimenti suo marito che con quel nomaccio, e quando arrivava a sentirlo anche lui, e si avventurava a lagnarsene colla moglie – Tu che ci credi? gli diceva lei: ed egli non ci credeva, contento come una pasqua.
Era fatto così poveretto, e sin qui non faceva male a nessuno. Se gliel'avessero fatta vedere coi suoi occhi, avrebbe detto che non era vero. O fosse che per la maledizione della madre la Venera gli era cascata dal cuore, e non ci pensasse più; o perché standosene tutto l'anno in campagna a lavorare, e non vedendola altro che il sabato sera, ella si era fatta sgarbata e disamorevole col marito, ed egli avesse finito di volergli bene; e quando una cosa non ci piace più, ci sembra che non debba premere nemmeno agli altri, e non ce ne importa più nulla che sia di questo o di quell'altro; insomma la gelosia non poteva entrargli in testa neanche a ficcarcela col cavicchio, e avrebbe continuato per cent'anni ad andare lui stesso, quando ce lo mandava sua moglie, a chiamare il medico, il quale era don Liborio.
Don Liborio era anche suo socio, tenevano una chiusa a mezzeria; ci avevano una trentina di pecore in comune; prendevano insieme dei pascoli in affitto, e don Liborio dava la sua parola in garenzia, quando si andava dinanzi al notaio. «Pentolaccia» gli portava le prime fave e i primi piselli, gli spaccava la legna per la cucina, gli pigiava l'uva nel palmento; a lui in cambio non gli mancava nulla, né il grano nel graticcio, né il vino nella botte, né l'olio nell'orciuolo; sua moglie bianca e rossa come una mela, sfoggiava scarpe nuove e fazzoletti di seta; don Liborio non si faceva pagar le sue visite, e gli aveva battezzato anche un bambino. Insomma facevano una casa sola, ed ei chiamava don Liborio «signor compare» e lavorava con coscienza – su tal riguardo «Pentolaccia» non gli si poteva dire – a far prosperare la società col «signor compare» il quale perciò ci aveva il suo vantaggio anche lui, e così erano contenti tutti, ché alle volte il diavolo non è brutto come si dipinge.
Ora avvenne che questa pace degli angeli si mutò in una casa del diavolo tutt'a un tratto in un giorno solo, in un momento, come gli altri contadini che lavoravano nel maggese, mentre chiacchieravano all'ombra, nell'ora di vespero, vennero per caso a leggergli la vita, a lui e a sua moglie, senza accorgersi che «Pentolaccia» s'era buttato a dormire dietro la siepe, e nessuno l'aveva visto, che per questo si suol dire «quando mangi chiudi l'uscio, e quando parli guardati d'attorno».
Stavolta parve proprio che il diavolo andasse a stuzzicare «Pentolaccia» il quale dormiva, e gli soffiasse nell'orecchio gl'improperii che dicevano di lui, e glieli ficcasse nell'anima con un chiodo. – E quel becco di «Pentolaccia»! dicevano, che si rosica mezzo don Liborio! e ci mangia e ci beve nel brago, e c'ingrassa come un maiale!
Allora egli si rizzò come se l'avesse morso un cane arrabbiato, e si diede a correre verso il paese senza vederci più dagli occhi, che fin l'erba e i sassi gli sembravano rossi al pari del sangue. Sulla porta di casa sua incontrò don Liborio, il quale se ne andava tranquillamente, facendosi vento col cappello di paglia. – Sentite, «signor compare», gli disse lui; se vi vedo un'altra volta in casa mia, com'è vero Dio! vi faccio la festa!
Don Liborio lo guardò negli occhi, quasi parlasse turco, e gli parve che gli avesse dato volta al cervello, con quel caldo, perché davvero non si poteva immaginare che a «Pentolaccia» saltasse in mente da un momento all'altro di esser geloso, dopo tanto tempo che aveva chiuso gli occhi, ed era la miglior pasta d'uomo e di marito che fosse al mondo.
– Cosa avete oggi, compare? gli disse.
– Ho, che se vi vedo un'altra volta in casa mia, com'è vero Dio, vi faccio la festa.
Don Liborio si strinse nelle spalle e se ne andò ridendo. Lui entrò in casa tutto stralunato, e ripeté alla moglie: – Se vedo qui un'altra volta «il signor compare» com'è vero Dio, gli faccio la festa!
Venera si cacciò i pugni sui fianchi, e cominciò a sgridarlo e a dirgli degli improperi. Ei si ostinava a dire sempre di sì col capo, addossato alla parete, come un bue che ha la mosca, e non vuol sentir ragione. I bambini strillavano al veder quelle cose insolite. La moglie infine prese la stanga, e lo cacciò fuori dell'uscio per levarselo dinanzi, e gli disse che in casa sua era padrona di fare quello che le pareva e piaceva.
«Pentolaccia» non poteva più lavorare nel maggese, pensava sempre a una cosa, ed aveva una faccia di basilisco che nessuno gli conosceva. Prima d'imbrunire, ed era sabato, piantò la zappa nel solco, e se ne andò senza farsi saldare il conto della settimana. Sua moglie, vedendoselo arrivare senza denari, e per giunta due ore prima del consueto, tornò di nuovo a strapazzarlo, e voleva mandarlo in piazza, a comprarle delle acciughe salate, che si sentiva una spina nella gola. Ma ei non volle andarsene dalla cucina, tenendosi la bambina fra le gambe, la quale, poveretta, non osava muoversi, e piagnuccolava, per la paura che il babbo le faceva con quella faccia. Venera quella sera aveva un diavolo per capello, e la gallina nera, appollaiata sulla scala, non finiva di chiocciare, come quando deve accadere una disgrazia.
Don Liborio soleva venire dopo le sue visite, prima di andare al caffè, a far la sua partita di tresette; e quella sera Venera diceva che voleva farsi tastare il polso, perché tutto il giorno si era sentita la febbre, per quel male che ci aveva nella gola. «Pentolaccia», lui, stava zitto, e non si muoveva dal suo posto. Ma come si udì per la stradicciuola tranquilla il passo lento del dottore che se ne venia adagio adagio, un po' stanco delle visite, soffiando pel caldo, e facendosi vento col cappello di paglia, «Pentolaccia» andò a prender la stanga colla quale sua moglie lo scacciava fuori di casa, quando egli era di troppo, e si appostò dietro l'uscio. Per disgrazia Venera non se ne accorse, perché in quel momento era andata in cucina a mettere una bracciata di legna sotto la caldaia che bolliva. Appena don Liborio mise il piede nella stanza, suo compare levò la stanga, e gli lasciò cadere fra capo e collo tal colpo, che l'ammazzò come un bue, senza bisogno di medico, né di speziale.
Così fu che «Pentolaccia» andò a finire in galera.
# NOVELLE RUSTICANE
# Il Reverendo
Di reverendo non aveva più né la barba lunga, né lo scapolare di zoccolante, ora che si faceva radere ogni domenica, e andava a spasso colla sua bella sottana di panno fine, e il tabarro colle rivolte di seta sul braccio. Allorché guardava i suoi campi, e le sue vigne, e i suoi armenti, e i suoi bifolchi, colle mani in tasca e la pipetta in bocca, se si fosse rammentato del tempo in cui lavava le scodelle ai cappuccini, e che gli avevano messo il saio per carità, si sarebbe fatta la croce colla mano sinistra.
Ma se non gli avessero insegnato a dir messa, e a leggere e a scrivere per carità, non sarebbe riescito a ficcarsi nelle primarie casate del paese, né ad inchiodare nei suoi bilanci il nome di tutti quei mezzadri che lavoravano e pregavano Dio e la buon'annata per lui, e bestemmiavano poi come turchi al far dei conti. «Guarda ciò che sono e non da chi son nato» dice il proverbio. Da chi era nato lui, tutti lo sapevano, ché sua madre gli scopava tuttora la casa. Il Reverendo non aveva la boria di famiglia, no; e quando andava a fare il tresette dalla baronessa, si faceva aspettare in anticamera dal fratello, col lanternone in mano.
Nel far del bene cominciava dai suoi, come Dio stesso comanda; e s'era tolta in casa una nipote, belloccia, ma senza camicia, che non avrebbe trovato uno straccio di marito; e la manteneva lui, anzi l'aveva messa nella bella stanza coi vetri alla finestra, e il letto a cortinaggio, e non la teneva per lavorare, o per sciuparsi le mani in alcun ufficio grossolano. Talché parve a tutti un vero castigo di Dio, allorquando la poveraccia fu presa dagli scrupoli, come accade alle donne che non hanno altro da fare, e passano i giorni in chiesa a picchiarsi il petto pel peccato mortale – ma non quando c'era lo zio, ch'ei non era di quei preti i quali amano farsi vedere in pompa magna sull'altare dall'innamorata. Le donne, fuori di casa, gli bastava accarezzarle con due dita sulla guancia, paternamente, o dallo sportellino del confessionario, dopo che s'erano risciacquata la coscienza, e avevano vuotato il sacco dei peccati propri ed altrui, ché qualche cosa di utile ci si apprendeva sempre, per dar la benedizione, uno che speculasse sugli affari di campagna.
Benedetto dio! egli non pretendeva di essere un sant'uomo, no! I sant'uomini morivano di fame; come il vicario il quale celebrava anche quando non gli pagavano la messa; e andava attorno per le case de' pezzenti con una sottana lacera che era uno scandalo per la Religione. Il Reverendo voleva _portarsi avanti_ ; e ci si portava, col vento in poppa; dapprincipio un po' a sghembo per quella benedetta tonaca che gli dava noia, tanto che per buttarla nell'orto del convento aveva fatta la causa al Tribunale della Monarchia, e i confratelli l'avevano aiutato a vincerla per levarselo di torno, perché sin quando ci fu lui in convento volavano le panche e le scodelle in refettorio ad ogni elezione di provinciale; il padre Battistino, un servo di Dio robusto come un mulattiere, l'avevano mezzo accoppato, e padre Giammaria, il guardiano, ci aveva rimesso tutta la dentatura. Il Reverendo, lui, stava chiotto in cella, dopo di aver attizzato il fuoco, e in tal modo era arrivato ad esser _reverendo_ con tutti i denti, che gli servivano bene; e al padre Giammaria che era stato lui a ficcarsi quello scorpione nella manica, ognuno diceva: – Ben gli sta!
Ma il padre Giammaria, buon uomo, rispondeva, masticandosi le labbra colle gengive nude:
– Che volete? Costui non era fatto per cappuccino. È come papa Sisto, che da porcaio arrivò ad essere quello che fu. Non avete visto ciò che prometteva da ragazzo?
Per questo padre Giammaria era rimasto semplice guardiano dei Cappuccini, senza camicia e senza un soldo in tasca, a confessare per l'amor di Dio, e cuocere la minestra per i poveri.
Il Reverendo, da ragazzo, come vedeva suo fratello, quello del lanternone, rompersi la schiena a zappare, e le sorelle che non trovavano marito neanche a regalarle, e la mamma la quale filava al buio per risparmiar l'olio della lucerna, aveva detto: – Io voglio esser prete! – Avevano venduto la mula e il campicello, per mandarlo a scuola, nella speranza che se giungevano ad avere il prete in casa ci avevano meglio della chiusa e della mula. Ma ci voleva altro per mantenerlo al seminario! Allora il ragazzo si mise a ronzare attorno al convento perché lo pigliassero novizio; e un giorno che si aspettava il provinciale, e c'era da fare in cucina, lo accolsero per dare una mano. Padre Giammaria, il quale aveva il cuore buono, gli disse: – Ti piace lo stato? e tu stacci. – E fra Carmelo, il portinaio, nelle lunghe ore d'ozio, che s'annoiava seduto sul muricciuolo del chiostro a sbattere i sandali l'un contro l'altro, gli mise insieme un po' di scapolare coi pezzi di saio buttati sul fico a spauracchio delle passere. La mamma, il fratello e la sorella protestavano che se entrava frate era finita per loro, e ci rimettevano i danari della scuola, perché non gli avrebbero cavato più un baiocco. Ma lui che era frate nel sangue, si stringeva nelle spalle, e rispondeva: – Sta' a vedere che uno non può seguire la vocazione a cui Dio l'ha chiamato!
Il padre Giammaria l'aveva preso a ben volere perché era lesto come un gatto in cucina, e in tutti gli uffici vili, persino nel servir la messa, quasi non avesse fatto mai altro in vita sua, cogli occhi bassi, e le labbra cucite come un serafino. – Ora che non serviva più la messa aveva sempre quegli occhi bassi e quelle labbra cucite, quando si trattava di un affare scabroso coi signori, che c'era da disputarsi all'asta le terre del comune, o da giurare il vero dinanzi al Pretore.
Di giuramenti, nel 1854, dovette farne uno grosso davvero, sull'altare, davanti alla pisside, mentre diceva la santa messa, ché la gente lo accusava di spargere il colèra, e voleva fargli la festa.
– Per quest'ostia consacrata che ho in mano – disse lui ai fedeli inginocchiati sulle calcagna – sono innocente, figliuoli miei! Del resto vi prometto che il flagello cesserà fra una settimana. Abbiate pazienza!
Sì, avevano pazienza! per forza dovevano averla! Poiché egli era tutt'uno col giudice e col capitan d'arme, e il re Bomba gli mandava i capponi a Pasqua e a Natale per disobbligarsi, dicevasi; e gli aveva mandato anche il contravveleno, caso mai succedesse una disgrazia.
Una vecchia zia che aveva dovuto tirarsi in casa, per non fare mormorare il prossimo, e non era più buona che a mangiare il pane a tradimento, aveva sturato una bottiglia per un'altra, e acchiappò il colèra bell'e buono; ma il nipote stesso, per non fare insospettir la gente, non aveva potuto amministrarle il contravveleno. – Dammi il contravveleno! dammi il contravveleno! supplicava la vecchia, già nera come il carbone, senza aver riguardo al medico ed al notaio ch'erano lì presenti, e si guardavano in faccia imbarazzati. Il Reverendo, colla faccia tosta, quasi non fosse fatto suo, borbottava stringendosi nelle spalle: – Non le date retta, che sta delirando. – Il contravveleno, se pur ce l'aveva, il re glielo aveva mandato sotto suggello di confessione, e non poteva darlo a nessuno. Il giudice in persona era andato a chiederglielo ginocchioni per sua moglie che moriva, e s'era sentito rispondere dal Reverendo:
– Comandatemi della vita, amico caro; ma per cotesto negozio, proprio, non posso servirvi.
Questa era storia che tutti la sapevano, e siccome sapevano che a furia di intrighi e d'abilità era arrivato ad essere l'amico intrinseco del re, del giudice e del capitan d'armi, che aveva la polizia come l'Intendente, e i suoi rapporti arrivavano a Napoli senza passar per le mani del Luogotenente, nessuno osava litigare con lui, e allorché gettava gli occhi su di un podere da vendere, o su di un lotto di terre comunali che si affittavano all'asta, gli stessi pezzi grossi del paese, se s'arrischiavano a disputarglielo, la facevano coi salamelecchi, e offrendogli una presa di tabacco. Una volta, col barone istesso, durarono una mezza giornata a tira e molla. Il barone faceva l'amabile, e il Reverendo seduto in faccia a lui, col tabarro raccolto fra le gambe, ad ogni offerta d'aumento gli presentava la tabacchiera d'argento, sospirando: – Che volete farci, signor barone. Qui è caduto l'asino, e tocca a noi tirarlo su. – Finché si pappò l'aggiudicazione, e il barone tirò su la presa, verde dalla bile.
Cotesto l'approvavano i villani, perché i cani grossi si fanno sempre la guerra fra di loro, se capita un osso buono e ai poveretti non resta mai nulla da rosicare. Ma ciò che li faceva mormorare era che quel servo di Dio li smungesse peggio dell'anticristo, allorché avevano da spartire con lui, e non si faceva scrupolo di chiappare la roba del prossimo, perché gli arnesi della confessione li teneva in mano e se cascava in peccato mortale poteva darsi l'assoluzione da sé. – Tutto sta ad averci il prete in casa! – sospiravano. E i più facoltosi si levavano il pan di bocca per mandare il figliuolo al seminario.
– Quando uno si dà alla campagna, bisogna che ci si dia tutto, diceva il Reverendo, onde scusarsi se non usava riguardi a nessuno. E la messa stessa lui non la celebrava altro che la domenica, quando non c'era altro da fare, che non era di quei pretucoli che corrono dietro ai tre tarì della messa. Lui non ne aveva bisogno. Tanto che Monsignor Vescovo, nella visita pastorale, arrivando a casa sua, e trovandogli il breviario coperto di polvere, vi scrisse su col dito «Deo gratias!». Ma il Reverendo aveva altro in testa che perdere il tempo a leggere il breviario, e se ne rideva del rimprovero di Monsignore. Se il breviario era coperto di polvere, i suoi buoi erano lucenti, le pecore lanute, e i seminati alti come un uomo, che i suoi mezzadri almeno se ne godevano la vista, e potevano fabbricarvi su dei bei castelli in aria, prima di fare i conti col padrone. I poveretti slargavano tanto di cuore. – Seminati che sono una magìa! Il Signore ci è passato di notte! Si vede che è roba di un servo di Dio, e conviene lavorare per lui che ci ha in mano la messa e la benedizione! – In maggio, all'epoca in cui guardavano in cielo per scongiurare ogni nuvola che passava, sapevano che il padrone diceva la messa pella raccolta, e valeva più delle immagini dei santi, e dei pani benedetti per scacciare il malocchio e la malannata. Anzi il Reverendo non voleva che spargessero i pani benedetti pel seminato, perché non servono che ad attirare i passeri e gli altri uccelli nocivi. Delle immagini sante poi ne aveva le tasche piene, giacché ne pigliava quante ne voleva in sagrestia, di quelle buone, senza spendere un soldo, e le regalava ai suoi contadini.
Ma alla raccolta, giungeva a cavallo, insieme a suo fratello, il quale gli faceva da campiere, collo schioppo ad armacollo, e non si muoveva più, dormiva lì, nella malaria, per guardare ai suoi interessi, senza badare neanche a Cristo. Quei poveri diavoli, che nella bella stagione avevano dimenticato i giorni duri dell'inverno, rimanevano a bocca aperta sentendosi sciorinare la litania dei loro debiti. – Tanti rotoli di fave che tua moglie è venuta prendere al tempo della neve. – Tanti fasci di sarmenti consegnati al tuo figliuolo. – Tanti tumoli di grano anticipati per le sementi – coi frutti – a tanto il mese. – Fa' il conto. – Un conto imbrogliato. Nell'anno della carestia, che lo zio Carmenio ci aveva lasciato il sudore e la salute nelle chiuse del Reverendo, gli toccò di lasciarvi anche l'asino, alla messe, per saldare il debito, e se ne andava a mani vuote, bestemmiando delle parolacce da far tremare cielo e terra. Il Reverendo, che non era lì per confessare, lasciava dire, e si tirava l'asino nella stalla.
Dopo che era divenuto ricco aveva scoperto nella sua famiglia, la quale non aveva mai avuto pane da mangiare, certi diritti ad un beneficio grasso come un canonicato, e all'epoca dell'abolizione delle manimorte aveva chiesto lo svincolo e s'era pappato il podere definitivamente. Solo gli seccava per quei denari che si dovevano pagare per lo svincolo, e dava del ladro al Governo il quale non rilascia _gratis_ la roba dei beneficii a chi tocca.
Su questa storia del Governo egli aveva dovuto inghiottir della bile assai, fin dal 1860, quando avevano fatto la rivoluzione, e gli era toccato nascondersi in una grotta come un topo, perché i villani, tutti quelli che avevano avuto delle quistioni con lui, volevano fargli la pelle. In seguito era venuta la litania delle tasse, che non finiva più di pagare, e il solo pensarci gli mutava in tossico il vino a tavola. Ora davano addosso al Santo Padre, e volevano spogliarlo del temporale. Ma quando il Papa mandò la scomunica per tutti coloro che acquistassero beni delle manimorte, il Reverendo sentì montarsi la mosca al naso, e borbottò:
– Che c'entra il Papa nella roba mia? Questo non ci ha a far nulla col temporale. – E seguitò a dir la santa messa meglio di prima.
I villani andavano ad ascoltare la sua messa, ma pensavano senza volere alle ladrerie del celebrante, e avevano delle distrazioni. Le loro donne, mentre gli confessavano i peccati, non potevano fare a meno di spifferargli sul mostaccio:
– Padre, mi accuso di avere sparlato di voi che siete un servo di Dio, perché quest'inverno siamo rimasti senza fave e senza grano a causa vostra. – A causa mia! Che li faccio io il bel tempo o la malannata? Oppure devo possedere le terre perché voialtri ci seminiate e facciate i vostri interessi? Non ne avete coscienza, né timore di Dio? Perché ci venite allora a confessarvi? Questo è il diavolo che vi tenta per farvi perdere il sacramento della penitenza. Quando vi mettete a fare tutti quei figliuoli non ci pensate che son tante bocche che mangiano? E che colpa ci ho io poi se il pane non vi basta? Ve li ho fatti far io tutti quei figliuoli? Io mi son fatto prete per non averne.
Però assolveva, come era obbligo suo; ma nondimeno nella testa di quella gente rozza restava qualche confusione fra il prete che alzava la mano a benedire in nome di Dio, e il padrone che arruffava i conti, e li mandava via dal podere col sacco vuoto e la falce sotto l'ascella.
– Non c'è che fare, non c'è che fare – borbottavano i poveretti rassegnati. – La brocca non ci vince contro il sasso, e col Reverendo non si può litigare, ché lui sa la legge!
Se la sapeva! Quand'erano davanti al giudice, coll'avvocato, egli chiudeva la bocca a tutti col dire: – La legge è così e così. – Ed era sempre come giovava a lui. Nel buon tempo passato se ne rideva dei nemici, degli invidiosi. Avevano fatto un casa del diavolo, erano andati dal vescovo, gli avevano gettato in faccia la nipote, massaro Carmenio e la roba malacquistata, gli avevano fatto togliere la messa e la confessione. Ebbene? E poi? Egli non aveva bisogno del vescovo né di nessuno. Egli aveva il fatto suo ed era rispettato come quelli che in paese portano la battuta; egli era di casa dalla baronessa, e più facevano del chiasso intorno a lui, peggio era lo scandalo. I pezzi grossi non vanno toccati, nemmeno dal vescovo, e ci si fà di berretto, per prudenza, e per amor della pace. Ma dopo che era trionfata l'eresia, colla rivoluzione, a che gli serviva tutto ciò? I villani che imparavano a leggere e a scrivere, e vi facevano il conto meglio di voi; i partiti che si disputavano il municipio, e si spartivano la cuccagna senza un riguardo al mondo; il primo pezzente che poteva ottenere il gratuito patrocinio, se aveva una quistione con voi, e vi faceva sostener da solo le spese del giudizio! Un sacerdote non contava più né presso il giudice, né presso il capitano d'armi; adesso non poteva nemmeno far imprigionare con una parolina, se gli mancavano di rispetto, e non era più buono che a dir messa, e confessare, come un servitore del pubblico. Il giudice aveva paura dei giornali, dell'opinione pubblica, di quel che avrebbero detto Caio e Sempronio, e trinciava giudizi come Salomone! Perfino la roba che si era acquistata col sudore della fronte gliela invidiavano, gli avevano fatto il malocchio e la iettatura; quel po' di grazia di Dio che mangiava a tavola gli dava gran travaglio, la notte; mentre suo fratello, il quale faceva una vita dura, e mangiava pane e cipolla, digeriva meglio di uno struzzo, e sapeva che di lì a cent'anni, morto lui, sarebbe stato il suo erede, e si sarebbe trovato ricco senza muovere un dito. La mamma, poveretta, non era più buona a nulla, e campava per penare e far penare gli altri, inchiodata nel letto dalla paralisi, che bisognava servir lei piuttosto; e la nipote istessa, grassa, ben vestita, provvista di tutto, senza altro da fare che andare in chiesa, lo tormentava, quando le saltava in capo di essere in peccato mortale, quasi ei fosse di quegli scomunicati che avevano spodestato il Santo Padre, e gli aveva fatto levar la messa dal vescovo.
– Non c'è più religione, né giustizia, né nulla! – brontolava il Reverendo come diventava vecchio. – Adesso ciascuno vuol dire la sua. Chi non ha nulla vorrebbe chiapparvi il vostro. – Levati di lì, che mi ci metto io! – Chi non ha altro da fare viene a cercarvi le pulci in casa. I preti vorrebbero ridurli a sagrestani, dir messa e scopare la chiesa. La volontà di Dio non vogliono farla più, ecco cos'è!
# Cos'è il Re
Compare Cosimo il lettighiere aveva governato le sue mule, allungate un po' le cavezze per la notte, steso un po' di strame sotto i piedi della baia, la quale era sdrucciolata due volte sui ciottoli umidi delle viottole di Grammichele, dal gran piovere che aveva fatto, e poi era andato a mettersi sulla porta dello stallatico, colle mani in tasca, a sbadigliare in faccia alla gente che era venuta per vedere il Re, e c'era tal via vai quella volta per le strade di Caltagirone che pareva la festa di San Giacomo; però stava coll'orecchio teso, e non perdeva d'occhio le sue bestie, le quali si rosicavano l'orzo adagio adagio, perché non glielo rubassero.
Giusto in quel momento vennero a dirgli che il Re voleva parlargli. Veramente non era il Re che voleva parlargli, perché il Re non parla con nessuno, ma uno di coloro per bocca dei quali parla il Re, quando ha da dire qualche cosa; e gli disse che Sua Maestà desiderava la sua lettiga, l'indomani all'alba, per andare a Catania, e non voleva restare obbligato né al vescovo, né al sottointendente, ma preferiva pagar di sua tasca, come uno qualunque.
Compare Cosimo avrebbe dovuto esserne contento, perché il suo mestiere era di fare il lettighiere, e proprio allora stava aspettando che venisse qualcuno a noleggiare la sua lettiga, e il Re non è di quelli che stanno a lesinare per un tarì dippiù o di meno, come tanti altri. Ma avrebbe preferito tornarsene a Grammichele colla lettiga vuota, tanto gli faceva specie il dovervi portare il Re nella lettiga, che la festa gli si cambiò tutta in veleno soltanto a pensarci, e non si godette più la luminaria, né la banda che suonava in piazza, né il carro trionfale che girava per le vie, col ritratto del Re e della Regina, né la chiesa di San Giacomo tutta illuminata, che sputava fiamme, e ove c'era il Santissimo esposto, e si suonavano le campane pel Re.
Anzi più grande era la festa e più gli cresceva in corpo la paura di doverci avere il Re proprio nella sua lettiga, e tutti quei razzi, quella folla, quella luminaria e quello scampanìo se li sentiva sullo stomaco, e non gli fecero chiudere occhio tutta la notte, che la passò a visitare i ferri della baia, a strigliar le mule e a rimpinzarle d'orzo sino alla gola, per metterle in vigore, come se il Re pesasse il doppio di tutti gli altri. Lo stallatico era pieno di soldati di cavalleria, con tanto di speroni ai piedi, che non se li levavano neppure per buttarsi a dormire sulle panchette, e a tutti i chiodi dei pilastri erano appese sciabole e pistole che al povero zio Cosimo pareva gli dovessero tagliare la testa con quelle, se per disgrazia una mula avesse a scivolare sui ciottoli umidi della viottola mentre portava il Re; e giusto era venuta tanta acqua dal cielo in quei giorni che la gente doveva avere addosso la rabbia di vedere il Re per mettersi in viaggio sino a Caltagirone con quel tempaccio. Per conto suo, com'è vero Dio, in quel momento avrebbe preferito trovarsi nella sua casuccia, dove le mule ci stavano strette nella stalla, ma si sentivano a rosicar l'orzo dal capezzale del letto, e avrebbe pagato quelle due onze che doveva buscarsi dal Re per trovarsi nel suo letto, coll'uscio chiuso, e stare a vedere col naso sotto le coperte, sua moglie affacendarsi col lume in mano, a rassettare ogni cosa per la notte.
All'alba lo fece saltar su da quel dormiveglia la tromba dei soldati che suonava come un gallo che sappia le ore, e metteva in rivoluzione tutto lo stallatico. I carrettieri rizzavano la testa dal basto messo per guanciale, i cani abbaiavano, e l'ostessa si affacciava dal fienile tutta sonnacchiosa, grattandosi la testa. Ancora era buio come a mezzanotte, ma la gente andava e veniva per le strade quasi fosse la notte di Natale, e i trecconi accanto al fuoco, coi lampioncini di carta dinanzi, battevano i coltellacci sulle panchette per vendere il torrone. Ah, come doveva godersi la festa tutta quella gente che comprava il torrone, e si strascinava stanca e sonnacchiosa per le vie ad aspettare il Re, e come vedeva passare la lettiga colle sonagliere e le nappine di lana, spalancava gli occhi, e invidiava compare Cosimo, il quale avrebbe visto il Re sul mostaccio, mentre sino allora nessuno aveva potuto avere quella sorte, da quarantott'ore che la folla stava nelle strade notte e giorno, coll'acqua che veniva giù come Dio la mandava. La chiesa di San Giacomo sputava ancora fuoco e fiamme, in cima alla scalinata che non finiva più, aspettando il Re, per dargli il buon viaggio, e suonava con tutte le sue campane per dirgli che era ora di andarsene. Che non li spegnevano mai quei lumi? e che aveva il braccio di ferro quel sagrestano per suonare a distesa notte e giorno? Intanto nel piano di San Giacomo spuntava appena l'alba cenerognola, e la valle era tutta un mare di nebbia; eppure la folla era fitta come le mosche, col naso nel cappotto, e appena vide arrivare la lettiga voleva soffocare compare Cosimo e le sue mule, che credeva ci fosse dentro il Re.
Ma il Re si fece aspettare un bel pezzo; a quell'ora forse si infilava i calzoni, o beveva il suo bicchierino d'acquavite, per risciacquarsi la gola, che compare Cosimo non ci aveva pensato nemmeno quella mattina, tanto si sentiva la gola stretta. Un'ora dopo arrivò la cavalleria, colle sciabole sfoderate, e fece far largo. Dietro la cavalleria si rovesciò un'altra ondata di gente, e poi la banda, e poi ancora dei galantuomini, e delle signore col cappellino, e il naso rosso dal freddo; e accorrevano persino i trecconi, colle panchette in testa, a piantar bottega per cercar di vendere un altro po' di torrone; tanto che nella gran piazza non ci sarebbe entrato più uno spillo, e le mule non avrebbero nemmeno potuto scacciarsi le mosche, se non fosse stata la cavalleria a far fare largo, e per giunta la cavalleria portava un nugolo di mosche cavalline, di quelle che fanno imbizzarrire le mule di una lettiga, talché compare Cosimo si raccomandava a Dio e alle anime del Purgatorio ad ognuna che ne acchiappava sotto la pancia delle sue bestie.
Finalmente si udì raddoppiare lo scampanìo, quasi le campane fossero impazzate, e i mortaletti che sparavano al Re, e arrivò correndo un'altra fiumana di gente, e si vide spuntare la carrozza del Re, la quale in mezzo la folla pareva galleggiasse sulle teste. Allora suonarono le trombe e i tamburi, e ricominciarono a sparare i mortaletti, che le mule, Dio liberi, volevano romper i finimenti e ogni cosa sparando calci; i soldati tirarono fuori le sciabole, giacché le avevano messe nel fodero un'altra volta, e la folla gridava: – La Regina, la Regina! È quella piccolina lì, accanto a suo marito, che non par vero!
Il Re invece era un bel pezzo d'uomo, grande e grosso, coi calzoni rossi e la sciabola appesa alla pancia; e si tirava dietro il vescovo, il sindaco, il sottointendente, e un altro sciame di galantuomini coi guanti e il fazzoletto da collo bianco, e vestiti di nero che dovevano averci la tarantola nelle ossa con quel po' di tramontana che spazzava la nebbia dal piano di San Giacomo. Il Re stavolta, prima di montare a cavallo, mentre sua moglie entrava nella lettiga, parlava con questo e con quello come se non fosse stato fatto suo, e accostandosi a compare Cosimo gli batté anche colla mano sulla spalla, e gli disse tale e quale, col suo parlare napoletano: – Bada che porti la tua Regina! che compare Cosimo si sentì rientrare le gambe nel ventre, tanto più che in quel momento si udì un grido da disperati, la folla ondeggiò come un mare di spighe, e si vide una giovinetta, vestita ancora da monaca, e pallida pallida, buttarsi ai piedi del Re, e gridare: Grazia! – Chiedeva la grazia per suo padre, il quale si era dato le mani attorno per buttare il Re giù di sella, ed era stato condannato ad aver tagliata la testa. Il Re disse una parola ad uno che gli era vicino, e bastò perché non tagliassero la testa al padre della ragazza. Così ella se ne andò tutta contenta, che dovettero portarla via svenuta dalla consolazione.
Vuol dire che il Re con una sua parola poteva far tagliare la testa a chi gli fosse piaciuto, anche a compare Cosimo se una mula della lettiga metteva un piede in fallo, e gli buttava giù la moglie, così piccina com'era.
Il povero compare Cosimo aveva tutto ciò davanti agli occhi, mentre andava accanto alla baia colla mano sulla stanga, e l'abito della Madonna fra le labbra, che si raccomandava a Dio, come fosse in punto di morte, mentre tutta la carovana, col Re, la Regina e i soldati, si era messa in viaggio in mezzo alle grida e allo scampanìo, e allo sparare dei mortaletti che si udivano ancora dalla pianura; talché quando furono arrivati giù nella valle, in cima al monte si vedeva ancora la folla nera brulicare al sole come se ci fosse stata la fiera del bestiame nel piano di San Giacomo.
A che gli giovava il sole e la bella giornata a compare Cosimo? se ci aveva il cuore più nero del nuvolo, e non si arrischiava di levare gli occhi dai ciottoli su cui le mule posavano le zampe come se camminassero sulle uova; né stava a guardare come venissero i seminati, né a rallegrarsi nel veder pendere i grappoli delle ulive, lungo le siepi, né pensava al gran bene che aveva fatto tutta quella pioggia della settimana, ché gli batteva il cuore come un martello soltanto al pensare che il torrente poteva essere ingrossato, e dovevano passarlo a guado! Non si arrischiava a mettersi a cavalcioni sulle stanghe, come soleva fare quando non portava la sua Regina, e lasciarsi cadere la testa sul petto a schiacciare un sonnellino, sotto quel bel sole e colla strada piana che le mule l'avrebbero fatta ad occhi chiusi; mentre le mule che non avevano giudizio, e non sapevano quel che portassero, si godevano la strada piana ed asciutta, il sole tiepido e la campagna verde, scodinzolavano e scuotevano allegramente le sonagliere, che per poco non si mettevano a trottare, e compare Cosimo si sentiva saltare lo stomaco alla gola dalla paura soltanto al vedere mettere in brio le sue bestie, senza un pensiero al mondo né della Regina, né di nulla.
La Regina, lei, badava a chiacchierare con un'altra signora che le avevano messa in lettiga per ingannare il tempo, in un linguaggio che nessuno ci capiva una maledetta; guardava la campagna cogli occhi azzurri come il fiore del lino e appoggiava allo sportello una mano così piccina che pareva fatta apposta per non aver nulla da fare; che non valeva la pena di riempire d'orzo le mule per portare quella miseria, Regina tal quale era! Ma ella poteva far tagliare il collo alla gente con una sola parola, così piccola com'era, e le mule che non avevano giudizio con quel carico leggiero, e tutto quell'orzo che avevano nella pancia, provavano una gran tentazione di mettersi a saltare e ballare per la strada, e di far tagliare la testa a compare Cosimo.
Sicché il poveraccio per tutta la strada non fece che recitare fra i denti paternostri e avemarie, e raccomandarsi ai suoi morti, quelli che conosceva e quelli che non conosceva, fin quando arrivarono alla Zia Lisa, che era accorsa una gran folla a vedere il Re, e davanti ad ogni bettola c'era il suo pezzo di maiale appeso e scuoiato per la festa. Come arrivò a casa sua, dopo aver consegnata la Regina sana e salva, non gli pareva vero, e baciò la sponda della mangiatoia legandovi le mule; poi si mise in letto senza mangiare e senza bere, ché non voleva vedere nemmeno i danari della Regina, e li avrebbe lasciati nella tasca del giubbone chissà quanto tempo, se non fosse stato per sua moglie che andò a metterli in fondo alla calza sotto il pagliericcio.
Gli amici e i conoscenti, che erano curiosi di sapere come erano fatti il Re e la Regina, venivano a domandargli del viaggio, col pretesto d'informarsi se aveva acchiappato la malaria. Egli non voleva dir nulla, che gli tornava la febbre soltanto a parlarne, e il medico veniva mattina e sera, e si prese circa la metà di quei danari della Regina.
Solamente molti anni dopo, quando vennero a pignorargli le mule in nome del Re, perché non aveva potuto pagare il debito, compare Cosimo non si dava pace pensando che pure quelle erano le mule che gli avevano portato la moglie sana e salva, al Re, povere bestie; e allora non c'erano le strade carrozzabili, ché la Regina si sarebbe rotto il collo, se non fosse stato per la sua lettiga, e la gente diceva che il Re e la Regina erano venuti apposta in Sicilia per fare le strade, che non ce n'erano ancora, ed era una porcheria. Ma allora campavano i lettighieri, e compare Cosimo avrebbe potuto pagare il debito, e non gli avrebbero pignorato le mule, se non veniva il Re e la Regina a far le strade carrozzabili.
E più tardi, quando gli presero il suo Orazio, che lo chiamavano Turco, tanto era nero e forte, per farlo artigliere, e quella povera vecchia di sua moglie piangeva come una fontana, gli tornò in mente quella ragazza ch'era venuta a buttarsi a' piedi del Re gridando grazia! e il Re con una parola l'aveva mandata via contenta. Né voleva capire che il Re d'adesso era un altro, e quello vecchio l'avevano buttato giù di sella. Diceva che se fosse stato lì il Re, li avrebbe mandati via contenti, lui e sua moglie, ché gli aveva battuto sulla spalla, e lo conosceva e l'aveva visto proprio sul mostaccio, coi calzoni rossi, e la sciabola appesa alla pancia, e con una parola poteva far tagliare il collo alla gente, e mandare puranco a pignorare le mule, se uno non pagava il debito, e pigliarsi i figliuoli per soldati, come gli piaceva.
# Don Licciu Papa
Le comari filavano al sole, e le galline razzolavano nel pattume, davanti agli usci, allorché successe un gridìo, un fuggi fuggi per tutta la stradicciuola, che si vide comparire da lontano lo zio Masi, l'acchiappaporci, col laccio in mano; e il pollame scappava schiamazzando, come se lo conoscesse.
Lo zio Masi si buscava dal municipio 50 centesimi per le galline, e 3 lire per ogni maiale che sorprendeva in contravvenzione. Egli preferiva i maiali. E come vide la porcellina di comare Santa, stesa tranquillamente col muso nel brago, di contro all'uscio, gli gittò al collo il nodo scorsoio.
– Ah! Madonna santissima! Cosa fate, zio Masi! – gridava la zia Santa, pallida come una morta. Per carità, zio Masi, non mi acchiappate la multa, che mi rovinate!
Lo zio Masi, il traditore, per pigliarsi il tempo di caricarsi la maialina sulle spalle, le sballava di belle parole: – Sorella mia, che posso farvi? Questo è l'ordine del sindaco. Maiali per le strade non ne vuole più. Se vi lascio la porcellina perdo il pane.
La zia Santa gli correva dietro come una pazza, colle mani nei capelli, strillando sempre: – Ah! zio Masi! non lo sapete che mi è costata 14 tarì a San Giovanni, e la tengo come la pupilla degli occhi miei! Lasciatemi la maialina, zio Masi, per l'anima dei vostri morti! Che all'anno nuovo, coll'aiuto di Dio, vale due onze!
Lo zio Masi, zitto, a capo chino, col cuore più duro di un sasso, badava solo dove metteva i piedi, per non isdrucciolare nella mota, colla maialina di traverso sulle spalle, che grugniva rivolta al cielo. Allora la zia Santa, disperata, per salvare la porcellina, gli assestò un solenne calcio nella schiena, e lo fece andare ruzzoloni.
Le comari, appena videro l'acchiappaporci in mezzo al fango, gli furono addosso colle rocche e colle ciabatte, e volevano fargli la festa per tutti i porci e le galline che aveva sulla coscienza. Ma in questa accorse don Licciu Papa, colla tracolla dello sciabolotto attraverso la pancia, gridando da lontano come un ossesso, fuori tiro delle rocche: – Largo alla Giustizia! largo alla Giustizia!
La Giustizia condannò comare Santa alla multa ed alle spese, e per ischivare la prigione dovettero anche ricorrere alla protezione del barone, il quale aveva la finestra di cucina lì di faccia nella stradicciuola, e la salvò per miracolo, facendo vedere alla Giustizia che non era il caso di ribellione, perché l'acchiappaporci quel giorno non aveva il berretto col gallone del municipio.
– Vedete! esclamavano in coro le donne. – Ci vogliono i santi per entrare in Paradiso! Questa del berretto nessuno la sapeva!
Però il barone aggiunse il predicozzo: – Quei porci e quelle galline bisognava spazzarli via dal vicinato; il sindaco aveva ragione, ché sembrava un porcile. – D'allora in poi, ogni volta che il servo del barone buttava la spazzatura sul capo alle vicine, nessuno mormorava. Soltanto si dolevano che le galline chiuse in casa, per scansare la multa, non fossero più buone chioccie; e i maiali, legati per un piede accanto al letto, parevano tante anime del purgatorio. – Almeno prima la spazzavano loro la stradicciuola.
– Tutto quel concime sarebbe tant'oro per la chiusa dei Grilli! – sospirava massaro Vito. – Se avessi ancora la mula baia, spazzerei la strada colle mie mani.
Anche qui c'entrava don Licciu Papa. Egli era venuto a pignorare la mula coll'usciere, che dall'usciere solo massaro Vito non se la sarebbe lasciata portar via dalla stalla, nemmen se l'ammazzavano, e gli avrebbe piuttosto mangiato il naso come il pane. Lì, davanti al giudice, seduto al tavolino, che pareva Ponzio Pilato, quando massaro Venerando l'aveva citato per riscuotere il credito della mezzeria, non seppe che rispondere. La chiusa dei Grilli era buona soltanto per far grilli; il minchione era lui, se era tornato dalla messe a mani vuote, e massaro Venerando aveva ragione di voler esser pagato, senza tante chiacchiere e tante dilazioni, perciò aveva portato l'avvocato, che parlava per lui. Ma com'ebbe finito, e massaro Venerando se ne andava lieto, dondolandosi dentro gli stivaloni come un'anitra ingrassata, non poté stare di domandare al cancelliere se era vero che gli vendevano la mula.
– Silenzio! interruppe il giudice che si soffiava il naso, prima di passare a un altro affare.
Don Licciu Papa si svegliò di soprassalto sulla panchetta, e gridò: – Silenzio!
– Se foste venuto coll'avvocato, vi lasciavano parlare ancora, gli disse compare Orazio per confortarlo.
Sulla piazza, dinanzi agli scalini del municipio, il banditore gli vendeva la mula. – Quindici onze la mula di compare Vito Gnirri! Quindici onze una bella mula baia! Quindici onze!
Compare Vito, seduto sugli scalini, col mento fra le mani, non voleva dir nulla che la mula era vecchia, ed eran più di 16 anni che gli lavorava. Essa stava lì contenta come una sposa, colla cavezza nuova. Ma appena gliela portaron via davvero, ei perse la testa, pensando che quell'usuraio di massaro Venerando gli acchiappava 15 onze per una sola annata di mezzeria, che tanto non ci valeva la chiusa dei Grilli, e senza la mula ormai non poteva più lavorare la chiusa, e all'anno nuovo si sarebbe trovato di nuovo col debito sulle spalle. Ei si mise a gridare come un disperato sul naso a massaro Venerando. – Cosa mi farete pignorare, quando non avrò più nulla? anticristo che siete! – E voleva levargli il battesimo dalla testa, se non fosse stato per don Licciu Papa lì presente, collo sciabolotto e il berretto gallonato, il quale si mise a gridare tirandosi indietro: – Fermo alla Giustizia! Fermo alla Giustizia!
– Che Giustizia! strillava compare Vito tornando a casa colla cavezza in mano. – La Giustizia è fatta per quelli che hanno da spendere.
Questo lo sapeva anche curatolo Arcangelo, che quando era stato in causa col Reverendo per via della casuccia, perché il Reverendo voleva comprargliela per forza, tutti gli dicevano: – Che siete matto a pigliarvela col Reverendo? È la storia della brocca contro il sasso! Il Reverendo coi suoi denari si affitta la meglio lingua d'avvocato, e vi riduce povero e pazzo.
Il Reverendo, dacché s'era fatto ricco, aveva ingrandito la casuccia paterna, di qua e di là, come fa il porcospino che si gonfia per scacciare i vicini dalla tana. Ora aveva slargata la finestra che dava sul tetto di curatolo Arcangelo, e diceva che gli bisognava la casa di lui per fabbricarvi sopra la cucina e mutare la finestra in uscio. – Vedete, compare Arcangelo mio, senza cucina non ci posso stare! Bisogna che siate ragionevole.
Compare Arcangelo non lo era punto, e si ostinava a pretendere di voler morire nella casa dove era nato. Tanto, non ci veniva che una volta al sabato; ma quei sassi lo conoscevano, e se pensava al paese, nei pascoli di Carramone, non lo vedeva altrimenti che sotto forma di quell'usciolo rattoppato, e di quella finestra senza vetri. – Va bene, va bene, – rispondeva fra di sé il Reverendo. – Teste di villani! Bisogna farci entrare la ragione per forza.
E dalla finestra del Reverendo piovevano sul tetto di curatolo Arcangelo cocci di stoviglie, sassi, acqua sporca; e riducevano il cantuccio dov'era il letto peggio di un porcile. Se curatolo Arcangelo gridava, il Reverendo si metteva a gridare sul tetto, più forte di lui. – Che non poteva più tenerci un vaso di basilico sul davanzale? Non era padrone d'innaffiare i suoi fiori?
Curatolo Arcangelo aveva la testa dura peggio dei suoi montoni, e ricorse alla Giustizia. Vennero il giudice, il cancelliere, e don Licciu Papa, a vedere se il Reverendo era padrone d'innaffiare i suoi fiori, che quel giorno non ci erano più alla finestra, e il Reverendo aveva il solo disturbo di levarli ogni volta che doveva venire la Giustizia, e rimetterli al loro posto appena voltava le spalle. Il giudice stesso non poteva passare il tempo a far la guardia al tetto di curatolo Arcangelo, o ad andare e venire dalla straduccia; ogni sua visita costava cara.
Restava la quistione di sapere se la finestra del Reverendo doveva essere coll'inferriata o senza inferriata, e il giudice, e il cancelliere, e tutti, guardavano cogli occhiali sul naso, e pigliavano misure che pareva un tetto di barone, quel tettuccio piatto e ammuffato. E il Reverendo tirò pure fuori certi diritti vecchi per la finestra senza inferriata, e per alcune tegole che sporgevano sul tetto, che non ci si capiva più nulla, e il povero curatolo Arcangelo guardava in aria anche lui, per capacitarsi che colpa avesse il suo tetto. Ei ci perse il sonno della notte e il riso della bocca; si dissanguava a spese, e doveva lasciare la mandra in custodia del ragazzo per correre dietro al giudice e all'usciere. Per giunta le pecore gli morivano come le mosche, ai primi freddi dell'inverno, ché il Signore lo castigava perché se la pigliava colla Chiesa, dicevano.
– E voi pigliatevi la casa, disse infine al Reverendo, che dopo tante liti e tante spese non gliene avanzava il denaro da comprarsi la corda per impiccarsi a un travicello. Voleva mettersi in collo la sua bisaccia e andarsene colla figliola a stare colle pecore, ché quella maledetta casa non voleva vederla più, finché era al mondo.
Ma allora uscì in campo il barone, l'altro vicino, il quale ci aveva anche lui delle finestre e delle tegole sul tetto di curatolo Arcangelo, e giacché il Reverendo voleva fabbricarsi la cucina, egli aveva pure bisogno di allargare la dispensa, sicché il povero capraio non sapeva più di chi fosse la sua casa. Ma il Reverendo trovò il modo di aggiustare la lite col barone, dividendosi da buoni amici fra di loro la casa del curatolo Arcangelo, e poiché costui ci aveva anche quest'altra servitù, gli ridusse il prezzo di un buon quarto.
Nina, la figlia di curatolo Arcangelo, come dovevano lasciare la casa e andarsene via dal paese, non finiva di piangere, quasi ci avesse avuto il cuore attaccato a quei muri e a quei chiodi delle pareti. Suo padre, poveraccio, tentava di consolarla come meglio poteva, dicendole che laggiù, nelle grotte del Carramone, ci si stava da principi, senza vicini e senza acchiappaporci. Ma le comari, che sapevano tutta la storia, si strizzavano l'occhio fra di loro borbottando:
– Al Carramone il _signorino_ non potrà più andarla a trovare, di sera, quando compare Arcangelo è colle sue pecore. Per questo la Nina piange come una fontana.
Come lo seppe compare Arcangelo cominciò a bestemmiare e a gridare: – Scellerata! adesso con chi vuoi che ti mariti?
Ma la Nina non pensava a maritarsi. Voleva soltanto continuare a stare dov'era il _signorino_ , che lo vedeva tutti i giorni alla finestra, appena si alzava, e gli faceva segno se poteva andare a trovarla la sera. In tal modo la Nina c'era cascata, col veder tutti i giorni alla finestra il _signorino_ , che dapprincipio le rideva, e le mandava i baci e il fumo della pipa, e le vicine schiattavano d'invidia. Poscia a poco a poco era venuto l'amore, talché adesso la ragazza non ci vedeva più dagli occhi, e aveva detto chiaro e tondo a suo padre:
– Voi andatevene dove volete, che io me ne sto qui dove sono. – E il _signorino_ le aveva promesso che la campava lui.
Curatolo Arcangelo di quel pane non ne mangiava, e voleva chiamare don Licciu Papa per condur via a forza la figliuola. – Almeno quando saremo via di qui, nessuno saprà le nostre disgrazie, – diceva. Ma il giudice gli rispose che la Nina aveva già gli anni del giudizio, ed era padrona di fare quel che gli pareva e piaceva.
– Ah! è padrona? – borbottava curatolo Arcangelo. – Anch'io son padrone! E appena incontrò il _signorino_ , che gli fumava sul naso, gli spaccò la testa come una noce con una legnata.
Dopo che l'ebbero legato ben bene, accorse don Licciu Papa, gridando: – Largo alla Giustizia! largo alla Giustizia!
Davanti alla Giustizia gli diedero anche un avvocato per difendersi. – Almeno stavolta la Giustizia non mi costa nulla; – diceva compare Arcangelo. E fu meglio per lui. L'avvocato riuscì a provare come quattro e quattro fanno otto, che curatolo Arcangelo non l'aveva fatto apposta, di cercare d'ammazzare il _signorino_ , con un randello di pero selvatico, ch'era del suo mestiere, e se ne serviva per darlo sulle corna ai montoni quando non volevano intender ragione.
Così fu condannato soltanto a 5 anni, la Nina rimase col _signorino_ , il barone allargò la sua dispensa, e il Reverendo fabbricò una bella casa nuova su quella vecchia di curatolo Arcangelo, con un balcone e due finestre verdi.
# Il Mistero
Questa, ogni volta che tornava a contarla, gli venivano i lucciconi allo zio Giovanni, che non pareva vero, su quella faccia di sbirro.
Il teatro l'avevano piantato nella piazzetta della chiesa: mortella, quercioli, ed anche rami interi d'ulivo, colla fronda, tal quale, ché nessuno si era rifiutato a lasciar pigliare la sua roba pel Sacro Mistero.
Lo zio Memmu, al vedere nella sua chiusa il sagrestano a stroncare e scavezzare rami interi, si sentiva quei colpi di scure nello stomaco, e gli gridava da lontano:
– Che non siete cristiano, compare Calogero? o non ve l'ha messo il prete l'olio santo, per dare così senza pietà su quell'ulivastro? – Ma sua moglie, pur colle lagrime agli occhi, andava calmandolo:
– È pel Mistero; lascialo fare. Il Signore ci manderà la buon'annata. Non vedi quel seminato che muore di sete?
Tutto giallo, del verde-giallo che hanno i bambini malati, poveretto! sulla terra bianca e dura come una crosta, che se lo mangiava, e vi faceva venire l'arsura in gola al solo vederlo.
– Questa è tutta opera di Don Angelino, brontolava il marito, per farsi la provvista della legna, e chiapparsi i soldi della limosina.
Don Angelino, il pievano, aveva lavorato otto giorni come un facchino, col sagrestano, a scavar buche, rincalzar pali, appendere lampioncini di carta rossa, e sciorinare in fondo il cortinaggio nuovo di massaro Nunzio, che si era maritato allora allora, e faceva un bel vedere nel bosco e coi lampioni davanti.
Il Mistero rappresentava _la Fuga in Egitto_ , e la parte di Maria Santissima l'avevano data a compare Nanni, che era piccolo di statura, e si era fatta radere la barba apposta. Appena compariva, portando in collo Gesù Bambino, ch'era il figlio di comare Menica, e diceva ai ladri: «Ecco il mio sangue!» e la gente si picchiava il petto coi sassi, e si mettevano a gridare tutti in una volta: – Miseremini mei, Vergine Santa!
Ma Janu e mastro Cola, che erano i ladri, colle barbe finte di pelle d'agnello, non davano retta, e volevano rapirle il Sacro Figlio, per portarlo ad Erode. Quelli aveva saputo sceglierli il pievano, da fare i ladri! Veri cuori di sasso erano! ché il Pinto, nella lite che aveva con compare Janu pel fico dell'orto, gli rinfacciava d'allora in poi: – Voi siete il ladro della _Fuga in Egitto_!
Don Angelino, collo scartafaccio in mano, badava a ripetere dietro il tendone di massaro Nunzio:
«Vano, o donna, è il pregar; pietà non sento! – Pietà non sento!» Tocca a voi, compare Janu; – ché quei due furfanti avevano persino dimenticata la parte, tal razza di gente erano! Maria Vergine aveva un bel pregare e scongiurarli, ché nella folla borbottavano:
– Compare Nanni fa il minchione perché è vestito da Maria Santissima. Se no li infilerebbe tutti e due col coltello a serramanico che ci ha in tasca.
Ma come entrò in scena San Giuseppe, con quella barba bianca di bambagia, il quale andava cercando la sua sposa in mezzo al bosco che gli arrivava al petto, la folla non sapeva più star ferma, perché ladri, Madonna, e San Giuseppe avrebbero potuto acchiapparsi colle mani, se il Mistero non fosse stato che dovevano corrersi dietro senza raggiungersi. Qui stava il miracolo. – Se i malandrini arrivavano ad acchiappare la Madonna e San Giuseppe, tutti insieme, ne facevano tonnina, ed anche del bambino Gesù, Dio liberi!
Comare Filippa, la quale ci aveva il marito in galera per avere ammazzato a colpi di zappa il vicino della vigna, quello che gli rubava i fichidindia, piangeva come una fontana, al vedere San Giuseppe inseguito dai ladri peggio di un coniglio, e pensava a suo marito, quando gli era arrivato alla capannuccia della vigna tutto trafelato, coi gendarmi alle calcagna, e gli aveva detto:
– Dammi un sorso d'acqua. Non ne posso più!
Poi l'avevano ammanettato come Gesù all'orto, e l'avevano chiuso nella stia di ferro, per fargli il processo, col berretto fra le mani, e i capelli divenuti per intero una boscaglia grigia in tanti mesi di prigione – l'aveva ancora negli occhi – che ascoltava i giudici e i testimoni con quella faccia gialla di carcerato. E quando se l'erano portato via per mare, che non ci era mai stato, il poveretto, colla sporta in spalla, e legato coi compagni di galera, a resta come le cipolle, egli si era voltato a guardarla per l'ultima volta con quella faccia, finché non la vide più, ché dal mare non torna nessuno, e non se ne seppe più nulla.
– Voi lo sapete dove egli sia adesso, Madre Addolorata! – biascicava la vedova del vivo inginocchiata sulle calcagna, pregando pel poveretto, che gli pareva di vederlo, là, lontano, nel nero. Ella sola poteva sapere che razza di angoscia doveva esserci nel cuore della Madonna, in quel momento che i ladri erano lì lì per agguantare San Giuseppe pel mantello.
– Ora state a vedere l'incontro del patriarca San Giuseppe coi malandrini! – diceva Don Angelino asciugandosi il sudore col fazzoletto da naso. E Trippa, il macellaio, picchiava sulla grancassa – zum! zum! zum! – per far capire che i ladri si accapigliavano con San Giuseppe. Le comari si misero a strillare, e gli altri raccattavano dei sassi, per rompere il grugno a quei due birbanti di Janu e di compare Cola, gridando:
– Lasciate stare il patriarca San Giuseppe! sbirri che siete! – E massaro Nunzio, per amore del cortinaggio, gridava anche lui che non glielo sfondassero. Don Angelino allora affacciò la testa dalla sua tana, colla barba lunga di otto giorni, affannandosi a calmarli colle mani e colle parole:
– Lasciateli fare! lasciateli fare! Così è scritto nella parte.
Bella parte che aveva scritto! e diceva pure che era tutta roba di sua invenzione. Già lui avrebbe messo Cristo in croce colle sue mani per chiappargli i tre tarì della messa. O compare Rocco, un padre di cinque figli, non l'aveva fatto seppellire senza uno straccio di mortorio, perché non poteva spillargli nulla? – là, sotto la pietra della chiesa, di sera, al buio, che non ci si vedeva a calarlo giù nella sepoltura, per l'eternità. – E allo zio Menico non aveva espropriata la casuccia, perché era fabbricata sulla _sciara_ della chiesa, e ci pesava addosso un censo di due tarì all'anno che lo zio Menico non era riescito a pagar mai? Allorché aveva fabbricato la casuccia, tutto contento, trasportando i sassi colle sue mani, non gli passava per la testa che un giorno o l'altro il pievano glie la avrebbe fatta vendere per quei due tarì del censo. Due tarì all'anno infine cosa sono? Il difficile era di metterli insieme tutti e due alla scadenza, e Don Angelino gli rispondeva, stringendosi nelle spalle:
– Cosa posso farci, fratel mio? Non è roba mia; è roba della Chiesa. – Tale e quale come mastro Calogero, il sagrestano, il quale ripeteva:
«Altare servi, altare ti dà pane» diceva lui. Adesso s'era appeso alla fune del campanile e suonava a tutto andare, mentre Trippa batteva sulla grancassa, e le donne vociferavano: – Miracolo! Miracolo!
Qui lo zio Giovanni sentivasi rizzare in capo i vecchi peli, al rammentare.
Giusto un anno dopo, giorno per giorno, la vigilia del venerdì santo, Nanni e mastro Cola s'incontrarono in quello stesso luogo, di notte, che c'era la luna di Pasqua, e ci si vedeva chiaro come di giorno nella piazzetta.
Nanni stava appiattato dietro il campanile, per sorprendere chi andasse da comare Venera, ché due o tre volte l'aveva sorpresa tutta sossopra e discinta, e aveva sentito qualcuno sgattaiolarsela dal cancello dell'orto.
– Chi c'era qui con te? È meglio dirmelo. Se vuoi bene ad un altro, io me ne vado via, e buona notte ai suonatori. Ma sai, quelle cose in testa non voglio portarle!
Ella protestava che non era vero, giurava per l'anima di suo marito, e chiamava a testimonii il Signore e la Madonna appesi a capo del letto, e baciava colle mani in croce quella medesima sottana di cotonina celeste che aveva imprestato a compare Nanni per fare la Maria. – Pensaci! pensaci bene a quello che mi dici! – Egli non sapeva che la Venera s'era incapricciata di mastro Cola quando l'aveva visto a fare il ladro del Mistero colla barba di pelle d'agnello. – Or bene, pensò allora – qui bisogna mettersi alla posta del coniglio come il cacciatore, per accertarsi della cosa cogli occhi proprii. – La donna aveva detto all'altro: – Guardatevi di compare Nanni. Egli ci ha in testa qualche cosa, al modo come mi guarda, e come fruga per la casa ogni volta che arriva! Cola aveva la madre sulle spalle, che campava del suo lavoro, e non s'arrischiava più ad andare da comare Venera; – un giorno, due, tre, finché il diavolo lo tentò colla luna che trapelava sino al letto dalle fessure delle imposte, e gli metteva dinanzi agli occhi ad ogni momento la stradicciuola deserta, e l'uscio della vedova, allo svoltare della piazzetta di faccia al campanile. Nanni aspettava, nell'ombra, solo in mezzo alla piazza tutta bianca di luna, e in un silenzio che si udiva suonare ogni quarto d'ora l'orologio di Viagrande, e il trottellare dei cani che andavano fiutando ad ogni cantuccio e frugavano col muso nella spazzatura. Infine si udì una pedata, rasente i muri, fermarsi all'uscio della Venera, e bussar piano, una, due volte, poi più lieve ed in fretta, come uno che gli batte il cuore dal desiderio e dalla paura, e Nanni si sentiva picchiare anche lui dentro il petto quei colpi. Poi l'uscio si schiuse, adagio adagio, con uno spiraglio più nero dell'ombra, e si udì una schioppettata.
Mastro Cola cadde gridando: – Mamma mia! m'ammazzarono!
Nessuno udì né vide nulla, per timore della giustizia; la stessa comare Venera disse che dormiva. Soltanto la madre, all'udir la schioppettata, si sentì colpita nelle viscere, e corse come si trovava, a raccattare Cola dall'uscio della vedova, gridando – Figlio mio! figlio mio! I vicini si affacciarono coi lumi, e solo rimaneva chiuso quell'uscio contro il quale la madre disperata imprecava così: – Scellerata! scellerata! Mi hai assassinato il figliuolo!
La madre, ginocchioni accanto al letto del ferito, pregava Dio, giungendo le mani forte forte, cogli occhi asciutti che sembrava una pazza: – Signore! Signore! Mio figlio, Signore! – Ah! che mala Pasqua le aveva dato il Signore! Giusto il venerdì santo, mentre passava la processione, col tamburo e Don Angelino incoronato di spine! Ah! che nero faceva in quella casa! e dall'uscio aperto si vedeva il sole, e i seminati belli, ché la gente quella volta non aveva avuto bisogno di pregare Dio per la buona annata, e lasciava solo Don Angelino a battersi le spalle colla disciplina; anzi quando il sagrestano era andato a far legna col pretesto del Mistero, l'avevano minacciato di rompergli le gambe a sassate, se non andava via lesto. – Nella sua casa sola si piangeva! ora che tutti erano contenti! Nella sua casa sola! Buttata lì davanti a quel lettuccio come un sacco di cenci, disfatta, diventata decrepita tutta in una volta, coi capelli grigi, pendenti di qua e di là della faccia. E non udiva nessuno della gente che riempiva la stanza per curiosità. Non vedeva altro che quegli occhi appannati del figliuolo e quel naso affilato. Gli avevano chiamato il medico; ci avevano condotta comare Barbara, quella della buona ventura, e la povera madre s'era levati di bocca tre tarì per fargli dire una messa da Don Angelino. Il medico scrollava il capo. – Qui ci vuol altro che la messa di Don Angelino; – dicevano le comari – qui ci vorrebbe il cotone benedetto di frà Sanzio l'eremita, oppure la candela della madonna di Valverde, che fa miracoli dappertutto. – Il ferito, col cotone benedetto sullo stomaco, e la candela davanti alla faccia gialla, spalancava gli occhi appannati, guardando i vicini ad uno ad uno, e cercava di sorridere alla mamma, colle labbra pallide, per farle intendere che si sentiva meglio davvero, con quel cotone miracoloso sullo stomaco. Egli accennava di sì col capo, con quel sorriso tanto triste dei moribondi che dicono di star meglio. Il medico invece diceva di no; che non avrebbe passato la notte. E Don Angelino, per non screditare la mercanzia, ripeteva:
– Ci vuole la fede per fare i miracoli. Se non c'è la fede è come lavare la testa all'asino. I santi, le reliquie, il cotone benedetto, tutte belle cose quando si ha la fede. – La povera madre ne aveva tanta della fede, che parlava a tu per tu coi Santi e la Madonna, e diceva alla candela benedetta, presto presto e coi denti stretti: – Signore! Signore! Voi me la farete la grazia! Voi mi lascerete il mio figliuolo, Signore! – E il figliuolo ascoltava, intento, cogli occhi fissi sulla candela, e cercava di sorridere, e dire di sì col capo anche lui.
Tutto il villaggio impazzì a strologare i numeri di quel fatto: ma chi ci vinse l'ambo fu solo la gnà Venera. Anzi ci avrebbe preso il terno se ci metteva anche il sangue che si era trovato nella piazzetta, poiché mastro Cola annaspando e barcollando era andato a cascare giusto nel punto dove l'anno prima aveva fatto il ladro del Mistero. Però la gnà Venera dovette spatriare dal paese, perché nessuno gli comperava più il pane del panchetto, e la chiamavano «la scomunicata». Compare Nanni, anche lui durò un pezzo a scappare di qua e di là, per le sciare e le chiuse, ma alla prima fame dell'inverno lo avevano acchiappato di notte vicino alle prime case del paese, dove aspettava il ragazzo che soleva portargli il pane di nascosto. Gli fecero il processo e se lo portarono di là del mare, col marito di comare Filippa.
Anche lui, se non avesse pensato di mettersi la gonnella della «scomunicata» per fare la Beata Vergine!
# Malaria
E' vi par di toccarla colle mani – come della terra grassa che fumi, là, dappertutto, torno torno alle montagne che la chiudono, da Agnone al Mongibello incappucciato di neve – stagnante nella pianura, a guisa dell'afa pesante di luglio. Vi nasce e vi muore il sole di brace, e la luna smorta, e la _Puddara_ , che sembra navigare in un mare che svapori, e gli uccelli e le margherite bianche della primavera, e l'estate arsa; e vi passano in lunghe file nere le anitre nel nuvolo dell'autunno, e il fiume che luccica quasi fosse di metallo, fra le rive larghe e abbandonate, bianche, slabbrate, sparse di ciottoli; e in fondo il lago di Lentini, come uno stagno, colle sponde piatte, senza una barca, senza un albero sulla riva, liscio ed immobile. Sul greto pascolano svogliatamente i buoi, rari, infangati sino al petto, col pelo irsuto. Quando risuona il campanaccio della mandra, nel gran silenzio, volan via le cutrettole, silenziose, e il pastore istesso, giallo di febbre, e bianco di polvere anche lui, schiude un istante le palpebre gonfie, levando il capo all'ombra dei giunchi secchi.
È che la malaria v'entra nelle ossa col pane che mangiate, e se aprite bocca per parlare, mentre camminate lungo le strade soffocanti di polvere e di sole, e vi sentite mancar le ginocchia, o vi accasciate sul basto della mula che va all'ambio, colla testa bassa. Invano Lentini, e Francofonte, e Paternò, cercano di arrampicarsi come pecore sbrancate sulle prime colline che scappano dalla pianura, e si circondano di aranceti, di vigne, di orti sempre verdi; la malaria acchiappa gli abitanti per le vie spopolate, e li inchioda dinanzi agli usci delle case scalcinate dal sole, tremanti di febbre sotto il pastrano, e con tutte le coperte del letto sulle spalle.
Laggiù, nella pianura, le case sono rare e di aspetto malinconico, lungo le strade mangiate dal sole, fra due mucchi di concime fumante, appoggiate alle tettoie crollanti, dove aspettano coll'occhio spento, legati alla mangiatoia vuota, i cavalli di ricambio. – O sulla sponda del lago, colla frasca decrepita dell'osteria appesa all'uscio, le grandi stanzaccie vuote, e l'oste che sonnecchia accoccolato sul limitare, colla testa stretta nel fazzoletto, spiando ad ogni svegliarsi, nella campagna deserta, se arriva un passeggiero assetato. – Oppure come cassette di legno bianco, impennacchiate da quattro eucalipti magri e grigi, lungo la ferrovia che taglia in due la pianura come un colpo d'accetta, dove vola la macchina fischiando al pari di un vento d'autunno, e la notte corruscano scintille infuocate. – O infine qua e là, sul limite dei poderi segnato da un pilastrino appena squadrato, coi tetti appuntellati dal di fuori, colle imposte sconquassate, dinanzi all'aia screpolata, all'ombra delle alte biche di paglia dove dormono le galline colla testa sotto l'ala, e l'asino lascia cascare il capo, colla bocca ancora piena di paglia, e il cane si rizza sospettoso, e abbaia roco al sasso che si stacca dall'intonaco, alla lucertola che striscia, alla foglia che si muove nella campagna inerte.
La sera, appena cade il sole, si affacciano sull'uscio uomini arsi dal sole, sotto il cappellaccio di paglia e colle larghe mutande di tela, sbadigliando e stirandosi le braccia; e donne seminude, colle spalle nere, allattando dei bambini già pallidi e disfatti, che non si sa come si faranno grandi e neri, e come ruzzeranno sull'erba quando tornerà l'inverno, e l'aia diverrà verde un'altra volta, e il cielo azzurro e tutt'intorno la campagna riderà al sole. E non si sa neppure dove stia e perché ci stia tutta quella gente che alla domenica corre per la messa alle chiesuole solitarie, circondate dalle siepi di fichidindia, a dieci miglia in giro, sin dove si ode squillare la campanella fessa nella pianura che non finisce mai.
Però dov'è la malaria è terra benedetta da Dio. In giugno le spighe si coricano dal peso, e i solchi fumano quasi avessero sangue nelle vene appena c'entra il vomero in novembre. Allora bisogna pure che chi semina e chi raccoglie caschi come una spiga matura, perché il Signore ha detto: «Il pane che si mangia bisogna sudarlo». Come il sudore della febbre lascia qualcheduno stecchito sul pagliericcio di granoturco, e non c'è più bisogno di solfato né di decotto d'eucalipto, lo si carica sulla carretta del fieno, o attraverso il basto dell'asino, o su di una scala, come si può, con un sacco sulla faccia, e si va a deporlo alla chiesuola solitaria, sotto i fichidindia spinosi di cui nessuno perciò mangia i frutti. Le donne piangono in crocchio, e gli uomini stanno a guardare, fumando.
Così s'erano portato il camparo di Valsavoia, che si chiamava Massaro Croce, ed erano trent'anni che inghiottiva solfato e decotto d'eucalipto. In primavera stava meglio, ma d'autunno, come ripassavano le anitre, egli si metteva il fazzoletto in testa, e non si faceva più vedere sull'uscio che ogni due giorni; tanto che si era ridotto pelle ed ossa, e aveva una pancia grossa come un tamburo, che lo chiamavano _il Rospo_ anche pel suo fare rozzo e selvatico, e perché gli erano diventati gli occhi smorti e a fior di testa. Egli diceva sempre prima di morire: – Non temete, che pei miei figli il padrone ci penserà – E con quegli occhiacci attoniti guardava in faccia ad uno ad uno coloro che gli stavano attorno al letto, l'ultima sera, e gli mettevano la candela sotto il naso. Lo zio Menico, il capraio, che se ne intendeva, disse che doveva avere il fegato duro come un sasso e pesante un rotolo e mezzo. Qualcuno aggiungeva pure:
– Adesso se ne impipa! ché s'è ingrassato e fatto ricco a spese del padrone, e i suoi figli non hanno bisogno di nessuno! Credete che l'abbia preso soltanto pei begli occhi del padrone tutto quel solfato e tutta quella malaria per trent'anni?
Compare Carmine, l'oste del lago, aveva persi allo stesso modo i suoi figliuoli tutt'e cinque, l'un dopo l'altro, tre maschi e due femmine. Pazienza le femmine! Ma i maschi morivano appunto quando erano grandi, nell'età di guadagnarsi il pane. Oramai egli lo sapeva; e come le febbri vincevano il ragazzo, dopo averlo travagliato due o tre anni, non spendeva più un soldo, né per solfato né per decotti, spillava del buon vino e si metteva ad ammannire tutti gli intingoli di pesce che sapeva, onde stuzzicare l'appetito al malato. Andava apposta colla barca a pescare la mattina, tornava carico di cefali, di anguille grosse come il braccio, e poi diceva al figliuolo, ritto dinanzi al letto e colle lagrime agli occhi: – Te'! mangia! – Il resto lo pigliava Nanni, il carrettiere per andare a venderlo in città. – Il lago vi dà e il lago vi piglia! – Gli diceva Nanni, vedendo piangere di nascosto compare Carmine. – Che volete farci, fratel mio? – Il lago gli aveva dato dei bei guadagni. E a Natale, quando le anguille si vendono bene, nella casa in riva al lago, cenavano allegramente dinanzi al fuoco, maccheroni, salsiccia e ogni ben di Dio, mentre il vento urlava di fuori come un lupo che abbia fame e freddo. In tal modo coloro che restavano si consolavano dei morti. Ma a poco a poco andavano assottigliandosi così che la madre divenne curva come un gancio dai crepacuori, e il padre che era grosso e grasso, stava sempre sull'uscio, onde non vedere quelle stanzaccie vuote, dove prima cantavano e lavoravano i suoi ragazzi. L'ultimo rimasto non voleva morire assolutamente, e piangeva e si disperava allorché lo coglieva la febbre, e persino andò a buttarsi nel lago dalla paura della morte. Ma il padre che sapeva nuotare lo ripescò, e lo sgridava che quel bagno freddo gli avrebbe fatto tornare la febbre peggio di prima. – Ah! singhiozzava il giovanetto colle mani nei capelli, – per me non c'è più speranza! per me non c'è più speranza! – Tutto sua sorella Agata, che non voleva morire perché era sposa – osservava compare Carmine di faccia a sua moglie, seduta accanto al letto; e lei, che non piangeva più da un pezzo, confermava col capo, curva al pari di un gancio.
Lei, ridotta a quel modo, e suo marito grasso e grosso avevano il cuoio duro, e rimasero soli a guardar la casa. La malaria non ce l'ha contro di tutti. Alle volte uno vi campa cent'anni, come Cirino lo scimunito, il quale non aveva né re né regno, né arte né parte, né padre né madre, né casa per dormire, né pane da mangiare, e tutti lo conoscevano a quaranta miglia intorno, siccome andava da una fattoria all'altra, aiutando a governare i buoi, a trasportare il concime, a scorticare le bestie morte, a fare gli uffici vili; e pigliava delle pedate e un tozzo di pane; dormiva nei fossati, sul ciglione dei campi, a ridosso delle siepi, sotto le tettoie degli stallazzi; e viveva di carità, errando come un cane senza padrone, scamiciato e scalzo, con due lembi di mutande tenuti insieme da una funicella sulle gambe magre e nere; e andava cantando a squarciagola sotto il sole che gli martellava sulla testa nuda, giallo come lo zafferano. Egli non prendeva più né solfato, né medicine, né pigliava le febbri. Cento volte l'avevano raccolto disteso, quasi fosse morto, attraverso la strada; infine la malaria l'aveva lasciato, perché non sapeva più che farsene di lui. Dopo che gli aveva mangiato il cervello e la polpa delle gambe, e gli era entrata tutta nella pancia gonfia come un otre, l'aveva lasciato contento come una pasqua, a cantare al sole meglio di un grillo. Di preferenza lo scimunito soleva stare dinanzi lo stallatico di Valsavoja, perché ci passava della gente, ed egli correva loro dietro per delle miglia, gridando, uuh! uuh! finché gli buttavano due centesimi. L'oste gli prendeva i centesimi e lo teneva a dormire sotto la tettoia, sullo strame dei cavalli, che quando si tiravano dei calci, Cirino correva a svegliare il padrone gridando uuh! e la mattina li strigliava e li governava.
Più tardi era stato attratto dalla ferrovia che costrussero lì vicino. I vetturali e i viandanti erano diventati più rari sulla strada, e lo scimunito non sapeva che pensare, guardando in aria delle ore le rondini che volavano, e batteva le palpebre al sole per capacitarsene. La prima volta, al vedere tutta quella gente insaccata nei carrozzoni che passavano dalla stazione, parve che indovinasse. E d'allora in poi ogni giorno aspettava il treno, senza sbagliare di un minuto, quasi avesse l'orologio in testa; e mentre gli fuggiva dinanzi, gettandogli contro la faccia il fumo e lo strepito, egli si dava a corrergli dietro, colle braccia in aria, urlando in tuono di collera e di minaccia: uuh! uuh!...
L'oste, anche lui, ogni volta che da lontano vedeva passare il treno sbuffante nella malaria, non diceva nulla, ma gli sputava contro il fatto suo scrollando il capo, davanti alla tettoia deserta e ai boccali vuoti. Prima gli affari andavano così bene che egli aveva preso quattro mogli, l'una dopo l'altra, tanto che lo chiamavano «Ammazzamogli» e dicevano che ci aveva fatto il callo, e tirava a pigliarsi la quinta, se la figlia di massaro Turi Oricchiazza non gli faceva rispondere: – Dio ne liberi! nemmeno se fosse d'oro, quel cristiano! Ei si mangia il prossimo suo come un coccodrillo! – Ma non era vero che ci avesse fatto il callo, perché quando gli era morta comare Santa, ed era la terza, egli sino all'ora di colezione non ci aveva messo un boccone di pane in bocca, né un sorso d'acqua, e piangeva per davvero dietro il banco dell'osteria. – Stavolta voglio pigliarmi una che è avvezza alla malaria – aveva detto dopo quel fatto. – Non voglio più soffrirne di questi dispiaceri.
Le mogli gliele ammazzava la malaria, ad una ad una, ma lui lo lasciava tal quale, vecchio e grinzoso, che non avreste immaginato come quell'uomo lì ci avesse anche lui il suo bravo omicidio sulle spalle, quantunque tirasse a prendere la quarta moglie. Pure la moglie ogni volta la cercava giovane e appetitosa, ché senza moglie l'osteria non può andare, e per questo gli avventori s'erano diradati. Ora non restava altri che compare Mommu, il cantoniere della ferrovia lì vicino, un uomo che non parlava mai, e veniva a bere il suo bicchiere fra un treno e l'altro, mettendosi a sedere sulla panchetta accanto all'uscio, colle scarpe in mano, per lasciare riposare i piedi. – Questi qui non li coglie la malaria! – pensava «Ammazzamogli» senza aprir bocca nemmeno lui, ché se la malaria li avesse fatti cadere come le mosche non ci sarebbe stato chi facesse andare quella ferrovia là. Il poveraccio, dacché s'era levato dinanzi agli occhi il solo uomo che gli avvelenava l'esistenza, non ci aveva più che due nemici al mondo: la ferrovia che gli rubava gli avventori, e la malaria che gli portava via le mogli. Tutti gli altri nella pianura, sin dove arrivavano gli occhi, provavano un momento di contentezza, anche se nel lettuccio ci avevano qualcuno che se ne andava a poco a poco, o se la febbre li abbatteva sull'uscio, col fazzoletto in testa e il tabarro addosso. Si ricreavano guardando il seminato che veniva su prosperoso e verde come il velluto, o le biade che ondeggiavano al par di un mare, e ascoltavano la cantilena lunga dei mietitori, distesi come una fila di soldati, e in ogni viottolo si udiva la cornamusa, dietro la quale arrivavano dalla Calabria degli sciami di contadini per la messe, polverosi, curvi sotto la bisaccia pesante, gli uomini avanti e le donne in coda, zoppicanti e guardando la strada che si allungava con la faccia arsa e stanca. E sull'orlo di ogni fossato, dietro ogni macchia d'aloe, nell'ora in cui cala la sera come un velo grigio, fischiava lo zufolo del guardiano, in mezzo alle spighe mature che tacevano, immobili al cascare del vento, invase anch'esse dal silenzio della notte. – Ecco! – pensava «Ammazzamogli». – Tutta quella gente là se fa tanto di non lasciarci la pelle e di tornare a casa, ci torna con dei denari in tasca.
Ma lui no! lui non aspettava né la raccolta né altro, e non aveva animo di cantare. La sera calava tanto triste, nello stallazzo vuoto e nell'osteria buia. A quell'ora il treno passava da lontano fischiando, e compare Mommu stava accanto al suo casotto colla bandieruola in mano; ma fin lassù, dopo che il treno era svanito nelle tenebre, si udiva Cirino lo scimunito che gli correva dietro urlando, uuh!... E «Ammazzamogli» sulla porta dell'osteria buia e deserta pensava che per quelli lì la malaria non ci era.
Infine quando non poté pagar più l'affitto dell'osteria e dello stallazzo, il padrone lo mandò via dopo 57 anni che c'era stato, e «Ammazzamogli» si ridusse a cercare impiego nella ferrovia anche lui, e a tenere in mano la bandieruola quando passava il treno.
Allora stanco di correre tutto il giorno su e giù lungo le rotaie, rifinito dagli anni e dai malanni, vedeva passare due volte al giorno la lunga fila dei carrozzoni stipati di gente; le allegre brigate di cacciatori che si sparpagliavano per la pianura; alle volte un contadinello che suonava l'organetto a capo chino, rincantucciato su di una panchetta di terza classe; le belle signore che affacciavano allo sportello il capo avvolto nel velo; l'argento e l'acciaio brunito dei sacchi e delle borse da viaggio che luccicavano sotto i lampioni smerigliati; le alte spalliere imbottite e coperte di trina. Ah, come si doveva viaggiar bene lì dentro, schiacciando un sonnellino! Sembrava che un pezzo di città sfilasse lì davanti, colla luminaria delle strade, e le botteghe sfavillanti. Poi il treno si perdeva nella vasta nebbia della sera, e il poveraccio, cavandosi un momento le scarpe, seduto sulla panchina, borbottava: – Ah! per questi qui non c'è proprio la malaria!
# Gli orfani
La piccina si affacciò all'uscio, attorcigliando fra le dita la cocca del grembiale, e disse:
– Sono qua.
Poi, come nessuno badava a lei, si mise a guardare peritosa ad una ad una le comari che impastavano il pane, e riprese:
– M'hanno detto – vattene da comare Sidora.
– Vien qua, vien qua, gridò comare Sidora, rossa come un pomodoro, dal bugigattolo del forno. Aspetta ché ti farò una bella focaccia.
– Vuol dire che a comare Nunzia stanno per portarle il Viatico, se hanno mandato via la bambina. Osservò la Licodiana.
Una delle comari che aiutavano ad impastare il pane volse il capo, seguitando a lavorare di pugni nella madia, colle braccia nude sino al gomito, e domandò alla bimba:
– Come sta la tua madrigna?
La bambina che non conosceva la comare, la guardò coi grandi occhi spalancati, e poscia tornando a chinare il capo, e a lavorar in furia colle cocche del grembiale, biascicò sottovoce:
– È a letto.
– Non sentite che c'è il Signore? rispose la Licodiana. Ora le vicine si son messe a strillare sulla porta.
– Quando avrò finito d'infornare il pane, disse comare Sidora, corro anch'io un momento a vedere se hanno bisogno di niente. Compare Meno perde il braccio destro, se gli muore quest'altra moglie.
– Certuni non hanno fortuna colle mogli, come quelli che son disgraziati colle bestie. Tante ne pigliano, e tante ne perdono. Guardate comare Angela!
– Ier sera, aggiunse la Licodiana, ho visto compare Meno sull'uscio, che era tornato dalla vigna prima dell'avemaria, e si soffiava il naso col fazzoletto.
– Però, aggiunse la comare che impastava il pane, ei ci ha una santa mano ad ammazzare le mogli. In meno di tre anni sono adesso due figlie di curatolo Nino che si è mangiate, l'una dopo l'altra! Ancora un po' e si mangia anche la terza, e si pappa tutta quanta la roba di curatolo Nino.
– Ma cotesta bambina è figlia di comare Nunzia, oppure della prima moglie?
– È figlia della prima. A quest'altra le voleva bene come fosse sua mamma davvero, perché l'orfanella era anche sua nipote.
La piccina, udendo che parlavano di lei, si mise a piangere cheta cheta in un cantuccio, per sfogarsi il cuor grosso, che aveva tenuto a bada giocherellando col grembiale.
– Vien qua, vien qua, riprese comare Sidora. La focaccia è bell'e pronta. Via, non piangere, ché la mamma è in paradiso.
La bambina allora si asciugò gli occhi coi pugni chiusi, tanto più che comare Sidora dava mano a scoperchiare il forno.
– Povera comare Nunzia! venne a dire una vicina affacciandosi sull'uscio. Adesso ci vanno i beccamorti. Sono passati di qua or ora.
– Lontano sia! ché son figlia di Maria! esclamarono le comari facendosi la croce.
Comare Sidora levò dal forno la focaccia, la ripulì dalla cenere, e la porse calda calda alla bambina, che la prese nel grembiale, e se ne andava adagio adagio, soffiandovi sopra.
– Dove vai? Le gridò dietro comare Sidora. Resta dove sei. A casa c'è il ba-bau colla faccia nera, che si porta via la gente.
L'orfanella ascoltò seria seria, sgranando gli occhi. Poi riprese colla stessa cantilena cocciuta:
– Vo a portarla alla mamma.
– La mamma non c'è più. Statti qua. Ripeté una vicina. Mangiala tu la focaccia.
Allora la piccina si accoccolò sullo scalino dell'uscio, tutta triste, colla focaccia nelle mani, senza toccarla.
Ad un tratto vedendo arrivare il babbo, si alzò lieta, e gli corse incontro. Compare Meno entrò senza dir nulla, e sedette in un canto colle mani penzoloni fra le ginocchia, la faccia lunga, e le labbra bianche come la carta, ché dal giorno innanzi non ci aveva messo un pezzo di pane in bocca dal crepacuore. Guardava le comari come a dire: Poveretto me!
Le donne, al vedergli il fazzoletto nero al collo, gli fecero cerchio intorno, colle mani intrise di farina, compassionandolo in coro.
– Non me ne parlate, comare Sidora! ripeteva lui, scuotendo il capo e colle spalle grosse. – Questa è spina che non mi si leva più dal cuore! Vera santa era quella donna! che, senza farvi torto, non me la meritavo. Fino ad ieri, che stava tanto male, s'era levata di letto per andare a governare il puledro slattato adesso. E non voleva che chiamassi il medico per non spendere e non comprare medicine. Un'altra moglie come quella non la trovo più. Ve lo dico io! Lasciatemi piangere, ché ho ragione!
E seguitava a scrollare il capo, e a gonfiare le spalle, quasi la sua disgrazia gli pesasse assai.
– Quanto a trovarvi un'altra moglie – aggiunse la Licodiana per fargli animo – non avete che a cercarla.
– No! no! badava a ripetere compare Meno colla testa bassa come un mulo. – Un'altra moglie come questa non la trovo più. Stavolta resto vedovo! Ve lo dico io!
Comare Sidora gli diede sulla voce: – Non dite spropositi, ché non sta bene! Un'altra moglie dovete cercarvela, se non altro per rispetto di questa orfanella, altrimenti chi baderà a lei, quando andrete in campagna! volete lasciarla in mezzo alle strade?
– Trovatemela voi un'altra moglie come quella! Che non si lavava per non sporcar l'acqua; e in casa mi serviva meglio di un garzone, affezionata e fedele che non mi avrebbe rubato un pugno di fave dal graticcio, e non apriva mai bocca per dire «datemi!». Con tutto questo una bella dote, roba che valeva tant'oro! E mi tocca restituirla, poiché non ci son figliuoli! Adesso me l'ha detto il sagrestano che veniva coll'acqua benedetta. E come le voleva bene a quella piccina, che le rammentava la sua povera sorella! Un'altra, che non fosse sua zia, me la guarda di malocchio, questa orfanella.
– Se pigliaste la terza figlia di curatolo Nino s'aggiusterebbe ogni cosa, per l'orfana e per la dote. Osservò la Licodiana.
– Questo dico io. Ma non me ne parlate, ché ci ho tuttora la bocca amara come il fiele.
– Non son discorsi da farsi adesso. Appoggiò comare Sidora. – Mangiate un boccone piuttosto, compare Meno, che siete tutto contraffatto.
– No! no! andava ripetendo compare Meno. Non mi parlate di mangiare, che mi sento un nodo nella gola.
Comare Sidora gli mise dinanzi, su di uno scanno, il pane caldo, colle olive nere, un pezzo di formaggio di pecora, e il fiasco del vino. E il poveraccio cominciò a mangiucchiare adagio adagio, seguitando a borbottare col viso lungo.
– Il pane, osservò intenerito, come lo faceva la buon'anima, nessuno lo sa fare. Pareva di semola addirittura! E con una manata di finocchi selvatici vi preparava una minestra da leccarvene le dita. Ora mi toccherà comprare il pane a bottega, da quel ladro di mastro Puddo; e di minestre calde non ne troverò più, ogni volta che torno a casa bagnato come un pulcino. E bisognerà andarmene a letto collo stomaco freddo. Anche l'altra notte, mentre la vegliavo, che avevo zappato tutto il giorno a dissodare sulla costa, e mi sentivo russare io stesso, seduto accanto al letto, tanto ero stanco, la buona anima mi diceva: – Va' a mangiare due cucchiaiate. Ho lasciato apposta la minestra al caldo nel focolare. – E pensava sempre a me, alla casa, al da fare che ci era, a questo e a quell'altro, che non finiva più di parlare, e di farmi le ultime raccomandazioni, come uno quando parte per un viaggio lungo, che la sentivo brontolare continuamente tra veglia e sonno. E se ne andava contenta all'altro mondo! col crocifisso sul petto, e le mani giunte di sopra. Non ha bisogno di messe e di rosari, quella santa! I denari pel prete sarebbero buttati via.
– Mondo di guai! Esclamò la vicina. – Anche a comare Angela, qui vicino, sta per morire l'asino, dalla doglia.
– I guai miei son più grossi! Finì compare Meno forbendosi la bocca col rovescio della mano. – No, non mi fate mangiare altro, ché i bocconi mi cascano dentro lo stomaco come fossero di piombo. Mangia tu piuttosto, povera innocente, che non capisci nulla. Ora non avrai più chi ti lavi e chi ti pettini. Ora non avrai più la mamma per tenerti sotto le ali come la chioccia, e sei rovinata come me. Quella te l'avevo trovata; ma un'altra matrigna come questa non l'avrai più figlia mia!
La bimba, intenerita, sporgeva di nuovo il labbro, e si metteva i pugni sugli occhi.
– No, non potete farne a meno – ripeteva comare Sidora. – Bisogna cercarvi un'altra moglie, per riguardo di questa povera orfanella che resta in mezzo a una strada.
– Ed io, come rimango? e il mio puledro? e la mia casa? e alle galline chi ci abbaderà? Lasciatemi piangere, comare Sidora! Avrei fatto meglio a morir io stesso, in scambio della buon'anima.
– State zitto, ché non sapete quello che dite! e non sapete cosa vuol dire una casa senza capo.
– Questo è vero! osservò compare Meno, riconfortato.
– Guardate piuttosto la povera comare Angela! Prima le è morto il marito, poi il figliuolo grande, e adesso le muore anche l'asino!
– L'asino andrebbe salassato dalla cinghiaia, se ha la doglia, disse compare Meno.
– Veniteci voi, che ve ne intendete – aggiunse la vicina. – Farete un'opera di carità per l'anima di vostra moglie.
Compare Meno si alzò per andare da comare Angela, e l'orfanella gli correva dietro come un pulcino, adesso che non aveva altri al mondo. Comare Sidora, buona massaia, gli rammentò:
– E la casa? come la lasciate, ora che non ci è più nessuno?
– Ho chiuso a chiave; e poi lì di faccia ci sta la cugina Alfia, per tenerla d'occhio.
L'asino della vicina Angela era disteso in mezzo al cortile, col muso freddo e le orecchie pendenti, annaspando di tanto in tanto colle quattro zampe in aria, allorché la doglia gli contraeva i fianchi come un mantice. La vedova, seduta lì davanti, sui sassi, colle mani fra i capelli grigi, e gli occhi asciutti e disperati, stava a guardare, pallida come una morta.
Compare Meno si diede a girare intorno alla bestia, toccandole le orecchie, guardandola negli occhi spenti, e come vide che il sangue gli colava ancora dalla cinghiaia, nero, a goccia a goccia, aggrumandosi in cima ai peli irsuti, domandò:
– L'hanno anche salassato?
La vedova gli fissò in volto gli occhi foschi, senza parlare, e disse di sì col capo.
– Allora non c'è più che fare, conchiuse compare Meno; e stette a guardare l'asino che si allungava sui sassi, rigido, col pelo tutto arruffato al pari di un gatto morto.
– È la volontà di Dio, sorella mia! le disse per confortarla. Siamo rovinati tutti e due.
Egli s'era messo a sedere sui sassi, accanto alla vedova, colla figlioletta fra le ginocchia, e rimasero entrambi a guardare la povera bestia che batteva l'aria colle zampe, di tanto in tanto, tale e quale come un moribondo.
Comare Sidora, quand'ebbe finito di sfornare il pane, venne nel cortile anche lei colla cugina Alfia, che si era messa la veste nuova, e il fazzoletto di seta in testa, per far quattro chiacchiere; e disse a compare Meno, tirandolo in disparte:
– Curatolo Nino non ve la darà più l'altra figliuola, ora che con voi gli muoiono come le mosche, e ci perde la dote. Poi la Santa è troppo giovane, e ci sarebbe il pericolo che vi riempisse la casa di figliuoli.
– Se fossero maschi pazienza! Ma c'è anche a temere che vengano delle femmine. Sono tanto disgraziato!
– Ci sarebbe la cugina Alfia. Quella non è più giovane, ed ha il fatto suo: la casa e un pezzo di vigna.
Compare Meno mise gli occhi sulla cugina Alfia, la quale fingeva di guardare l'asino, colle mani sul ventre, e conchiuse:
– Se è così, se ne potrà parlare. Ma sono tanto disgraziato!
Comare Sidora gli diede sulla voce:
– Pensate a coloro che sono più disgraziati di voi, pensate!
– Non ce ne sono, ve lo dico io! Non la trovo un'altra moglie come quella! Non potrò scordarmela mai più, se torno a maritarmi dieci volte! E neppure questa povera orfanella se la scorderà.
– Calmatevi, ché ve la scorderete. E anche la bambina se la scorderà. Non se l'è scordata la sua madre vera? Guardate invece la vicina Angela, ora che le muore l'asino! e non possiede altro! Quella sì che dovrà pensarci sempre!
La cugina Alfia vide che era tempo d'accostarsi anche lei, colla faccia lunga, e ricominciò le lodi della morta. Ella l'aveva acconciata colle sue mani nella bara, e le aveva messo sul viso un fazzoletto di tela fine. Di roba bianca, non faceva per dire, ne aveva molta. Allora compare Meno, intenerito, si volse alla vicina Angela, la quale non si muoveva, come fosse di sasso.
– Ora che ci aspettate a fare scuoiare l'asino? Almeno pigliate i denari della pelle.
# La roba
Il viandante che andava lungo il Biviere di Lentini, steso là come un pezzo di mare morto, e le stoppie riarse della Piana di Catania, e gli aranci sempre verdi di Francofonte, e i sugheri grigi di Resecone, e i pascoli deserti di Passaneto e di Passanitello, se domandava, per ingannare la noia della lunga strada polverosa, sotto il cielo fosco dal caldo, nell'ora in cui i campanelli della lettiga suonano tristamente nell'immensa campagna, e i muli lasciano ciondolare il capo e la coda, e il lettighiere canta la sua canzone malinconica per non lasciarsi vincere dal sonno della malaria: – Qui di chi è? – sentiva rispondersi: – Di Mazzarò. – E passando vicino a una fattoria grande quanto un paese, coi magazzini che sembrano chiese, e le galline a stormi accoccolate all'ombra del pozzo, e le donne che si mettevano la mano sugli occhi per vedere chi passava: – E qui? – Di Mazzarò. – E cammina e cammina, mentre la malaria vi pesava sugli occhi, e vi scuoteva all'improvviso l'abbaiare di un cane, passando per una vigna che non finiva più, e si allargava sul colle e sul piano, immobile, come gli pesasse addosso la polvere, e il guardiano sdraiato bocconi sullo schioppo, accanto al vallone, levava il capo sonnacchioso, e apriva un occhio per vedere chi fosse: – Di Mazzarò. – Poi veniva un uliveto folto come un bosco, dove l'erba non spuntava mai, e la raccolta durava fino a marzo. Erano gli ulivi di Mazzarò. E verso sera, allorché il sole tramontava rosso come il fuoco, e la campagna si velava di tristezza, si incontravano le lunghe file degli aratri di Mazzarò che tornavano adagio adagio dal maggese, e i buoi che passavano il guado lentamente, col muso nell'acqua scura; e si vedevano nei pascoli lontani della Canziria, sulla pendice brulla, le immense macchie biancastre delle mandre di Mazzarò; e si udiva il fischio del pastore echeggiare nelle gole, e il campanaccio che risuonava ora sì ed ora no, e il canto solitario perduto nella valle. – Tutta roba di Mazzarò. Pareva che fosse di Mazzarò perfino il sole che tramontava, e le cicale che ronzavano, e gli uccelli che andavano a rannicchiarsi col volo breve dietro le zolle, e il sibilo dell'assiolo nel bosco. Pareva che Mazzarò fosse disteso tutto grande per quanto era grande la terra, e che gli si camminasse sulla pancia. – Invece egli era un omiciattolo, diceva il lettighiere, che non gli avreste dato un baiocco, a vederlo; e di grasso non aveva altro che la pancia, e non si sapeva come facesse a riempirla, perché non mangiava altro che due soldi di pane; e sì ch'era ricco come un maiale; ma aveva la testa ch'era un brillante, quell'uomo.
Infatti, colla testa come un brillante, aveva accumulato tutta quella roba, dove prima veniva da mattina a sera a zappare, a potare, a mietere; col sole, coll'acqua, col vento; senza scarpe ai piedi, e senza uno straccio di cappotto; che tutti si rammentavano di avergli dato dei calci nel di dietro, quelli che ora gli davano dell' _eccellenza_ , e gli parlavano col berretto in mano. Né per questo egli era montato in superbia, adesso che tutte le eccellenze del paese erano suoi debitori; e diceva che eccellenza vuol dire povero diavolo e cattivo pagatore; ma egli portava ancora il berretto, soltanto lo portava di seta nera, era la sua sola grandezza, e da ultimo era anche arrivato a mettere il cappello di feltro, perché costava meno del berretto di seta. Della roba ne possedeva fin dove arrivava la vista, ed egli aveva la vista lunga – dappertutto, a destra e a sinistra, davanti e di dietro, nel monte e nella pianura. Più di cinquemila bocche, senza contare gli uccelli del cielo e gli animali della terra, che mangiavano sulla sua terra, e senza contare la sua bocca la quale mangiava meno di tutte, e si contentava di due soldi di pane e un pezzo di formaggio, ingozzato in fretta e in furia, all'impiedi, in un cantuccio del magazzino grande come una chiesa, in mezzo alla polvere del grano, che non ci si vedeva, mentre i contadini scaricavano i sacchi, o a ridosso di un pagliaio, quando il vento spazzava la campagna gelata, al tempo del seminare, o colla testa dentro un corbello, nelle calde giornate della messe. Egli non beveva vino, non fumava, non usava tabacco, e sì che del tabacco ne producevano i suoi orti lungo il fiume, colle foglie larghe ed alte come un fanciullo, di quelle che si vendevano a 95 lire. Non aveva il vizio del giuoco, né quello delle donne. Di donne non aveva mai avuto sulle spalle che sua madre, la quale gli era costata anche 12 tarì, quando aveva dovuto farla portare al camposanto.
Era che ci aveva pensato e ripensato tanto a quel che vuol dire la roba, quando andava senza scarpe a lavorare nella terra che adesso era sua, ed aveva provato quel che ci vuole a fare i tre tarì della giornata, nel mese di luglio, a star colla schiena curva 14 ore, col soprastante a cavallo dietro, che vi piglia a nerbate se fate di rizzarvi un momento. Per questo non aveva lasciato passare un minuto della sua vita che non fosse stato impiegato a fare della roba; e adesso i suoi aratri erano numerosi come le lunghe file dei corvi che arrivano in novembre; e altre file di muli, che non finivano più, portavano le sementi; le donne che stavano accoccolate nel fango, da ottobre a marzo, per raccogliere le sue olive, non si potevano contare, come non si possono contare le gazze che vengono a rubarle; e al tempo della vendemmia accorrevano dei villaggi interi alle sue vigne, e fin dove sentivasi cantare, nella campagna, era per la vendemmia di Mazzarò. Alla messe poi i mietitori di Mazzarò sembravano un esercito di soldati, che per mantenere tutta quella gente, col biscotto alla mattina e il pane e l'arancia amara a colazione, e la merenda, e le lasagne alla sera, ci volevano dei denari a manate, e le lasagne si scodellavano nelle madie larghe come tinozze. Perciò adesso, quando andava a cavallo dietro la fila dei suoi mietitori, col nerbo in mano, non ne perdeva d'occhio uno solo, e badava a ripetere: – Curviamoci, ragazzi! –Egli era tutto l'anno colle mani in tasca a spendere, e per la sola fondiaria il re si pigliava tanto che a Mazzarò gli veniva la febbre, ogni volta.
Però ciascun anno tutti quei magazzini grandi come chiese si riempivano di grano che bisognava scoperchiare il tetto per farcelo capire tutto; e ogni volta che Mazzarò vendeva il vino, ci voleva più di un giorno per contare il denaro, tutto di 12 tarì d'argento, ché lui non ne voleva di carta sudicia per la sua roba, e andava a comprare la carta sudicia soltanto quando aveva da pagare il re, o gli altri; e alle fiere gli armenti di Mazzarò coprivano tutto il campo, e ingombravano le strade, che ci voleva mezza giornata per lasciarli sfilare, e il santo, colla banda, alle volte dovevano mutar strada, e cedere il passo.
Tutta quella roba se l'era fatta lui, colle sue mani e colla sua testa, col non dormire la notte, col prendere la febbre dal batticuore o dalla malaria, coll'affaticarsi dall'alba a sera, e andare in giro, sotto il sole e sotto la pioggia, col logorare i suoi stivali e le sue mule – egli solo non si logorava, pensando alla sua roba, ch'era tutto quello ch'ei avesse al mondo; perché non aveva né figli, né nipoti, né parenti; non aveva altro che la sua roba. Quando uno è fatto così, vuol dire che è fatto per la roba.
Ed anche la roba era fatta per lui, che pareva ci avesse la calamita, perché la roba vuol stare con chi sa tenerla, e non la sciupa come quel barone che prima era stato il padrone di Mazzarò, e l'aveva raccolto per carità nudo e crudo ne' suoi campi, ed era stato il padrone di tutti quei prati, e di tutti quei boschi, e di tutte quelle vigne e tutti quegli armenti, che quando veniva nelle sue terre a cavallo coi campieri dietro, pareva il re, e gli preparavano anche l'alloggio e il pranzo, al minchione, sicché ognuno sapeva l'ora e il momento in cui doveva arrivare, e non si faceva sorprendere colle mani nel sacco. – Costui vuol essere rubato per forza! diceva Mazzarò, e schiattava dalle risa quando il barone gli dava dei calci nel di dietro, e si fregava la schiena colle mani, borbottando: «Chi è minchione se ne stia a casa», – «la roba non è di chi l'ha, ma di chi la sa fare». Invece egli, dopo che ebbe fatta la sua roba, non mandava certo a dire se veniva a sorvegliare la messe, o la vendemmia, e quando, e come; ma capitava all'improvviso, a piedi o a cavallo alla mula, senza campieri, con un pezzo di pane in tasca; e dormiva accanto ai suoi covoni, cogli occhi aperti, e lo schioppo fra le gambe.
In tal modo a poco a poco Mazzarò divenne il padrone di tutta la roba del barone; e costui uscì prima dall'uliveto, e poi dalle vigne, e poi dai pascoli, e poi dalle fattorie e infine dal suo palazzo istesso, che non passava giorno che non firmasse delle carte bollate, e Mazzarò ci metteva sotto la sua brava croce. Al barone non rimase altro che lo scudo di pietra ch'era prima sul portone, ed era la sola cosa che non avesse voluto vendere, dicendo a Mazzarò: – Questo solo, di tutta la mia roba, non fa per te. – Ed era vero; Mazzarò non sapeva che farsene, e non l'avrebbe pagato due baiocchi. Il barone gli dava ancora del tu, ma non gli dava più calci nel di dietro.
– Questa è una bella cosa, d'avere la fortuna che ha Mazzarò! diceva la gente; e non sapeva quel che ci era voluto ad acchiappare quella fortuna: quanti pensieri, quante fatiche, quante menzogne, quanti pericoli di andare in galera, e come quella testa che era un brillante avesse lavorato giorno e notte, meglio di una macina del mulino, per fare la roba; e se il proprietario di una chiusa limitrofa si ostinava a non cedergliela, e voleva prendere pel collo Mazzarò, dover trovare uno stratagemma per costringerlo a vendere, e farcelo cascare, malgrado la diffidenza contadinesca. Ei gli andava a vantare, per esempio, la fertilità di una tenuta la quale non produceva nemmeno lupini, e arrivava a fargliela credere una terra promessa, sinché il povero diavolo si lasciava indurre a prenderla in affitto, per specularci sopra, e ci perdeva poi il fitto, la casa e la chiusa, che Mazzarò se l'acchiappava – per un pezzo di pane. – E quante seccature Mazzarò doveva sopportare! – I mezzadri che venivano a lagnarsi delle malannate, i debitori che mandavano in processione le loro donne a strapparsi i capelli e picchiarsi il petto per scongiurarlo di non metterli in mezzo alla strada, col pigliarsi il mulo o l'asinello, che non avevano da mangiare.
– Lo vedete quel che mangio io? rispondeva lui, – pane e cipolla! e sì che ho i magazzini pieni zeppi, e sono il padrone di tutta questa roba. – E se gli domandavano un pugno di fave, di tutta quella roba, ei diceva: – Che, vi pare che l'abbia rubata? Non sapete quanto costano per seminarle, e zapparle, e raccoglierle? – E se gli domandavano un soldo rispondeva che non l'aveva.
E non l'aveva davvero. Che in tasca non teneva mai 12 tarì, tanti ce ne volevano per far fruttare tutta quella roba, e il denaro entrava ed usciva come un fiume dalla sua casa. Del resto a lui non gliene importava del denaro; diceva che non era roba, e appena metteva insieme una certa somma, comprava subito un pezzo di terra; perché voleva arrivare ad avere della terra quanta ne ha il re, ed esser meglio del re, ché il re non può né venderla, né dire ch'è sua.
Di una cosa sola gli doleva, che cominciasse a farsi vecchio, e la terra doveva lasciarla là dov'era. Questa è una ingiustizia di Dio, che dopo di essersi logorata la vita ad acquistare della roba, quando arrivate ad averla, che ne vorreste ancora, dovete lasciarla! E stava delle ore seduto sul corbello, col mento nelle mani, a guardare le sue vigne che gli verdeggiavano sotto gli occhi, e i campi che ondeggiavano di spighe come un mare, e gli oliveti che velavano la montagna come una nebbia, e se un ragazzo seminudo gli passava dinanzi, curvo sotto il peso come un asino stanco, gli lanciava il suo bastone fra le gambe, per invidia, e borbottava: – Guardate chi ha i giorni lunghi! costui che non ha niente!
Sicché quando gli dissero che era tempo di lasciare la sua roba, per pensare all'anima, uscì nel cortile come un pazzo, barcollando, e andava ammazzando a colpi di bastone le sue anitre e i suoi tacchini, e strillava: – Roba mia, vientene con me!
# Storia dell'asino di S. Giuseppe
L'avevano comperato alla fiera di Buccheri ch'era ancor puledro, e appena vedeva una ciuca, andava a frugarle le poppe; per questo si buscava testate e botte da orbi sul groppone, e avevano un bel gridargli: «Arriccà!». Compare Neli, come lo vide vispo e cocciuto a quel modo, che si leccava il muso alle legnate, mettendoci su una scrollatina d'orecchie, disse: «Questo è il fatto mio». E andò diritto al padrone, tenendo nella tasca la mano colle trentacinque lire.
– Il puledro è bello – diceva il padrone – e val più di trentacinque lire. Non ci badate se ha quel pelame bianco e nero come una gazza. Ora vi faccio vedere sua madre, che la teniamo lì nel boschetto perché il puledro ha sempre la testa alla poppa. Vedrete la bella bestia morella! che mi lavora meglio di una mula e mi ha fatti più figli che non abbia peli addosso. In coscienza mia! non so d'onde sia venuto quel mantello di gazza al puledro. Ma l'ossatura è buona, ve lo dico io! Già gli uomini non valgono pel mostaccio. Guardate che petto! e che pilastri di gambe! Guardate come tiene le orecchie! Un asino che tiene le orecchie ritte a quel modo lo potete mettere sotto il carro o sotto l'aratro come volete, e fargli portare quattro tumoli di farro meglio di un mulo, per la santa giornata che corre oggi! Sentite questa coda, che vi ci potete appendere voi con tutto il vostro parentado!
Compare Neli lo sapeva meglio di lui; ma non era minchione per dir di sì, e stava sulla sua colla mano in tasca, alzando le spalle e arricciando il naso, mentre il padrone gli faceva girare il puledro dinanzi.
– Uhm! – borbottava compare Neli. – Con quel pelame lì, che par l'asino di san Giuseppe! Le bestie di quel colore sono tutte _vigliacche_ , e quando passate a cavallo pel paese, la gente vi ride in faccia. Cosa devo regalarvi per l'asino di san Giuseppe?
Il padrone allora gli voltò le spalle infuriato, gridando che se non conoscevano le bestie, o se non avevano denari per comprare, era meglio non venire alla fiera, e non far perdere il tempo ai cristiani, nella santa giornata che era.
Compare Neli lo lasciò a bestemmiare, e se ne andò con suo fratello, il quale lo tirava per la manica del giubbone, e gli diceva che se voleva buttare i denari per quella brutta bestia, l'avrebbe preso a pedate.
Però di sottecchi non perdevano di vista l'asino di san Giuseppe, e il suo padrone che fingeva di sbucciare delle fave verdi, colla fune della cavezza fra le gambe, mentre compare Neli andava girandolando fra le groppe dei muli e dei cavalli, e si fermava a guardare, e contrattava ora questa ed ora quella delle bestie migliori, senza aprire il pugno che teneva in tasca colle trentacinque lire, come se ci avesse avuto da comprare mezza fiera. Ma suo fratello gli diceva all'orecchio, accennandogli l'asino di san Giuseppe:
– Quello è il fatto nostro.
La padrona dell'asino di tanto in tanto correva a vedere cosa s'era fatto, e al trovare suo marito colla cavezza in mano, gli diceva:
– Che non lo manda oggi la Madonna uno che compri il puledro?
E il marito rispondeva ogni volta:
– Ancora niente! C'è stato uno a contrattare, e gli piaceva. Ma è tirato allo spendere, e se n'è andato coi suoi denari. Vedi, quello là, colla berretta bianca, dietro il branco delle pecore. Però sinora non ha comperato nulla, e vuol dire che tornerà.
La donna avrebbe voluto mettersi a sedere su due sassi, là vicino al suo asino, per vedere se si vendeva. Ma il marito le disse:
– Vattene! Se vedono che aspetti, non conchiudono il negozio.
Il puledro intanto badava a frugare col muso fra le gambe delle somare che passavano, massime che aveva fame, tanto che il padrone, appena apriva bocca per ragliare, lo faceva tacere a bastonate, perché non l'avevano voluto.
– È ancora là! – diceva compare Neli all'orecchio del fratello, fingendo di tornare a passare per cercare quello dei ceci abbrustoliti. – Se aspettiamo sino all'avemaria, potremo averlo per cinque lire meno del prezzo che abbiamo offerto.
Il sole di maggio era caldo, sicché di tratto in tratto, in mezzo al vocìo e al brulichìo della fiera, succedeva per tutto il campo un gran silenzio, come non ci fosse più nessuno; e allora la padrona dell'asino tornava a dire a suo marito:
– Non ti ostinare per cinque lire di più o di meno; che stasera non c'è da far la spesa; e poi sai che cinque lire il puledro se le mangia in un mese, se ci resta sulla pancia.
– Se non te ne vai – rispondeva suo marito – ti assesto una pedata di quelle buone!
Così passavano le ore alla fiera; ma nessuno di coloro che passavano davanti all'asino di san Giuseppe si fermava a guardarlo; e sì che il padrone aveva scelto il posto più umile, accanto alle bestie di poco prezzo, onde non farlo sfigurare col suo pelame di gazza accanto alle belle mule baie ed ai cavalli lucenti! Ci voleva uno come compare Neli per andare a contrattare l'asino di san Giuseppe, che tutta la fiera si metteva a ridere al vederlo. Il puledro, dal tanto aspettare al sole, lasciava ciondolare il capo e le orecchie, e il suo padrone s'era messo a sedere tristamente sui sassi, colle mani penzoloni anch'esso fra le ginocchia e la cavezza nelle mani, guardando di qua e di là le ombre lunghe che cominciavano a fare nel piano, al sole che tramontava, le gambe di tutte quelle bestie che non avevano trovato un compratore. Compare Neli allora e suo fratello, e un altro amico che avevano raccattato per la circostanza, vennero a passare di là, guardando in aria, che il padrone dell'asino torse il capo anche lui per non far vedere di star lì ad aspettarli; e l'amico di compare Neli disse così, stralunato, come l'idea fosse venuta a lui:
– O guarda l'asino di san Giuseppe! Perché non comprate questo qui, compare Neli?
– L'ho contrattato stamattina; ma è troppo caro. Poi farei ridere la gente con quell'asino bianco e nero. Vedete che nessuno l'ha voluto fino adesso!
– È vero, ma il colore non fa nulla, per quello che vi serve.
E domandò al padrone:
– Quanto vi dobbiamo regalare per l'asino di san Giuseppe?
La padrona dell'asino di san Giuseppe, vedendo che si ripigliava il negozio, andava riaccostandosi quatta, quatta, colle mani giunte sotto la mantellina.
– Non me ne parlate! – cominciò a gridare compare Neli, scappando per il piano. – Non me ne parlate che non ne voglio sentir parlare!
– Se non lo vuole, lasciatelo stare – rispose il padrone. – Se non lo piglia lui, lo piglierà un altro. «Tristo chi non ha più nulla da vendere dopo la fiera!»
– Ed io voglio essere ascoltato, santo diavolone! – strillava l'amico. – Che non posso dire la mia bestialità anch'io?
E correva ad afferrare compare Neli pel giubbone; poi tornava a parlare all'orecchio del padrone dell'asino, il quale voleva tornarsene a casa per forza coll'asinello, e gli buttava le braccia al collo, susurrandogli:
– Sentite! cinque lire più o meno, se non lo vendete oggi, un minchione come mio compare non lo trovate più da comprarvi la vostra bestia che non vale un sigaro.
Ed abbracciava anche la padrona dell'asino, le parlava all'orecchio, per tirarla dalla sua. Ma ella si stringeva nelle spalle, e rispondeva col viso torvo:
– Sono affari del mio uomo. Io non c'entro. Ma se ve lo dà per meno di quaranta lire è un minchione, in coscienza! Ci costa di più a noi!
– Stamattina ero pazzo ad offrire trentacinque lire! – ripicchiava compare Neli. – Vedete se ha trovato un altro compratore per quel prezzo? In tutta la fiera non c'è più che quattro montoni rognosi e l'asino di san Giuseppe. Adesso trenta lire, se li vuole!
– Pigliatele! – suggeriva piano al marito la padrona dell'asino colle lagrime agli occhi. – Stasera non abbiamo da far la spesa, e a Turiddu gli è tornata la febbre; ci vuole il solfato.
– Santo diavolone! – strillava suo marito. – Se non te ne vai, ti faccio assaggiare la cavezza! – Trentadue e mezzo, via! – gridò infine l'amico, scuotendoli forte per il colletto. – Né voi, né io! Stavolta deve valere la mia parola, per i santi del paradiso! e non voglio neppure un bicchiere di vino! Vedete che il sole è tramontato? Cosa aspettate ancora tutt'e due?
E strappò di mano al padrone la cavezza, mentre compare Neli, bestemmiando, tirava fuori dalla tasca il pugno colle trentacinque lire, e gliele dava senza guardarle, come gli strappassero il fegato. L'amico si tirò in disparte colla padrona dell'asino, a contare i denari su di un sasso, mentre il padrone dell'asino scappava per la fiera come un puledro, bestemmiando e dandosi dei pugni.
Ma poi si lasciò raggiungere dalla moglie, la quale adagio adagio andava contando di nuovo i denari nel fazzoletto, e domandò:
– Ci sono?
– Sì, ci son tutti; sia lodato san Gaetano! Ora vado dallo speziale.
– Li ho minchionati! Io glielo avrei dato anche per venti lire; gli asini di quel colore lì sono _vigliacchi._
E compare Neli, tirandosi dietro il ciuco per la scesa, diceva:
– Com'è vero Dio, glie l'ho rubato il puledro! Il colore non fa niente. Vedete che pilastri di gambe, compare? Questo vale quaranta lire ad occhi chiusi.
– Se non c'ero io – rispose l'amico – non ne facevate nulla. Qui ci ho ancora due lire e mezzo di vostro. E se volete, andremo a berle alla salute dell'asino.
Adesso al puledro gli toccava di aver la salute per guadagnarsi le trentadue lire e cinquanta che era costato, e la paglia che si mangiava. Intanto badava a saltellare dietro a compare Neli, cercando di addentargli il giubbone per giuoco, quasi sapesse che era il giubbone del padrone nuovo, e non gliene importasse di lasciare per sempre la stalla dov'era stato al caldo, accanto alla madre, a fregarsi il muso sulla sponda della mangiatoia, o a fare a testate e a capriole col montone, e andare a stuzzicare il maiale nel suo cantuccio. E la padrona, che contava di nuovo i denari nel fazzoletto davanti al banco dello speziale, non pensava nemmen lei che aveva visto nascere il puledro, tutto bianco e nero colla pelle lucida come seta, che non si reggeva ancora sulle gambe, e stava accovacciato al sole nel cortile, e tutta l'erba con cui s'era fatto grande e grosso le era passata per le mani. La sola che si rammentasse del puledro era la ciuca, che allungava il collo ragliando verso l'uscio della stalla; ma quando non ebbe più le poppe gonfie di latte, si scordò del puledro anch'essa.
– Ora questo qui – diceva compare Neli – vedrete che mi porta quattro tumoli di farro meglio di un mulo. E alla messe lo metto a trebbiare.
Alla trebbiatura il puledro, legato in fila per il collo colle altre bestie, muli vecchi e cavalli sciancati, trotterellava sui covoni da mattina a sera, tanto che si riduceva stanco e senza voglia di abboccare nel mucchio della paglia, dove lo mettevano a riposare all'ombra, come si levava il venticello, mentre i contadini spagliavano, gridando: Viva Maria!
Allora lasciava cascare il muso e le orecchie ciondoloni, come un asino fatto, coll'occhio spento, quasi fosse stanco di guardare quella vasta campagna bianca la quale fumava qua e là della polvere delle aie, e pareva non fosse fatta per altro che per lasciar morire di sete e far trottare sui covoni. Alla sera tornava al villaggio colle bisacce piene, e il ragazzo del padrone seguitava a pungerlo nel garrese, lungo le siepi del sentiero che parevano vive dal cinguettìo delle cingallegre e dall'odor di nepitella e di ramerino, e l'asino avrebbe voluto darci una boccata, se non l'avessero fatto trottare sempre, tanto che gli calò il sangue alle gambe, e dovettero portarlo dal maniscalco; ma al padrone non gliene importava nulla, perché la raccolta era stata buona, e il puledro si era buscate le sue trentadue lire e cinquanta. Il padrone diceva: «Ora il lavoro l'ha fatto, e se lo vendo anche per venti lire, ci ho sempre il mio guadagno».
Il solo che volesse bene al puledro era il ragazzo che lo faceva trotterellare pel sentiero, quando tornavano dall'aia; e piangeva mentre il maniscalco gli bruciava le gambe coi ferri roventi, che il puledro si contorceva, colla coda in aria, e le orecchie ritte come quando scorazzava pel campo della fiera, e tentava divincolarsi dalla fune attorcigliata che gli stringeva il labbro, e stralunava gli occhi dallo spasimo quasi avesse il giudizio, quando il garzone del maniscalco veniva a cambiare i ferri rossi qual fuoco, e la pelle fumava e friggeva come il pesce nella padella. Ma compare Neli gridava al suo ragazzo: – Bestia! perché piangi? Ora il suo lavoro l'ha fatto, e giacché la raccolta è andata bene lo venderemo e compreremo un mulo, che è meglio.
I ragazzi certe cose non le capiscono, e dopo che vendettero il puledro a massaro Cirino il Licodiano, il figlio di compare Neli andava a fargli visita nella stalla e ad accarezzarlo nel muso e sul collo, ché l'asino si voltava a fiutarlo come se gli fosse rimasto attaccato il cuore a lui, mentre gli asini son fatti per essere legati dove vuole il padrone, e mutano di sorte come cambiano di stalla. Massaro Cirino il Licodiano aveva comprato l'asino di san Giuseppe per poco, giacché aveva ancora la cicatrice al pasturale, che la moglie di compare Neli, quando vedeva passare l'asino col padrone nuovo, diceva: «Quello era la nostra sorte; quel pelame bianco e nero porta allegria nell'aia; e adesso le annate vanno di male in peggio, talché abbiamo venduto anche il mulo».
Massaro Cirino aveva aggiogato l'asino all'aratro, colla cavalla vecchia che ci andava come una pietra d'anello, e tirava via il suo bravo solco tutto il giorno per miglia e miglia, dacché le lodole cominciano a trillare nel cielo bianco dell'alba, sino a quando i pettirossi correvano a rannicchiarsi dietro gli sterpi nudi che tremavano di freddo, col volo breve e il sibilo malinconico, nella nebbia che montava come un mare. Soltanto, siccome l'asino era più piccolo della cavalla, ci avevano messo un cuscinetto di strame sul basto, sotto il giogo, e stentava di più a strappare le zolle indurite dal gelo, a furia di spallate: «Questo mi risparmia la cavalla che è vecchia, diceva massaro Cirino. Ha il cuore grande come la Piana di Catania, quell'asino di san Giuseppe! e non si direbbe».
E diceva pure a sua moglie, la quale gli veniva dietro raggomitolata nella mantellina, a spargere la semente con parsimonia:
– Se gli accadesse una disgrazia, mai sia! siamo rovinati, coll'annata che si prepara.
La donna guardava l'annata che si preparava, nel campicello sassoso e desolato, dove la terra era bianca e screpolata, da tanto che non ci pioveva, e l'acqua veniva tutta in nebbia, di quella che si mangia la semente; e quando fu l'ora di zappare il seminato pareva la barba del diavolo, tanto era rado e giallo, come se l'avessero bruciato coi fiammiferi. «Malgrado quel maggese che ci avevo preparato!» piagnucolava massaro Cirino strappandosi di dosso il giubbone. «Che quell'asino ci ha rimesso la pelle come un mulo! Quello è l'asino della malannata!»
La sua donna aveva un gruppo alla gola dinanzi al seminato arso, e rispondeva coi goccioloni che le venivano giù dagli occhi:
– L'asino non fa nulla. A compare Neli gli ha portato la buon'annata. Ma noi siamo sfortunati.
Così l'asino di san Giuseppe cambiò di padrone un'altra volta, come massaro Cirino se ne tornò colla falce in spalla dal seminato, che non ci fu bisogno di mieterlo quell'anno, malgrado ci avessero messo le immagini dei santi infilate alle cannucce, e avessero speso due tarì per farlo benedire dal prete. «Il diavolo ci vuole!» andava bestemmiando massaro Cirino di faccia a quelle spighe tutte ritte come pennacchi, che non ne voleva neppur l'asino; e sputava in aria verso quel cielo turchino senza una goccia d'acqua. Allora compare Luciano il carrettiere, incontrando massaro Cirino il quale si tirava dietro l'asino colle bisacce vuote, gli chiese:
– Cosa volete che vi regali per l'asino di san Giuseppe?
– Datemi quel che volete. Maledetto sia lui e il santo che l'ha fatto! – rispose massaro Cirino. – Ora non abbiamo più pane da mangiare, né orzo da dare alle bestie.
– Io vi do quindici lire perché siete rovinato; ma l'asino non val tanto, che non tira avanti ancora più di sei mesi. Vedete com'è ridotto?
– Avreste potuto chieder di più! – si mise a brontolare la moglie di massaro Cirino dopo che il negozio fu conchiuso. – A compare Luciano gli è morta la mula, e non ha denari da comprarne un'altra. Adesso se non comprava quell'asino di san Giuseppe, non sapeva che farne del suo carro e degli arnesi; e vedrete che quell'asino sarà la sua ricchezza!
L'asino imparò anche a tirare il carro, che era troppo alto di stanghe per lui, e gli pesava tutto sulle spalle, sicché non avrebbe durato nemmeno sei mesi, arrancando per le salite, che ci volevano le legnate di compare Luciano per mettergli un po' di fiato in corpo; e quando andava per la discesa era peggio, perché tutto il carico gli cascava addosso, e lo spingeva in modo che doveva far forza colla schiena in arco, e con quelle povere gambe rose dal fuoco, che la gente vedendolo si metteva a ridere, e quando cascava ci volevano tutti gli angeli del paradiso a farlo rialzare. Ma compare Luciano sapeva che gli portava tre quintali di roba meglio di un mulo, e il carico glielo pagavano a cinque tarì il quintale. – Ogni giorno che campa l'asino di san Giuseppe son quindici tarì guadagnati, diceva, e quanto a mangiare mi costa meno d'un mulo. – Alle volte la gente che saliva a piedi lemme lemme dietro il carro, vedendo quella povera bestia che puntava le zampe senza forza, e inarcava la schiena, col fiato spesso e l'occhio scoraggiato, suggeriva: – Metteteci un sasso sotto le ruote, e lasciategli ripigliar lena a quella povera bestia. – Ma compare Luciano rispondeva: – Se lo lascio fare, quindici tarì al giorno non li guadagno. Col suo cuoio devo rifare il mio. Quando non ne potrà più del tutto lo venderò a quello del gesso, che la bestia è buona e fa per lui; e non è mica vero che gli asini di san Giuseppe sieno _vigliacchi._ Gliel'ho preso per un pezzo di pane a massaro Cirino, ora che è impoverito.
In tal modo l'asino di san Giuseppe capitò in mano di quello del gesso, il quale ne aveva una ventina di asini, tutti macilenti e moribondi, che gli portavano i suoi saccarelli di gesso, e campavano di quelle boccate di erbacce che potevano strappare lungo il cammino. Quello del gesso non lo voleva perché era tutto coperto di cicatrici peggio delle altre sue bestie, colle gambe solcate dal fuoco, e le spalle logore dal pettorale, e il garrese roso dal basto dell'aratro, e i ginocchi rotti dalle cadute, e poi quel pelame bianco e nero gli pareva che non dicesse in mezzo alle altre sue bestie morelle: – Questo non fa niente, rispose compare Luciano. Anzi vi servirà a riconoscere i vostri asini da lontano. – E ribassò ancora due tarì sulle sette lire che aveva domandato, per conchiudere il negozio. Ma l'asino di san Giuseppe non l'avrebbe riconosciuto più nemmeno la padrona che l'aveva visto nascere, tanto era mutato, quando andava col muso a terra e le orecchie a paracqua sotto i saccarelli del gesso, torcendo il groppone alle legnate del ragazzo che guidava il branco. Pure anche la padrona stessa era mutata a quell'ora, colla malannata che c'era stata, e la fame che aveva avuta, e le febbri che avevano preso tutti alla pianura, lei, suo marito e il suo Turiddu, senza denari per comprare il solfato, ché degli asini di san Giuseppe non se ne hanno da vendere tutti i giorni, nemmeno per trentacinque lire.
L'inverno, che il lavoro era più scarso, e la legna da far cuocere il gesso più rara e lontana, e i sentieri gelati non avevano una foglia nelle siepi, o una boccata di stoppia lungo il fossatello gelato, la vita era più dura per quelle povere bestie; e il padrone lo sapeva che l'inverno se ne mangiava la metà; sicché soleva comperarne una buona provvista in primavera. La notte il branco restava allo scoperto, accanto alla fornace, e le bestie si facevano schermo stringendosi fra di loro. Ma quelle stelle che luccicavano come spade li passavano da parte a parte, malgrado il loro cuoio duro, e tutti quei guidaleschi rabbrividivano e tremavano al freddo come avessero la parola.
Pure c'è tanti cristiani che non stanno meglio, e non hanno nemmeno quel cencio di tabarro nel quale il ragazzo che custodiva il branco dormiva raggomitolato davanti la fornace. Lì vicino abitava una povera vedova, in un casolare più sgangherato della fornace del gesso, dove le stelle penetravano dal tetto come spade, quasi fosse all'aperto, e il vento faceva svolazzare quei quattro cenci di coperta. Prima faceva la lavandaia, ma quello era un magro mestiere, ché la gente i suoi stracci se li lava da sé, quando li lava, ed ora che gli era cresciuto il suo ragazzo campava andando a vendere della legna al villaggio. Ma nessuno aveva conosciuto suo marito, e nessuno sapeva d'onde prendesse la legna che vendeva; lo sapeva il suo ragazzo che andava a racimolarla di qua e di là, a rischio di buscarsi una schioppettata dai campieri. – Se aveste un asino – gli diceva quello del gesso per vendere l'asino di san Giuseppe che non ne poteva più – potreste portare al villaggio dei fasci più grossi, ora che il vostro ragazzo è cresciuto. – La povera donna aveva qualche lira in un nodo del fazzoletto, e se la lasciò beccare da quello del gesso, perché si dice che «la roba vecchia muore in casa del pazzo».
Almeno così il povero asino di san Giuseppe visse meglio gli ultimi giorni; giacché la vedova lo teneva come un tesoro, in grazia di quei soldi che gli era costato, e gli andava a buscare della paglia e del fieno di notte, e lo teneva nel casolare accanto al letto, che scaldava come un focherello anche lui, e a questo mondo una mano lava l'altra. La donna spingendosi innanzi l'asino carico di legna come una montagna, che non gli si vedevano le orecchie, andava facendo dei castelli in aria; e il ragazzo sforacchiava le siepi e si avventurava nel limite del bosco per ammassare il carico, che madre e figlio credevano farsi ricchi a quel mestiere, tanto che finalmente il campiere del barone colse il ragazzo sul fatto a rubar frasche, e lo conciò per le feste dalle legnate. Il medico per curare il ragazzo si mangiò i soldi del fazzoletto, la provvista della legna, e tutto quello che c'era da vendere, e non era molto; sicché la madre una notte che il suo ragazzo farneticava dalla febbre, col viso acceso contro il muro, e non c'era un boccone di pane in casa, uscì fuori smaniando e parlando da sola come avesse la febbre anche lei, e andò a scavezzare un mandorlo lì vicino, che non pareva vero come ci fosse arrivata, e all'alba lo caricò sull'asino per andare a venderlo. Ma l'asino, dal peso, nella salita s'inginocchiò tale e quale come l'asino di san Giuseppe davanti al Bambino Gesù, e non volle più alzarsi.
– Anime sante! – borbottava la donna – portatemelo voialtre quel carico di legna!
E i passanti tiravano l'asino per la coda e gli mordevano gli orecchi per farlo rialzare.
– Non vedete che sta per morire? – disse infine un carrettiere; e così gli altri lo lasciarono in pace, ché l'asino aveva l'occhio di pesce morto, il muso freddo, e per la pelle gli correva un brivido.
La donna intanto pensava al suo ragazzo che farneticava, col viso rosso dalla febbre, e balbettava:
– Ora come faremo? Ora come faremo?
– Se volete venderlo con tutta la legna ve ne do cinque tarì – disse il carrettiere, il quale aveva il carro scarico. E come la donna lo guardava cogli occhi stralunati, soggiunse: – Compro soltanto la legna, perché l'asino ecco cosa vale! – E diede una pedata sul carcame, che suonò come un tamburo sfondato.
# Pane nero
Appena chiuse gli occhi compare Nanni, e ci era ancora il prete colla stola, scoppiò subito la guerra tra i figliuoli, a chi toccasse pagare la spesa del mortorio, ché il reverendo lo mandarono via coll'aspersorio sotto l'ascella.
Perché la malattia di compare Nanni era stata lunga, di quelle che vi mangiano la carne addosso, e la roba della casa. Ogni volta che il medico spiegava il foglio di carta sul ginocchio, per scrivere la ricetta, compare Nanni gli guardava le mani con aria pietosa, e biascicava: – Almeno, vossignoria, scrivetela corta, per carità!
Il medico faceva il suo mestiere. Tutti a questo mondo fanno il loro mestiere. Massaro Nanni nel fare il proprio, aveva acchiappato quelle febbri lì, alla Lamia, terre benedette da Dio, che producevano seminati alti come un uomo. I vicini avevano un bel dirgli: – Compare Nanni, in quella mezzeria della Lamia voi ci lascierete la pelle! – Quasi fossi un barone – rispondeva lui – che può fare quello che gli pare e piace!
I fratelli, che erano come le dita della stessa mano finché viveva il padre, ora dovevano pensare ciascuno ai casi proprii. Santo aveva moglie e figliuoli sulle braccia; Lucia rimaneva senza dote, su di una strada; e Carmenio, se voleva mangiar del pane, bisognava che andasse a buscarselo fuori di casa, e trovarsi un padrone. La mamma poi, vecchia e malaticcia, non si sapeva a chi toccasse mantenerla, di tutti e tre che non avevano niente. L'è che è una bella cosa quando si può piangere i morti, senza pensare ad altro!
I buoi, le pecore, la provvista del granaio, se n'erano andati col padrone. Restava la casa nera, col letto vuoto, e le faccie degli orfani scure anch'esse. Santo vi trasportò le sue robe, colla _Rossa_ , e disse che pigliava con sé la mamma. – Così non pagava più la pigione della casa – dicevano gli altri. Carmenio fece il suo fagotto, e andò pastore da curatolo Vito, che aveva un pezzetto di pascolo al Camemi; e Lucia, per non stare insieme alla cognata, minacciava che sarebbe andata a servizio piuttosto.
– No! – diceva Santo. – Non si dirà che mia sorella abbia a far la serva agli altri. – Ei vorrebbe che la facessi alla _Rossa_! – brontolava Lucia.
La quistione grossa era per questa cognata che s'era ficcata nella parentela come un chiodo. – Cosa posso farci, adesso che ce l'ho? – sospirava Santo stringendosi nelle spalle. E' bisognava dar retta alla buona anima di mio padre, quand'era tempo!
La buon'anima glielo aveva predicato: – Lascia star la Nena, che non ha dote, né tetto, né terra.
Ma la Nena gli era sempre alle costole, al Castelluccio, se zappava, se mieteva, a raccogliergli le spighe, o a levargli colle mani i sassi di sotto ai piedi; e quando si riposava, alla porta del casamento, colle spalle al muro, nell'ora che sui campi moriva il sole, e taceva ogni cosa:
– Compare Santo, se Dio vuole, quest'anno non le avrete perse le vostre fatiche!
– Compare Santo, se il raccolto vi va bene, dovete prendere la chiusa grande, quella del piano; che ci son state le pecore, e riposa da due anni.
– Compare Santo, quest'inverno, se avrò tempo, voglio farvi un par di calzeroni che vi terranno caldo.
Santo aveva conosciuta la Nena quando lavorava al Castelluccio, una ragazza dai capelli rossi, ch'era figlia del camparo, e nessuno la voleva. Essa, poveretta, per questo motivo faceva festa a ogni cane che passasse, e si levava il pan di bocca per regalare a compare Santo la berretta di seta nera, ogni anno a santa Agrippina, e per fargli trovare un fiasco di vino, o un pezzo di formaggio, allorché arrivava al Castelluccio. – Pigliate questo, per amor mio, compare Santo. È di quel che beve il padrone. – Oppure: – Ho pensato che l'altra settimana vi mancava il companatico.
Egli non sapeva dir di no, e intascava ogni cosa. Tutt'al più per gentilezza rispondeva: – Così non va bene, comare Nena, levarvelo di bocca voi, per darlo a me.
– Io son più contenta se l'avete voi.
Poi, ogni sabato sera, come Santo andava a casa, la buon'anima tornava a ripetere al figliuolo: – Lascia star la Nena, che non ha questo; lascia star la Nena, che non ha quest'altro.
– Io lo so che non ho nulla: – diceva la Nena, seduta sul muricciuolo verso il sole che tramontava. – Io non ho né terra, né case; e quel po' di roba bianca ho dovuto levarmela di bocca col pane che mi mangio. Mio padre è un povero camparo, che vive alle spalle del padrone; e nessuno vorrà togliersi addosso il peso della moglie senza dote.
Ella aveva però la nuca bianca, come l'hanno le rosse; e mentre teneva il capo chino, con tutti quei pensieri dentro, il sole le indorava dietro alle orecchie i capelli color d'oro, e le guance che ci avevano la peluria fine come le pesche; e Santo le guardava gli occhi celesti come il fiore del lino, e il petto che gli riempiva il busto, e faceva l'onda al par del seminato. – Non vi angustiate, comare Nena – gli diceva. – Mariti non ve ne mancheranno.
Ella scrollava il capo per dir di no; e gli orecchini rossi che sembravano di corallo gli accarezzavano le guance. – No, no, compare Santo. Lo so che non son bella, e che non mi vuol nessuno.
– Guardate! – disse lui a un tratto, ché gli veniva quell'idea. – Guardate come sono i pareri!... E' dicono che i capelli rossi sieno brutti, e invece ora che li avete voi non mi fanno specie.
La buon'anima di suo padre, quando aveva visto Santo incapricciato della Nena che voleva sposarla, gli aveva detto una domenica:
– Tu la vuoi per forza, la _Rossa_? Di', la vuoi per forza?
Santo, colle spalle al muro e le mani dietro la schiena, non osava levare il capo; ma accennava di sì, di sì, che senza la _Rossa_ non sapeva come fare, e la volontà di Dio era quella.
– Ci hai a pensar tu, se ti senti di campare la moglie. Già sai che non posso darti nulla. Una cosa sola abbiamo a dirti, io e tua madre qui presente: pensaci prima di maritarti, che il pane è scarso, e i figliuoli vengono presto.
La mamma, accoccolata sulla scranna, lo tirava pel giubbone, e gli diceva sottovoce colla faccia lunga: – Cerca d'innamorarti della vedova di massaro Mariano, che è ricca, e non avrà molte pretese, perché è accidentata.
– Sì! – brontolava Santo. – Sì, che la vedova di massaro Mariano si contenterà di un pezzente come me!...
Compare Nanni confermò anche lui che la vedova di massaro Mariano cercava un marito ricco al par di lei, tuttoché fosse sciancata. E poi ci sarebbe stato l'altro guaio, di vedersi nascere i nipoti zoppi.
– Tu ci hai a pensare – ripeteva al suo ragazzo. – Pensa che il pane è sacro, e che i figliuoli vengono presto.
Poi, il giorno di Santa Brigida, verso sera, Santo aveva incontrato a caso la _Rossa_ , la quale coglieva asparagi lungo il sentiero, e arrossì al vederlo, quasi non lo sapesse che doveva passare di là nel tornare al paese, mentre lasciava ricadere il lembo della sottana che teneva rimboccata alla cintura per andar carponi in mezzo ai fichidindia. Il giovane la guardava, rosso in viso anche lui, e senza dir nulla. Infine si mise a ciarlare che aveva terminata la settimana, e se ne andava a casa. – Non avete a dirmi nulla pel paese, comare Nena? Comandate.
– Se andassi a vendere gli asparagi verrei con voi, e si farebbe la strada insieme – disse la _Rossa._ E come egli, ingrullito, rispondeva di sì col capo, di sì: ella aggiunse, col mento sul petto che faceva l'onda:
– Ma voi non mi vorreste, ché le donne sono impicci.
– Io vi porterei sulle braccia, comare Nena, vi porterei.
Allora comare Nena si mise a masticare la cocca del fazzoletto rosso che aveva in testa. E compare Santo non sapeva che dire nemmen lui; e la guardava, la guardava, e si passava le bisacce da una spalla all'altra, quasi non trovasse il verso. La nepitella e il ramerino facevano festa, e la costa del monte, lassù fra i fichidindia, era tutta rossa del tramonto. – Ora andatevene, gli diceva Nena, andatevene, che è tardi. – E poi si metteva ad ascoltare le cinciallegre che facevano gazzarra. Ma Santo non si muoveva. – Andatevene, ché possono vederci, qui soli.
Compare Santo, che stava per andarsene infine, tornò all'idea di prima, con un'altra spallata per assestare le bisacce, che egli l'avrebbe portata sulle braccia, l'avrebbe portata, se si faceva la strada insieme. E guardava comare Nena negli occhi che lo fuggivano e cercavano gli asparagi in mezzo ai sassi, e nel viso che era infocato come se il tramonto vi battesse sopra.
– No, compare Santo, andatevene solo, che io sono una povera ragazza senza dote.
– Lasciamo fare alla Provvidenza, lasciamo fare...
Ella diceva sempre di no, che non era per lui, stavolta col viso scuro ed imbronciato. Allora compare Santo scoraggiato si assestò la bisaccia sulle spalle e si mosse per andarsene a capo chino. La _Rossa_ almeno voleva dargli gli asparagi che aveva colti per lui. Facevano una bella pietanza, se accettava di mangiarli per amor suo. E gli stendeva le due cocche del grembiale colmo. Santo le passò un braccio alla cintola, e la baciò sulla guancia, col cuore che gli squagliava.
In quella arrivò il babbo, e la ragazza scappò via spaventata. Il camparo aveva il fucile ad armacollo, e non sapeva chi lo tenesse di far la festa a compare Santo, che gli giuocava quel tradimento.
– No! non ne faccio di queste cose! – rispondeva Santo colle mani in croce. – Vostra figlia voglio sposarla per davvero. Non per la paura del fucile; ma son figlio di un uomo dabbene, e la Provvidenza ci aiuterà perché non facciamo il male.
Così la domenica appresso s'erano fatti gli sponsali, colla sposa vestita da festa, e suo padre il camparo cogli stivali nuovi, che ci si dondolava dentro come un'anitra domestica. Il vino e le fave tostate misero in allegria anche compare Nanni, sebbene avesse già addosso la malaria; e la mamma tirò fuori dalla cassapanca un rotolo di filato che teneva da parte per la dote di Lucia, la quale aveva già diciott'anni, e prima d'andare alla messa ogni domenica, si strigliava per mezz'ora, specchiandosi nell'acqua del catino.
Santo, colla punta delle dieci dita ficcate nelle tasche del giubbone, gongolava, guardando i capelli rossi della sposa, il filato, e tutta l'allegria che ci era per lui quella domenica. Il camparo, col naso rosso, saltellava dentro gli stivaloni, e voleva baciare tutti quanti ad uno ad uno.
– A me no! – diceva Lucia, imbronciata pel filato che le portavano via. – Questa non è acqua per la mia bocca. – Essa restava in un cantuccio, con tanto di muso, quasi sapesse già quel che le toccava quando avrebbe chiuso gli occhi il genitore.
Ora infatti le toccava cuocere il pane e scopar le stanze per la cognata, la quale come Dio faceva giorno andava al podere col marito, tuttoché fosse gravida un'altra volta, ché per riempir la casa di figliuoli era peggio di una gatta. Adesso ci volevano altro che i regalucci di Pasqua e di santa Agrippina, e le belle paroline che si scambiavano con compare Santo quando si vedevano al Castelluccio. Quel mariuolo del camparo aveva fatto il suo interesse a maritare la figliuola senza dote, e doveva pensarci compare Santo a mantenerla. Dacché aveva la Nena vedeva che gli mancava il pane per tutti e due, e dovevano tirarlo fuori dalla terra di Licciardo, col sudore della loro fronte.
Mentre andavano a Licciardo, colle bisacce in ispalla, asciugandosi il sudore colla manica della camicia, avevano sempre nella testa e dinanzi agli occhi il seminato, ché non vedevano altro fra i sassi della viottola. Gli era come il pensiero di un malato che vi sta sempre grave in cuore, quel seminato: prima giallo, ammelmato dal gran piovere; poi, quando ricominciava a pigliar fiato, le erbacce, che Nena ci si era ridotte le due mani una pietà per strapparle ad una ad una, bocconi, con tanto di pancia, tirando la gonnella sui ginocchi, onde non far danno. E non sentiva il peso della gravidanza, né il dolore delle reni, come se ad ogni filo verde che liberava dalle erbacce, facesse un figliuolo. E quando si accoccolava infine sul ciglione, col fiato ai denti, cacciandosi colle due mani i capelli dietro le orecchie, le sembrava di vedere le spighe alte nel giugno, curvandosi ad onda pel venticello l'una sull'altra; e facevano i conti col marito, nel tempo che egli slacciava i calzeroni fradici, e nettava la zappa sull'erba del ciglione. – Tanta era stata la semente; tanto avrebbe dato se la spiga veniva a 12, o a 10, od anche a 7; il gambo non era robusto ma il seminato era fitto. Bastava che il marzo non fosse troppo asciutto, e che piovesse soltanto quando bisognava. Santa Agrippina benedetta doveva pensarci lei! – Il cielo era netto, e il sole indugiava, color d'oro, sui prati verdi, dal ponente tutto in fuoco, d'onde le lodole calavano cantando sulle zolle, come punti neri. La primavera cominciava a spuntare dappertutto, nelle siepi di fichidindia, nelle macchie della viottola, fra i sassi, sul tetto dei casolari, verde come la speranza; e Santo, camminando pesantemente dietro la sua compagna, curva sotto il sacco dello strame per le bestie, e con tanto di pancia, sentivasi il cuore gonfio di tenerezza per la poveretta, e le andava chiaccherando, colla voce rotta dalla salita, di quel che si avrebbe fatto, se il Signore benediceva i seminati fino all'ultimo. Ora non avevano più a discorrere dei capelli rossi, s'erano belli o brutti, e di altre sciocchezze. E quando il maggio traditore venne a rubare tutte le fatiche e le speranze dell'annata, colle sue nebbie, marito e moglie, seduti un'altra volta sul ciglione a guardare il campo che ingialliva a vista d'occhio, come un malato che se ne va all'altro mondo, non dicevano una parola sola, coi gomiti sui ginocchi, e gli occhi impietriti nella faccia pallida.
– Questo è il castigo di Dio! – borbottava Santo. – La buon'anima di mio padre me l'aveva detto!
E nella casuccia del povero penetrava il malumore della stradicciuola nera e fangosa. Marito e moglie si voltavano le spalle ingrugnati, litigavano ogni volta che la _Rossa_ domandava i denari per la spesa, e se il marito tornava a casa tardi, o se non c'era legna per l'inverno, o se la moglie diventava lenta e pigra per la gravidanza: musi lunghi, parolacce ed anche busse. Santo agguantava la Nena pei capelli rossi, e lei gli piantava le unghie sulla faccia; accorrevano i vicini, e la _Rossa_ strillava che quello scomunicato voleva farla abortire, e non si curava di mandare un'anima al limbo. Poi, quando Nena partorì, fecero la pace, e compare Santo andava portando sulle braccia la bambina, come se avesse fatto una principessa, e correva a mostrarla ai parenti e agli amici, dalla contentezza. Alla moglie, sinché rimase in letto, le preparava il brodo, le scopava la casa, le mondava il riso, e le si piantava anche ritto dinanzi, acciò non le mancasse nulla. Poi si affacciava sulla porta colla bimba in collo, come una balia; e chi gli domandava, nel passare, rispondeva: – Femmina! compare mio. La disgrazia mi perseguita sin qui, e mi è nata una femmina. Mia moglie non sa far altro.
La _Rossa_ quando si pigliava le busse dal marito, sfogavasi colla cognata, che non faceva nulla per aiutare in casa; e Lucia rimbeccava che senza aver marito gli erano toccati i guai dei figliuoli altrui. La suocera, poveretta, cercava di metter pace in quei litigi, e ripeteva:
– La colpa è mia che non son più buona a nulla. Io vi mangio il pane a tradimento.
Ella non era più buona che a sentire tutti quei guai, e a covarseli dentro di sé: le angustie di Santo, i piagnistei di sua moglie, il pensiero dell'altro figlio lontano, che le stava fitto in cuore come un chiodo, il malumore di Lucia, la quale non aveva uno straccio di vestito per la festa, e non vedeva passare un cane sotto la sua finestra. La domenica, se la chiamavano nel crocchio delle comari che chiaccheravano all'ombra, rispondeva, alzando le spalle:
– Cosa volete che ci venga a fare! Per far vedere il vestito di seta che non ho?
Nel crocchio delle vicine ci veniva pure qualche volta Pino il Tomo, quello delle rane, che non apriva bocca e stava ad ascoltare colle spalle al muro e le mani in tasca, sputacchiando di qua e di là. Nessuno sapeva cosa ci stesse a fare; ma quando s'affacciava all'uscio comare Lucia, Pino la guardava di soppiatto, fingendo di voltarsi per sputacchiare. La sera poi, come gli usci erano tutti chiusi, s'arrischiava sino a cantarle le canzonette dietro la porta, facendosi il basso da sé – huum! huum! huum! – Alle volte i giovinastri che tornavano a casa tardi, lo conoscevano alla voce, e gli rifacevano il verso della rana, per canzonarlo.
Lucia intanto fingeva di darsi da fare per la casa, colla testa bassa e lontana dal lume, onde non la vedessero in faccia. Ma se la cognata brontolava: – Ora comincia la musica! – si voltava come una vipera a rimbeccare:
– Anche la musica vi dà noia? Già in questa galera non ce ne deve essere né per gli occhi né per le orecchie!
La mamma che vedeva tutto, e ascoltava anch'essa, guardando la figliuola, diceva che a lei invece quella musica gli metteva allegria dentro. Lucia fingeva di non saper nulla. Però ogni giorno nell'ora in cui passava quello delle rane, non mancava mai di affacciarsi all'uscio, col fuso in mano. Il Tomo appena tornava dal fiume, gira e rigira pel paese, era sempre in volta per quelle parti, colla sua resta di rane in mano, strillando: – Pesci-cantanti! pesci-cantanti! – come se i poveretti di quelle straduccie potessero comperare dei pesci-cantanti.
– E' devono essere buoni pei malati! – diceva la Lucia che si struggeva di mettersi a contrattare col Tomo. Ma la mamma non voleva che spendessero per lei.
Il Tomo, vedendo che Lucia lo guardava di soppiatto, col mento sul seno, rallentava il passo dinanzi all'uscio, e la domenica si faceva animo ad accostarsi un poco più, sino a mettersi a sedere sullo scalino del ballatoio accanto, colle mani penzoloni fra le cosce; e raccontava nel crocchio come si facesse a pescare le rane, che ci voleva una malizia del diavolo. Egli era malizioso peggio di un asino rosso, Pino il Tomo, e aspettava che le comari se ne andassero per dire alla gnà Lucia: – E' ci vuol la pioggia pei seminati! – oppure: – Le olive saranno scarse quest'anno.
– A voi cosa ve ne importa? che campate sulle rane – gli diceva Lucia.
– Sentite, sorella mia, siamo tutti come le dita della mano; e come gli embrici, che uno dà acqua all'altro. Se non si raccoglie né grano, né olio, non entrano denari in paese, e nessuno mi compra le mie rane. Vi capacita?
Alla ragazza quel «sorella mia» le scendeva al cuore dolce come il miele, e ci ripensava tutta la sera, mentre filava zitta accanto al lume; e ci mulinava, ci mulinava sopra, come il fuso che frullava.
La mamma, sembrava che glielo leggesse nel fuso, e come da un par di settimane non si udivano più ariette alla sera, né si vedeva passare quello che vendeva le rane, diceva colla nuora: – Com'è tristo l'inverno! Ora non si sente più un'anima pel vicinato.
Adesso bisognava tener l'uscio chiuso, pel freddo, e dallo sportello non si vedeva altro che la finestra di rimpetto, nera dalla pioggia, o qualche vicino che tornava a casa, sotto il cappotto fradicio. Ma Pino il Tomo non si faceva più vivo, che se un povero malato aveva bisogno di un po' di brodo di rane, diceva la Lucia, non sapeva come fare.
– Sarà andato a buscarsi il pane in qualche altro modo – rispondeva la cognata. – Quello è un mestiere povero, di chi non sa far altro.
Santo, che un sabato sera aveva inteso la chiacchiera, per amor della sorella, le faceva il predicozzo:
– A me non mi piace questa storia del Tomo. Bel partito che sarebbe per mia sorella! Uno che campa delle rane, e sta colle gambe in molle tutto il giorno! Tu devi cercarti un campagnuolo, ché se non ha roba, almeno è fatto della stessa pasta tua.
Lucia stava zitta, a capo basso e colle ciglia aggrottate, e alle volte si mordeva le labbra per non spiattellare: – Dove lo trovo il campagnuolo? – Come se stesse a lei a trovare! Quello solo che aveva trovato, ora non si faceva più vivo, forse perché la _Rossa_ gli aveva fatto qualche partaccia, invidiosa e pettegola com'era. Già Santo parlava sempre per dettato di sua moglie, la quale andava dicendo che quello delle rane era un fannullone, e certo era arrivata all'orecchio di compare Pino.
Perciò ad ogni momento scoppiava la guerra tra le due cognate:
– Qui la padrona, non son io! – brontolava Lucia. – In questa casa la padrona è quella che ha saputo abbindolare mio fratello, e chiapparlo per marito.
– Se sapevo quel che veniva dopo, non l'abbindolavo, no, vostro fratello; ché se prima avevo bisogno di un pane, adesso ce ne vogliono cinque.
– A voi che ve ne importa se quello delle rane ha un mestiere o no? Quando fosse mio marito, ci avrebbe a pensar lui a mantenermi.
La mamma, poveretta, si metteva di mezzo, colle buone; ma era donna di poche parole, e non sapeva far altro che correre dall'una all'altra, colle mani nei capelli, balbettando: – Per carità! per carità! – Ma le donne non le davano retta nemmeno, piantandosi le unghie sulla faccia, dopo che la _Rossa_ si lasciò scappare una parolaccia «Arrabbiata!».
– Arrabbiata tu! che m'hai rubato il fratello!
Allora sopravveniva Santo, e le picchiava tutte e due per metter pace, e la _Rossa_ , piangendo, brontolava:
– Io dicevo per suo bene! ché quando una si marita senza roba, poi i guai vengono presto.
E alla sorella che strillava e si strappava i capelli, Santo per rabbonirla tornava a dire:
– Cosa vuoi che ci faccia, ora ch'è mia moglie? Ma ti vuol bene e parla pel tuo meglio. Lo vedi che bel guadagno ci abbiamo fatto noi due a maritarci?
Lucia si lagnava colla mamma.
– Io voglio farci il guadagno che ci han fatto loro! Piuttosto voglio andare a servire! Qui se si fa vedere un cristiano, ve lo scacciano via. – E pensava a quello delle rane che non si lasciava più vedere.
Dopo si venne a conoscere che era andato a stare colla vedova di massaro Mariano; anzi volevano maritarsi: perché è vero che non aveva un mestiere, ma era un pezzo di giovanotto fatto senza risparmio, e bello come san Vito in carne e in ossa addirittura; e la sciancata aveva roba da pigliarsi il marito che gli pareva e piaceva.
– Guardate qua, compare Pino – gli diceva: – questa è tutta roba bianca, questi son tutti orecchini e collane d'oro; in questa giara qui ci son 12 cafisi d'olio; e quel graticcio è pieno di fave. Se voi siete contento, potete vivere colle mani sulla pancia, e non avrete più bisogno di stare a mezza gamba nel pantano per acchiappar le rane.
– Per me sarei contento – diceva il Tomo. Ma pensava agli occhi neri di Lucia, che lo cercavano di sotto all'impannata della finestra, e ai fianchi della sciancata, che si dimenavano come quelli delle rane, mentre andava di qua e di là per la casa, a fargli vedere tutta quella roba. Però una volta che non aveva potuto buscarsi un grano da tre giorni, e gli era toccato stare in casa della vedova, a mangiare e bere, e a veder piovere dall'uscio, si persuase a dir di sì, per amor del pane.
– È stato per amor del pane, vi giuro! – diceva egli colle mani in croce, quando tornò a cercar comare Lucia dinanzi all'uscio. – Se non fosse stato per la malannata, non sposavo la sciancata, comare Lucia!
– Andate a contarglielo alla sciancata! – gli rispondeva la ragazza, verde dalla bile. – Questo solo voglio dirvi: che qui non ci avete a metter più piede.
E la sciancata gli diceva anche lei che non ci mettesse più piede, se no lo scacciava di casa sua, nudo e affamato come l'aveva preso. – Non sai che, prima a Dio, mi hai obbligo del pane che ti mangi?
A suo marito non gli mancava nulla: lui ben vestito, ben pasciuto, colle scarpe ai piedi, senza aver altro da fare che bighellonare in piazza tutto il giorno, dall'ortolano, dal beccaio, dal pescatore, colle mani dietro la schiena, e il ventre pieno, a veder contrattare la roba. – Quello è il suo mestiere, di fare il vagabondo! – diceva la _Rossa._ E Lucia rimbeccava che non faceva nulla perché aveva la moglie ricca che lo campava. – Se sposava me avrebbe lavorato per campar la moglie. – Santo, colla testa sulle mani, rifletteva che sua madre glielo aveva consigliato, di pigliarsela lui la sciancata, e la colpa era sua di essersi lasciato sfuggire il pan di bocca.
– Quando siamo giovani – predicava alla sorella – ci abbiamo in capo gli stessi grilli che hai tu adesso, e cerchiamo soltanto quel che ci piace, senza pensare al poi. Domandalo ora alla _Rossa_ se si dovesse tornare a fare quel che abbiamo fatto!...
La _Rossa_ , accoccolata sulla soglia, approvava col capo, mentre i suoi marmocchi le strillavano intorno, tirandola per le vesti e pei capelli. – Almeno il Signore Iddio non dovrebbe mandarci la croce dei figliuoli! – piagnucolava.
Dei figliuoli quelli che poteva se li tirava dietro nel campo, ogni mattina, come una giumenta i suoi puledri; la piccina dentro le bisacce, sulla schiena, e la più grandicella per mano. Ma gli altri tre però era costretta lasciarli a casa, a far disperare la cognata. Quella della bisaccia, e quella che trotterellava dietro zoppicando, strillavano in concerto per la viottola, al freddo dell'alba bianca, e la mamma di tanto in tanto doveva fermarsi, grattandosi la testa e sospirando: – Oh, Signore Iddio! – e scaldava col fiato le manine pavonazze della piccina, o tirava fuori dal sacco la lattante per darle la poppa, seguitando a camminare. Suo marito andava innanzi, curvo sotto il carico, e si voltava appena per darle il tempo di raggiungerlo tutta affannata, tirandosi dietro la bambina per la mano, e col petto nudo – non era per guardare i capelli della _Rossa_ , oppure il petto che facesse l'onda dentro il busto, come al Castelluccio. Adesso la _Rossa_ lo buttava fuori al sole e al gelo, come roba la quale non serve ad altro che a dar latte, tale e quale come una giumenta. – Una vera bestia da lavoro – quanto a ciò non poteva lagnarsi suo marito – a zappare, a mietere e a seminare, meglio di un uomo, quando tirava su le gonnelle, colle gambe nere sino a metà, nel seminato. Ora ella aveva ventisette anni, e tutt'altro da fare che badare alle scarpette e alle calze turchine. – Siamo vecchi, diceva suo marito, e bisogna pensare ai figliuoli. – Almeno si aiutavano l'un l'altro come due buoi dello stesso aratro. Questo era adesso il matrimonio.
– Pur troppo lo so anch'io! – brontolava Lucia – che ho i guai dei figli, senza aver marito. Quando chiude gli occhi quella vecchierella, se vogliono darmi ancora un pezzo di pane me lo danno. Ma se no, mi mettono in mezzo a una strada.
La mamma, poveretta, non sapeva che rispondere, e stava a sentirla, seduta accanto al letto, col fazzoletto in testa, e la faccia gialla dalla malattia. Di giorno s'affacciava sull'uscio, al sole, e ci stava quieta e zitta sino all'ora in cui il tramonto impallidiva sui tetti nerastri dirimpetto, e le comari chiamavano a raccolta le galline.
Soltanto, quando veniva il dottore a visitarla, e la figliuola le accostava alla faccia la candela, domandava al medico, con un sorriso timido:
– Per carità, vossignoria... È cosa lunga?
Santo, che aveva un cuor d'oro, rispondeva:
– Non me ne importa di spendere in medicine, finché quella povera vecchierella resta qui, e so di trovarla nel suo cantuccio tornando a casa. Poi ha lavorato anch'essa la sua parte, quand'era tempo; e allorché saremo vecchi, i nostri figli faranno altrettanto per noi.
E accadde pure che Carmenio al Camemi aveva acchiappato le febbri. Se il padrone fosse stato ricco gli avrebbe comperato le medicine; ma curatolo Vito era un povero diavolo che campava su di quel po' di mandra, e il ragazzo lo teneva proprio per carità, ché quelle quattro pecore avrebbe potuto guardarsele lui, se non fosse stata la paura della malaria. Poi voleva fare anche l'opera buona di dar pane all'orfanello di compare Nanni, per ingraziarsi la Provvidenza che doveva aiutarlo, doveva, se c'era giustizia in cielo. Che poteva farci se possedeva soltanto quel pezzetto di pascolo al Camemi, dove la malaria quagliava come la neve, e Carmenio aveva presa la terzana? Un dì che il ragazzo si sentiva le ossa rotte dalla febbre, e si lasciò vincere dal sonno a ridosso di un pietrone che stampava l'ombra nera sulla viottola polverosa, mentre i mosconi ronzavano nell'afa di maggio, le pecore irruppero nei seminati del vicino, un povero maggese grande quanto un fazzoletto da naso, che l'arsura s'era mezzo mangiato. Nonostante zio Cheli, rincantucciato sotto un tettuccio di frasche, lo guardava come la pupilla degli occhi suoi, quel seminato che gli costava tanti sudori, ed era la speranza dell'annata. Al vedere le pecore che scorazzavano. – Ah! che non ne mangiano pane, quei cristiani? – E Carmenio si svegliò alle busse ed ai calci dello zio Cheli, il quale si mise a correre come un pazzo dietro le pecore sbandate, piangendo ed urlando. Ci volevano proprio quelle legnate per Carmenio, colle ossa che gli aveva già rotte la terzana! Ma gli pagava forse il danno al vicino cogli strilli e cogli ahimè? – Un'annata persa, ed i miei figli senza pane quest'inverno! Ecco il danno che hai fatto, assassino! Se ti levassi la pelle non basterebbe!
Zio Cheli si cercò i testimonii per citarli dinanzi al giudice colle pecore di curatolo Vito. Questi, al giungergli della citazione, fu come un colpo d'accidente per lui e sua moglie. – Ah! quel birbante di Carmenio ci ha rovinati del tutto! Andate a far del bene, che ve lo rendono in tal maniera! Potevo forse stare nella malaria a guardare le pecore? Ora lo zio Cheli finisce di farci impoverire a spese! – Il poveretto corse al Camemi nell'ora di mezzogiorno, che non ci vedeva dagli occhi dalla disperazione, per tutte le disgrazie che gli piovevano addosso, e ad ogni pedata e ad ogni sorgozzone che assestava a Carmenio, balbettava ansante: – Tu ci hai ridotti sulla paglia! Tu ci hai rovinato, brigante! – Non vedete come son ridotto? – cercava di rispondere Carmenio parando le busse. – Che colpa ci ho se non potevo stare in piedi dalla febbre? Mi colse a tradimento, là, sotto il pietrone! – Ma tant'è dovette far fagotto su due piedi, dir addio al credito di due onze che ci aveva con curatolo Vito, e lasciar la mandra. Che curatolo Vito si contentava di pigliar lui le febbri un'altra volta, tante erano le sue disgrazie.
A casa Carmenio non disse niente, tornando nudo e crudo, col fagotto in spalla infilato al bastone. Solo la mamma si rammaricava di vederlo così pallido e sparuto, e non sapeva che pensare. Lo seppe più tardi da don Venerando, che stava di casa lì vicino, e aveva pure della terra al Camemi, al limite del maggese dello zio Cheli.
– Non dire il motivo per cui lo zio Vito ti ha mandato via! – suggeriva la mamma al ragazzo – se no, nessuno ti piglia per garzone. – E Santo aggiungeva pure:
– Non dir nulla che hai la terzana, se no nessuno ti vuole, sapendo che sei malato.
Però don Venerando lo prese per la sua mandra di Santa Margherita, dove il curatolo lo rubava a man salva, e gli faceva più danno delle pecore nel seminato. – Ti darò io le medicine; così non avrai il pretesto di metterti a dormire, e di lasciarmi scorazzare le pecore dove vogliono. Don Venerando aveva preso a benvolere tutta la famiglia per amor della Lucia, che la vedeva dal terrazzino quando pigliava il fresco al dopopranzo. – Se volete darmi anche la ragazza gli dò sei tarì al mese. – E diceva pure che Carmenio avrebbe potuto andarsene colla madre a Santa Margherita, perché la vecchia perdeva terreno di giorno in giorno, e almeno alla mandra non le sarebbero mancate le ova, il latte e il brodo di carne di pecora, quando ne moriva qualcuna. La _Rossa_ si spogliò del meglio e del buono per metterle insieme un fagottino di roba bianca. Ora veniva il tempo della semina, loro non potevano andare e venire tutti i giorni da Licciardo, e la scarsezza d'ogni cosa arrivava coll'inverno. Lucia stavolta diceva davvero che voleva andarsene a servire in casa di don Venerando.
Misero la vecchiarella sul somaro, Santo da un lato e Carmenio dall'altro, colla roba in groppa; e la mamma, mentre si lasciava fare, diceva alla figliuola, guardandola cogli occhi grevi sulla faccia scialba:
– Chissà se ci vedremo? Chissà se ci vedremo? Hanno detto che tornerò in aprile. Tu statti col timor di Dio, in casa del padrone. Là almeno non ti mancherà nulla.
Lucia singhiozzava nel grembiale; ed anche la _Rossa_ , poveretta. In quel momento avevano fatto la pace, e si tenevano abbracciate, piangendo insieme. – La _Rossa_ ha il cuore buono – diceva suo marito. – Il guaio è che non siamo ricchi, per volerci sempre bene. Le galline quando non hanno nulla da beccare nella stia, si beccano fra di loro.
Lucia adesso era ben collocata, in casa di don Venerando, e diceva che voleva lasciarla soltanto dopo ch'era morta, come si suole, per dimostrare la gratitudine al padrone. Aveva pane e minestra quanta ne voleva, un bicchiere di vino al giorno, e il suo piatto di carne la domenica e le feste. Intanto la mesata le restava in tasca tale e quale, e la sera aveva tempo anche di filarsi la roba bianca della dote per suo conto. Il partito ce l'aveva già sotto gli occhi nella stessa casa: Brasi, lo sguattero che faceva la cucina, e aiutava anche nelle cose di campagna quando bisognava. Il padrone s'era arricchito allo stesso modo, stando al servizio del barone, ed ora aveva il don, e poderi e bestiami a bizzeffe. A Lucia, perché veniva da una famiglia benestante caduta in bassa fortuna, e si sapeva che era onesta, le avevano assegnate le faccende meno dure, lavare i piatti, scendere in cantina, e governare il pollaio; con un sottoscala per dormirvi che pareva uno stanzino, e il letto, il cassettone e ogni cosa; talché Lucia voleva lasciarli soltanto dopo che era morta. In quel mentre faceva l'occhietto a Brasi, e gli confidava che fra due o tre anni ci avrebbe avuto un gruzzoletto, e poteva «andare al mondo», se il Signore la chiamava.
Brasi da quell'orecchio non ci sentiva. Ma gli piaceva la Lucia, coi suoi occhi di carbone, e la grazia di Dio che ci aveva addosso. A lei pure le piaceva Brasi, piccolo, ricciuto, col muso fino e malizioso di can volpino. Mentre lavavano i piatti o mettevano legna sotto il calderotto, egli inventava ogni monelleria per farla ridere, come se le facesse il solletico. Le spruzzava l'acqua sulla nuca e le ficcava delle foglie d'indivia fra le trecce. Lucia strillava sottovoce, perché non udissero i padroni; si rincantucciava nell'angolo del forno, rossa in viso al pari della bragia, e gli gettava in faccia gli strofinacci ed i sarmenti, mentre l'acqua gli sgocciolava nella schiena come una delizia.
– «E colla carne si fa le polpette – fate la vostra, ché la mia l'ho fatta».
– Io no! – rispondeva Lucia. – A me non mi piacciono questi scherzi.
Brasi fingeva di restare mortificato. Raccattava la foglia d'indivia che gli aveva buttato in faccia, e se la ficcava in petto, dentro la camicia, brontolando:
– Questa è roba mia. Io non vi tocco. È roba mia e ha da star qui. Se volete mettervi della roba mia allo stesso posto, a voi! – E faceva atto di strapparsi una manciata di capelli per offrirglieli, cacciando fuori tanto di lingua.
Ella lo picchiava con certi pugni sodi da contadina che lo facevano aggobbire, e gli davano dei cattivi sogni la notte, diceva lui. Lo pigliava pei capelli, come un cagnuolo, e sentiva un certo piacere a ficcare le dita in quella lana morbida e ricciuta.
– Sfogatevi! sfogatevi! Io non sono permaloso come voi, e mi lascierei pestare come la salsiccia dalle vostre mani.
Una volta don Venerando li sorprese in quei giuochetti e fece una casa del diavolo. Tresche non ne voleva in casa sua; se no li scacciava fuori a pedate tutt'e due. Piuttosto quando trovava la ragazza sola in cucina, le pigliava il ganascino, e voleva accarezzarla con due dita.
– No! no! – replicava Lucia. – A me questi scherzi non mi piacciono. Se no piglio la mia roba e me ne vado.
– Di lui ti piacciono, di lui! E di me che sono il padrone, no? Cosa vuol dire questa storia? Non sai che posso regalarti degli anelli e dei pendenti di oro, e farti la dote, se ne ho voglia?
Davvero poteva fargliela, confermava Brasi, che il padrone aveva denari quanti ne voleva, e sua moglie portava il manto di seta come una signora, adesso che era magra e vecchia peggio di una mummia; per questo suo marito scendeva in cucina a dir le barzellette colle ragazze. Poi ci veniva per guardarsi i suoi interessi, quanta legna ardeva e quanta carne mettevano al fuoco. Era ricco, sì, ma sapeva quel che ci vuole a far la roba, e litigava tutto il giorno con sua moglie, la quale aveva dei fumi in testa, ora che faceva la signora, e si lagnava del fumo dei sarmenti e del cattivo odore delle cipolle.
– La dote voglio farmela io colle mie mani – rimbeccava Lucia. – La figlia di mia madre vuol restare una ragazza onorata, se un cristiano la cerca in moglie.
– E tu restaci! – rispondeva il padrone. – Vedrai che bella dote! e quanti verranno a cercartela la tua onestà!
Se i maccheroni erano troppo cotti, se Lucia portava in tavola due ova al tegame che sentivano l'arsiccio, don Venerando la strapazzava per bene, al cospetto della moglie, tutto un altro uomo, col ventre avanti e la voce alta. – Che credevano di far l'intruglio pel maiale? Con due persone di servizio che se lo mangiavano vivo! Un'altra volta le buttava la grazia di Dio sulla faccia! – La signora, benedetta, non voleva quegli schiamazzi, per via dei vicini, e rimandava la serva strillando in falsetto:
– Vattene in cucina; levati di qua, sciamannona! paneperso!
Lucia andava a piangere nel cantuccio del forno, ma Brasi la consolava, con quella sua faccia da mariuolo:
– Cosa ve ne importa? Lasciateli cantare! Se si desse retta ai padroni, poveri noi! Le ova sentivano l'arsiccio? Peggio per loro! Non potevo spaccar la legna nel cortile, e rivoltar le ova nel tempo istesso. Mi fanno far da cuoco e da garzone, e vogliono essere serviti come il re! Che non si rammentano più quando lui mangiava pane e cipolla sotto un olivo, e lei gli coglieva le spighe nel campo?
Allora serva e cuoco si confidavano la loro «mala sorte» che nascevano di «gente rispettata» e i loro parenti erano stati più ricchi del padrone, già tempo. Il padre di Brasi era carradore, nientemeno! e la colpa era del figliuolo che non aveva voluto attendere al mestiere, e si era incapriccito a vagabondare per le fiere, dietro il carretto del merciaiuolo: con lui aveva imparato a cucinare e a governar le bestie.
Lucia ricominciava la litania dei suoi guai: – il babbo, il bestiame, la _Rossa_ , le malannate: – tutt'e due gli stessi, lei e Brasi, in quella cucina; parevano fatti l'uno per l'altra.
– La storia di vostro fratello colla _Rossa_? – rispondeva Brasi. – Grazie tante! – Però non voleva darle quell'affronto lì sul mostaccio. Non gliene importava nulla che ella fosse una contadina. Non ricusava per superbia. Erano poveri tutti e due e sarebbe stato meglio buttarsi nella cisterna con un sasso al collo.
Lucia mandò giù tutto quell'amaro senza dir motto, e se voleva piangere andava a nascondersi nel sottoscala, o nel cantuccio del forno, quando non c'era Brasi. Ormai a quel cristiano gli voleva bene, collo stare insieme davanti al fuoco tutto il giorno. I rabbuffi, le sgridate del padrone, li pigliava per sé, e lasciava a lui il miglior piatto, il bicchier di vino più colmo, andava in corte a spaccar la legna per lui, e aveva imparato a rivoltare le ova e a scodellare i maccheroni in punto. Brasi, come la vedeva fare la croce, colla scodella sulle ginocchia, prima d'accingersi a mangiare, le diceva:
– Che non avete visto mai grazia di Dio?
Egli si lamentava sempre e di ogni cosa: che era una galera, e che aveva soltanto tre ore alla sera da andare a spasso o all'osteria; e se Lucia qualche volta arrivava a dirgli, col capo basso, e facendosi rossa:
– Perché ci andate all'osteria? Lasciatela stare l'osteria, che non fa per voi.
– Si vede che siete una contadina! – rispondeva lui. – Voi altri credete che all'osteria ci sia il diavolo. Io son nato da maestri di bottega, mia cara. Non son mica un villano!
– Lo dico per vostro bene. Vi spendete i soldi, e poi c'è sempre il caso d'attaccar lite con qualcheduno.
Brasi si sentì molle a quelle parole e a quegli occhi che evitavano di guardarlo. E si godeva il solluchero:
– O a voi cosa ve ne importa?
– Nulla me ne importa. Lo dico per voi.
– O voi non vi seccate a star qui in casa tutto il giorno?
– No, ringrazio Iddio del come sto, e vorrei che i miei parenti fossero come me, che non mi manca nulla.
Ella stava spillando il vino, accoccolata colla mezzina fra le gambe, e Brasi era sceso con lei in cantina a farle lume. Come la cantina era grande e scura al pari di una chiesa, e non si udiva una mosca in quel sotterraneo, soli tutti e due, Brasi e Lucia, egli le mise un braccio al collo e la baciò su quella bocca rossa al pari del corallo.
La poveretta l'aspettava sgomenta, mentre stava china tenendo gli occhi sulla brocca, e tacevano entrambi, e udiva il fiato grosso di lui, e il gorgogliare del vino. Ma pure mise un grido soffocato, cacciandosi indietro tutta tremante, così che un po' di spuma rossa si versò per terra.
– O che è stato? – esclamò Brasi. – Come se v'avessi dato uno schiaffo! Dunque non è vero che mi volete bene?
Ella non osava guardarlo in faccia, e si struggeva dalla voglia. Badava al vino versato, imbarazzata, balbettando:
– O povera me! o povera me! che ho fatto? Il vino del padrone!...
– Eh! lasciate correre; ché ne ha tanto il padrone. Date retta a me piuttosto. Che non mi volete bene? Ditelo, sì o no!
Ella stavolta si lasciò prendere la mano, senza rispondere, e quando Brasi le chiese che gli restituisse il bacio, ella glielo diede, rossa di una cosa che non era vergogna soltanto.
– Che non ne avete avuti mai? – domandava Brasi ridendo. – O bella! siete tutta tremante come se avessi detto di ammazzarvi.
– Sì, vi voglio bene anch'io – rispose lei; – e mi struggevo di dirvelo. Se tremo ancora non ci badate. È stata per la paura del vino.
– O guarda! anche voi? E da quando! Perché non me lo avete detto?
– Da quando s'è parlato che eravamo fatti l'uno per l'altro.
– Ah! – disse Brasi, grattandosi il capo. – Andiamo di sopra, che può venire il padrone.
Lucia era tutta contenta dopo quel bacio, e le sembrava che Brasi le avesse suggellato sulla bocca la promessa di sposarla. Ma lui non ne parlava neppure, e se la ragazza gli toccava quel tasto, rispondeva:
– Che premura hai? Poi è inutile mettersi il giogo sul collo, quando possiamo stare insieme come se fossimo maritati.
– No, non è lo stesso. Ora voi state per conto vostro ed io per conto mio; ma quando ci sposeremo, saremo una cosa sola.
– Una bella cosa saremo! Poi non siamo fatti della stessa pasta. Pazienza, se tu avessi un po' di dote!
– Ah! che cuore nero avete voi! No! Voi non mi avete voluto bene mai!
– Sì, che ve n'ho voluto. E son qui tutto per voi; ma senza parlar di quella cosa.
– No! Non ne mangio di quel pane! lasciatemi stare, e non mi guardate più!
Ora lo sapeva com'erano fatti gli uomini. Tutti bugiardi e traditori. Non voleva sentirne più parlare. Voleva buttarsi nella cisterna piuttosto a capo in giù; voleva farsi _Figlia di Maria_ ; voleva prendere il suo buon nome e gettarlo dalla finestra! A che le serviva, senza dote? Voleva rompersi il collo con quel vecchiaccio del padrone, e procurarsi la dote colla sua vergogna. Ormai!... Ormai!... Don Venerando l'era sempre attorno, ora colle buone, ora colle cattive, per guardarsi i suoi interessi, se mettevano troppa legna al fuoco, quanto olio consumavano per la frittura, mandava via Brasi a comprargli un soldo di tabacco, e cercava di pigliare Lucia pel ganascino, correndole dietro per la cucina, in punta di piedi perché sua moglie non udisse, rimproverando la ragazza che gli mancava di rispetto, col farlo correre a quel modo! – No! no! – ella pareva una gatta inferocita. – Piuttosto pigliava la sua roba, e se ne andava via! – E che mangi? E dove lo trovi un marito senza dote? Guarda questi orecchini! Poi ti regalerei 20 onze per la tua dote. Brasi per 20 onze si fa cavare tutti e due gli occhi!
Ah! quel cuore nero di Brasi! La lasciava nelle manacce del padrone, che la brancicavano tremanti! La lasciava col pensiero della mamma che poco poteva campare, della casa saccheggiata e piena di guai, di Pino il Tomo che l'aveva piantata per andare a mangiare il pane della vedova! La lasciava colla tentazione degli orecchini e delle 20 onze nella testa!
E un giorno entrò in cucina colla faccia tutta stravolta, e i pendenti d'oro che gli sbattevano sulle guance. Brasi sgranava gli occhi, e le diceva:
– Come siete bella così, comare Lucia!
– Ah! vi piaccio così? Va bene, va bene!
Brasi ora che vedeva gli orecchini e tutto il resto, si sbracciava a mostrarsi servizievole e premuroso quasi ella fosse diventata un'altra padrona. Le lasciava il piatto più colmo, e il posto migliore accanto al fuoco. Con lei si sfogava a cuore aperto, ché erano poverelli tutte e due, e faceva bene all'anima confidare i guai a una persona che si vuol bene. Se appena appena fosse arrivato a possedere 20 onze, egli metteva su una piccola bettola e prendeva moglie. Lui in cucina, e lei al banco. Così non si stava più al comando altrui. Il padrone se voleva far loro del bene, lo poteva fare senza scomodarsi, giacché 20 onze per lui erano come una presa di tabacco. E Brasi non sarebbe stato schizzinoso, no! Una mano lava l'altra a questo mondo. E non era sua colpa se cercava di guadagnarsi il pane come poteva. Povertà non è peccato.
Ma Lucia si faceva rossa, o pallida, o le si gonfiavano gli occhi di pianto, e si nascondeva il volto nel grembiale. Dopo qualche tempo non si lasciò più vedere nemmeno fuori di casa, né a messa, né a confessare, né a Pasqua, né a Natale.
In cucina si cacciava nell'angolo più scuro, col viso basso, infagottata nella veste nuova che le aveva regalato il padrone, larga di cintura.
Brasi la consolava con buone parole. Le metteva un braccio al collo, le palpava la stoffa fine del vestito, e gliela lodava. Quegli orecchini d'oro parevano fatti per lei. Uno che è ben vestito e ha denari in tasca non ha motivo di vergognarsi e di tenere gli occhi bassi; massime poi quando gli occhi son belli come quelli di comare Lucia. La poveretta si faceva animo a fissarglieli in viso, ancora sbigottita, e balbettava:
– Davvero, mastro Brasi? Mi volete ancora bene?
– Sì, sì, ve ne vorrei! – rispondeva Brasi colla mano sulla coscienza. Ma che colpa ci ho se non sono ricco per sposarvi? Se aveste 20 onze di dote vi sposerei ad occhi chiusi.
Don Venerando adesso aveva preso a ben volere anche lui, e gli regalava i vestiti smessi e gli stivali rotti. Allorché scendeva in cantina gli dava un bel gotto di vino, dicendogli:
– Te'! bevi alla mia salute.
E il pancione gli ballava dal tanto ridere, al vedere le smorfie che faceva Brasi, e al sentirlo barbugliare alla Lucia, pallido come un morto:
– Il padrone è un galantuomo, comare Lucia! lasciate ciarlare i vicini, tutta gente invidiosa, che muore di fame, e vorrebbero essere al vostro posto.
Santo, il fratello, udì la cosa in piazza qualche mese dopo. E corse dalla moglie trafelato. Poveri erano sempre stati, ma onorati. La _Rossa_ allibì anch'essa, e corse dalla cognata tutta sottosopra, che non poteva spiccicar parola. Ma quando tornò a casa da suo marito, era tutt'altra, serena e colle rose in volto.
– Se tu vedessi! Un cassone alto così di roba bianca! anelli, pendenti e collane d'oro fine. Poi vi son anche 20 onze di danaro per la dote. Una vera provvidenza di Dio!
– Non monta! – Tornava a dire di tanto in tanto il fratello, il quale non sapeva capacitarsene. – Almeno avesse aspettato che chiudeva gli occhi nostra madre!...
Questo poi accadde l'anno della neve, che crollarono buon numero di tetti, e nel territorio ci fu una gran mortalità di bestiame, Dio liberi!
Alla Lamia e per la montagna di Santa Margherita, come vedevano scendere quella sera smorta, carica di nuvoloni di malaugurio, che i buoi si voltavano indietro sospettosi, e muggivano, la gente si affacciava dinanzi ai casolari, a guardar lontano verso il mare, colla mano sugli occhi, senza dir nulla. La campana del Monastero Vecchio, in cima al paese, suonava per scongiurare la malanotte, e sul poggio del Castello c'era un gran brulichìo di comari, nere sull'orizzonte pallido, a vedere in cielo _la coda del drago_ , una striscia color di pece, che puzzava di zolfo, dicevano, e voleva essere una brutta notte. Le donne gli facevano gli scongiuri colle dita, al drago, gli mostravano l'abitino della Madonna sul petto nudo, e gli sputavano in faccia, tirando giù la croce sull'ombelico, e pregavano Dio e le anime del purgatorio, e Santa Lucia, che era la sua vigilia, di proteggere i campi, e le bestie, e i loro uomini anch'essi, chi ce li avea fuori del paese. Carmenio al principio dell'inverno era andato colla mandra a Santa Margherita. La mamma quella sera non istava bene, e si affannava pel lettuccio, cogli occhi spalancati, e non voleva star più quieta come prima, e voleva questo, e voleva quell'altro, e voleva alzarsi, e voleva che la voltassero dall'altra parte. Carmenio un po' era corso di qua e di là, a darle retta, e cercare di fare qualche cosa. Poi si era piantato dinanzi al letto, sbigottito, colle mani nei capelli.
Il casolare era dall'altra parte del torrente, in fondo alla valle, fra due grossi pietroni che gli si arrampicavano sul tetto. Di faccia, la costa, ritta in piedi, cominciava a scomparire nel buio che saliva dal vallone, brulla e nera di sassi, fra i quali si perdeva la striscia biancastra del viottolo. Al calar del sole erano venuti i vicini della mandra dei fichidindia, a vedere se occorreva nulla per l'inferma, che non si moveva più nel suo lettuccio, colla faccia in aria e la fuliggine al naso.
– Cattivo segno! – aveva detto curatolo Decu. – Se non avessi lassù le pecore, con questo tempo che si prepara, non ti lascierei solo stanotte. Chiamami, se mai!
Carmenio rispondeva di sì, col capo appoggiato allo stipite; ma vedendolo allontanare passo passo, che si perdeva nella notte, aveva una gran voglia di corrergli dietro, di mettersi a gridare, di strapparsi i capelli – non sapeva che cosa.
– Se mai – gli gridò curatolo Decu da lontano – corri fino alla mandra dei fichidindia, lassù, che c'è gente.
La mandra si vedeva tuttora sulla roccia, verso il cielo, per quel po' di crepuscolo che si raccoglieva in cima ai monti, e straforava le macchie dei fichidindia. Lontan lontano, alla Lamia e verso la pianura, si udiva l'uggiolare dei cani auuuh!... auuuh!... auuuh!... che arrivava appena sin là, e metteva freddo nelle ossa. Le pecore allora si spingevano a scorazzare in frotta pel chiuso, prese da un terrore pazzo, quasi sentissero il lupo nelle vicinanze, e a quello squillare brusco di campanacci sembrava che le tenebre si accendessero di tanti occhi infuocati, tutto in giro. Poi le pecore si arrestavano immobili, strette fra di loro, col muso a terra, e il cane finiva d'abbaiare in un uggiolato lungo e lamentevole, seduto sulla coda.
– Se sapevo! – pensava Carmenio – era meglio dire a curatolo Decu di non lasciarmi solo.
Di fuori, nelle tenebre, di tanto in tanto si udivano i campanacci della mandra che trasalivano. Dallo spiraglio si vedeva il quadro dell'uscio nero come la bocca di un forno; null'altro. E la costa dirimpetto, e la valle profonda, e la pianura della Lamia, tutto si sprofondava in quel nero senza fondo, che pareva si vedesse soltanto il rumore del torrente, laggiù, a montare verso il casolare, gonfio e minaccioso.
Se sapeva, anche questa! prima che annottasse correva al paese a chiamare il fratello; e certo a quell'ora sarebbe qui con lui, ed anche Lucia e la cognata.
Allora la mamma cominciò a parlare, ma non si capiva quello che dicesse, e brancolava pel letto colle mani scarne.
– Mamma! mamma! cosa volete? – domandava Carmenio – ditelo a me che son qui con voi!
Ma la mamma non rispondeva. Dimenava il capo anzi, come volesse dir no! no! non voleva. Il ragazzo le mise la candela sotto il naso, e scoppiò a piangere dalla paura.
– O mamma! mamma mia! – piagnucolava Carmenio – O che sono solo e non posso darvi aiuto!
Aprì l'uscio per chiamare quelli della mandra dei fichidindia. Ma nessuno l'udiva.
Dappertutto era un chiarore denso; sulla costa, nel vallone, laggiù al piano – come un silenzio fatto di bambagia. Ad un tratto arrivò soffocato il suono di una campana che veniva da lontano, 'nton! 'nton! 'nton! e pareva quagliasse nella neve.
– Oh, Madonna santissima! – singhiozzava Carmenio – Che sarà mai quella campana? O della mandra dei fichidindia, aiuto! O santi cristiani, aiuto! Aiuto, santi cristiani! – si mise a gridare.
Infine lassù, in cima al monte dei fichidindia, si udì una voce lontana, come la campana di Francofonte.
– Ooooh... cos'èeee? cos'èeee?...
– Aiuto, santi cristiani! aiuto, qui da curatolo Decuuu!...
– Ooooh... rincorrile le pecoreee!... rincorrileeee!...
– No! no! non son le pecore... non sono!
In quella passò una civetta, e si mise a stridere sul casolare.
– Ecco! – mormorò Carmenio facendosi la croce. – Ora la civetta ha sentito l'odore dei morti! Ora la mamma sta per morire!
A star solo nel casolare colla mamma, la quale non parlava più, gli veniva voglia di piangere. – Mamma, che avete? Mamma, rispondetemi? Mamma avete freddo? – Ella non fiatava, colla faccia scura. Accese il fuoco, fra i due sassi del focolare, e si mise a vedere come ardevano le frasche, che facevano una fiammata, e poi soffiavano come se ci dessero su delle parole.
Quando erano nelle mandre di Resecone, quello di Francofonte, a veglia, aveva narrato certe storie di streghe che montano a cavallo delle scope, e fanno degli scongiuri sulla fiamma del focolare. Carmenio si rammentava tuttora la gente della fattoria, raccolta ad ascoltare con tanto d'occhi, dinanzi al lumicino appeso al pilastro del gran palmento buio, che a nessuno gli bastava l'animo di andarsene a dormire nel suo cantuccio, quella sera.
Giusto ci aveva l'abitino della Madonna sotto la camicia, e la fettuccia di santa Agrippina legata al polso, che s'era fatta nera dal tempo. Nella stessa tasca ci aveva il suo zufolo di canna, che gli rammentava le sere d'estate – Juh! juh! – quando si lasciano entrare le pecore nelle stoppie gialle come l'oro, dappertutto, e i grilli scoppiettano nell'ora di mezzogiorno, e le lodole calano trillando a rannicchiarsi dietro le zolle col tramonto, e si sveglia l'odore della nepitella e del ramerino. – Juh! juh! Bambino Gesù! – A Natale, quando era andato al paese, suonavano così per la novena, davanti all'altarino illuminato e colle frasche d'arancio, e in ogni casa, davanti all'uscio, i ragazzi giocavano alla _fossetta_ , col bel sole di dicembre sulla schiena. Poi s'erano avviati per la messa di mezzanotte, in folla coi vicini, urtandosi e ridendo per le strade buie. Ah! perché adesso ci aveva quella spina in cuore? e la mamma che non diceva più nulla! Ancora per mezzanotte ci voleva un gran pezzo. Fra i sassi delle pareti senza intonaco pareva che ci fossero tanti occhi ad ogni buco, che guardavano dentro, nel focolare, gelati e neri.
Sul suo stramazzo, in un angolo, era buttato un giubbone, lungo disteso, che pareva le maniche si gonfiassero; e il diavolo del San Michele Arcangelo, nella immagine appiccicata a capo del lettuccio, digrignava i denti bianchi, colle mani nei capelli, fra i zig-zag rossi dell'inferno.
L'indomani, pallidi come tanti morti, arrivarono Santo, la _Rossa_ coi bambini dietro, e Lucia che in quell'angustia non pensava a nascondere il suo stato. Attorno al lettuccio della morta si strappavano i capelli, e si davano dei pugni in testa, senza pensare ad altro. Poi come Santo si accorse della sorella con tanto di pancia, ch'era una vergogna, si mise a dire in mezzo al piagnisteo:
– Almeno avesse lasciato chiudere gli occhi a quella vecchierella, almeno!...
E Lucia dal canto suo:
– L'avessi saputo, l'avessi! Non le facevo mancare il medico e lo speziale, ora che ho 20 onze.
– Ella è in Paradiso e prega Dio per noi peccatori; conchiuse la _Rossa._ Sa che la dote ce l'avete, ed è tranquilla, poveretta. Mastro Brasi ora vi sposerà di certo.
# I galantuomini
Sanno scrivere – qui sta il guaio. La brinata dell'alba scura, e il sollione della messe, se li pigliano come tutti gli altri poveri diavoli, giacché son fatti di carne e d'ossa come il prossimo, per andare a sorvegliare che il prossimo non rubi loro il tempo e il denaro della giornata. Ma se avete a far con essi, vi uncinano nome e cognome, e chi vi ha fatto, col beccuccio di quella penna, e non ve ne districate più dai loro libracci, inchiodati nel debito.
– Tu devi ancora due tumoli di grano dell'anno scorso.
– Signore, la raccolta fu scarsa!
– È colpa mia se non piovve? Dovevo forse abbeverare i seminati col bicchiere?
– Signore, gli ho dato il sangue mio alla vostra terra!
– Per questo ti pago, birbante! Ti pago a sangue d'uomo! Io mi dissanguo in spese di cultura, e poi se viene la malannata, mi piantate la mezzeria, e ve ne andate colla falce sotto l'ascella!
E dicono pure: «Val più un pezzente di un potente»; ché non si può cavargli la pelle pel suo debito. Per ciò chi non ha nulla deve pagar la terra più cara degli altri, – il padrone ci arrischia di più – e se la raccolta viene magra, il mezzadro è certo di non prender nulla, e andarsene via con la falce sotto l'ascella. Ma l'andarsene in tal modo è anche una brutta cosa, dopo un anno di fatiche, e colla prospettiva dell'inverno lungo senza pane.
È che la malannata caccia ad ognuno il diavolo in corpo. Una volta, alla messe, che pareva scomunicata da Dio, il frate della cerca arrivò verso mezzogiorno nel podere di don Piddu, spronando cogli zoccoli nella pancia della bella mula baia, e gridando da lontano: «Viva Gesù e Maria!».
Don Piddu era seduto su di un cestone sfondato, guardando tristamente l'aia magra, in mezzo alle stoppie riarse, sotto quel cielo di fuoco che non lo sentiva nemmeno sul capo nudo, dalla disperazione.
– Oh! la bella mula che avete, fra Giuseppe! La val meglio di quelle quattro rozze magre, che non hanno nulla da trebbiare né da mangiare!
– È la mula della questua – rispose fra Giuseppe. – Sia lodata la carità del prossimo. Vengo per la cerca.
– Beato voi che senza seminare raccogliete, e al tocco di campana scendete in refettorio, e vi mangiate la carità del prossimo! Io ho cinque figli, e devo pensare al pane per tutti loro. Guardate che bella raccolta! L'anno scorso mi avete acchiappato mezza salma di grano perché San Francesco mi mandasse la buonannata, e in compenso da tre mesi non piovve dal cielo altro che fuoco.
Fra Giuseppe si asciugava il sudore anche lui col fazzoletto da naso. – Avete caldo, fra Giuseppe? Ora vi faccio dare un rinfresco!
E glielo fece dare per forza da quattro contadini arrabbiati come lui, che gli arrovesciarono il saio sul capo, e gli buttavano addosso a secchi l'acqua verdastra del guazzatoio.
– Santo diavolone! – gridava don Piddu. – Poiché non giova nemmeno far la limosina a Cristo, voglio farla al diavolo un'altra volta!
E d'allora non volle più cappuccini per l'aia, e si contentò che per la questua venissero piuttosto quelli di San Francesco di Paola.
Fra Giuseppe se la legò al dito. – Ah! avete voluto veder le mie mutande, don Piddu? Io vi ridurrò senza mutande e senza camicia!
Era un pezzo di fratacchione con tanto di barba, e la collottola nera e larga come un bue di Modica, perciò nei vicoli e in tutti i cortili era l'oracolo delle comari e dei contadini.
– Con don Piddu non dovete averci a che fare. Guardate che è scomunicato da Dio, e la sua terra ha la maledizione addosso!
Quando venivano i missionari, negli ultimi giorni di carnevale, per gli esercizi spirituali della quaresima, e se c'era un peccatore o una mala femmina, od anche gente allegra, andavano a predicargli dietro l'uscio, in processione e colla disciplina al collo pei peccati altrui, fra Giuseppe additava la casa di don Piddu, che non gliene andava bene più una: le malannate, la mortalità nel bestiame, la moglie inferma, le figliuole da maritare, tutte già belle e pronte. Donna Saridda, la maggiore, aveva quasi trent'anni, e si chiamava ancora donna Saridda perché non crescesse tanto presto. Al festino del sindaco, il martedì grasso, aveva acchiappato finalmente uno sposo, ché Pietro Macca dal tinello li aveva visti stringersi la mano con don Giovannino, mentre andavano annaspando nella contraddanza. Don Piddu s'era levato il pan di bocca per condurre la figliuola al festino colla veste di seta aperta a cuore sul petto. Chissà mai! In quella i missionari predicavano contro le tentazioni davanti al portone del sindaco, per tutti quei peccati che si facevano là dentro, e dal sindaco dovettero chiudere le finestre, se no la gente dalla strada rompeva a sassate tutti i vetri.
Donna Saridda se ne tornò a casa tutta contenta, come se ci avesse in tasca il terno al lotto; e non dormì quella notte, pensando a don Giovannino, senza sapere che fra Giuseppe avesse a dirgli:
– Siete pazzo, vossignoria, ad entrare nella casata di don Piddu, che fra poco ci fanno il pignoramento?
Don Giovannino non badava alla dote. Ma il disonore del pignoramento poi era un altro par di maniche! La gente si affollava dinanzi al portone di don Piddu, a vedergli portar via gli armadi e i cassettoni, che lasciavano il segno bianco nel muro dove erano stati tanto tempo, e le figliuole pallide come cera, avevano un gran da fare per nascondere alla mamma, in fondo a un letto, quel che succedeva. Lei, poveretta, fingeva di non accorgersene. Prima era andata col marito a pregare, a scongiurare, dal notaio, dal giudice: – Pagheremo domani – pagheremo doman l'altro. – E tornavano a casa rasente al muro, lei colla faccia nascosta dentro il manto – ed era sangue di baroni! Il dì del pignoramento donna Saridda, colle lagrime agli occhi, era andata a chiudere tutte le finestre, perché quelli che son nati col _don_ vanno soggetti anche alla vergogna. Don Piddu, quando per carità l'avevano preso sorvegliante alle chiuse del Fiumegrande, nel tempo della messe, che la malaria si mangiava i cristiani, non gli rincresceva della malaria: gli doleva solo che i contadini, allorché questionavano con lui, mettevano da parte il _don_ , e lo trattavano a tu per tu.
Almeno un povero diavolo, sinché ha le braccia e la salute, trova da buscarsi il pane. – Quello che diceva don Marcantonio Malerba, quando cadde in povertà, carico di figliuoli, la moglie sempre gravida, che doveva fare il pane, preparare la minestra, la biancheria e scopar le stanze. I galantuomini hanno bisogno di tante altre cose, e sono avvezzi in altro modo. I ragazzi di don Marcantonio, quando stavano a ventre vuoto tutto un giorno, non dicevano nulla, ed il più grandicello, se il babbo lo mandava a comprare un pane a credenza, o un fascio di lattughe, ci andava di sera, a viso basso, nascondendolo sotto il mantello rattoppato.
Il papà si dava le mani attorno per buscare qualche cosa, pigliando un pezzo di terra in affitto, o a mezzeria. Tornava a piedi dalla campagna, più tardi di ogni altro, con quello straccio di scialle di sua moglie che chiamava _pled_ , e la sua brava giornata di zappare se la faceva anche lui, quando nella viottola non passava nessuno.
Poi la domenica andava a fare il galantuomo insieme agli altri nel casino di conversazione, ciaramellando in crocchio fra di loro, colle mani in tasca e il naso dentro il bavero del cappotto; o giuocavano a tressette colla mazza fra le gambe e il cappello in testa. Al tocco di mezzogiorno sgattaiolavano in furia chi di qua e chi di là, ed egli se ne andava a casa, come se ci avesse sempre pronto il desinare anche lui. – Che posso farci? diceva. A giornata non posso andarci coi miei figli! – Anche i ragazzi, allorché il padre li mandava a chiedere in prestito mezza salma di farro per la semina, o qualche tumolo di fave per la minestra, dallo zio Masi, o da massaro Pinu, si facevano rossi, e balbettavano come fossero già grandi.
Quando venne il fuoco da Mongibello, e distrusse vigne e oliveti, chi aveva braccia da lavorare almeno non moriva di fame. Ma i galantuomini che possedevano le loro terre da quelle parti, sarebbe stato meglio che la lava li avesse seppelliti coi poderi, loro, i figliuoli e ogni cosa. La gente che non ci aveva interesse andava a vedere il fuoco fuori del paese, colle mani in tasca. – Oggi aveva preso la vigna del tale, domani sarebbe entrato nel campo del tal altro; ora minacciava il ponte della strada, più tardi circondava la casetta a mano destra. Chi non stava a guardare si affaccendava a levar tegole, imposte, mobili, a sgombrar le camere, e salvar quello che si poteva, perdendo la testa nella fretta e nella disperazione, come un formicaio in scompiglio.
A don Marco gli portarono la notizia mentre era a tavola colla famiglia, dinanzi al piatto dei maccheroni. – Signor don Marco, la lava ha deviato dalla vostra parte, e più tardi avrete il fuoco nella vostra vigna. – Allo sventurato gli cadde di mano la forchetta. Il custode della vigna stava portando via gli attrezzi del palmento, le doghe delle botti, tutto quello che si poteva salvare, e sua moglie andava a piantare al limite della vigna le cannuccie colle immagini dei santi che dovevano proteggerla, biascicando avemarie.
Don Marco arrivò trafelato, cacciandosi innanzi l'asinello, in mezzo al nuvolone scuro che pioveva cenere. Dal cortiletto davanti al palmento si vedeva la montagna nera che si accatastava attorno alla vigna, fumando, franando qua e là, con un acciottolìo come se si fracassasse un monte di stoviglie, spaccandosi per lasciar vedere il fuoco rosso che bolliva dentro. Da lontano, prima ancora che fossero raggiunti, gli alberi più alti s'agitavano e stormivano nell'aria queta; poi fumavano e scricchiolavano; ad un tratto avvampavano e facevano una fiammata sola. Sembravano delle torcie che s'accendessero ad una ad una nel tenebrore della campagna silenziosa, lungo il corso della lava. La moglie del custode della vigna andava sostituendo più in qua le cannuccie colle immagini benedette, man mano che s'accendevano come fiammiferi; e piangeva, spaventata, davanti a quella rovina, pensando che il padrone non aveva più bisogno di custode, e li avrebbe licenziati. E il cane di guardia uggiolava anch'esso dinanzi alla vigna che bruciava. Il palmento, spalancato, senza tetto, con tutta quella roba buttata nel cortile, in mezzo alla campagna spaventata, sembrava tremasse di paura, mentre lo spogliavano prima di abbandonarlo.
– Che cosa state facendo? chiese don Marco al custode che voleva salvare le botti e gli attrezzi del palmento. – Lasciate stare. Ormai non ho più nulla, e non ho che metterci nelle botti.
Baciò il rastrello della vigna un'ultima volta prima di abbandonarla e se ne tornò indietro, tirandosi per la cavezza l'asinello.
Al nome di Dio! Anche i galantuomini hanno i loro guai, e son fatti di carne e di ossa come il prossimo. Prova donna Marina, l'altra figlia di don Piddu che s'era buttata al ragazzo della stalla, dacché aveva persa la speranza di maritarsi, e stavano in campagna pel bisogno, fra i guai; i genitori la tenevano priva di uno straccio di veste nuova, senza un cane che gli abbaiasse dietro. Nel meriggio di una calda giornata di luglio, mentre i mosconi ronzavano nell'aia deserta, e i genitori cercavano di dormire col naso contro il muro, andò a trovare dietro il pagliaio il ragazzo, il quale si faceva rosso e balbettava ogni volta che ella gli ficcava gli occhi addosso, e l'afferrò pei capelli onde farsi dare un bacio.
Don Piddu sarebbe morto di vergogna. Dopo il pignoramento, dopo la miseria, non avrebbe creduto di poter cascare più giù. La povera madre lo seppe nel comunicarsi a Pasqua. Una santa, colei! Don Piddu era chiuso, insieme a tutti gli altri galantuomini, nel convento dei cappuccini per fare gli esercizi spirituali. I galantuomini si riunivano coi loro contadini a confessarsi e sentir le prediche; anzi, facevano loro le spese del mantenimento, nella speranza che i garzoni si convertissero, se avevano rubato, e restituissero il mal tolto. Quegli otto giorni degli esercizi spirituali, galantuomini e villani tornavano fratelli come al tempo di Adamo ed Eva; e i padroni per umiltà servivano a tavola i garzoni colle loro mani, ché a costoro quella grazia di Dio andava giù di traverso per la soggezione; e nel refettorio, al rumore di tutte quelle mascelle in moto, sembrava che ci fosse una stalla di bestiame, mentre i missionari predicavano l'inferno e il purgatorio. Quell'anno don Piddu non avrebbe voluto andarci, perché non aveva di che pagare la sua parte, e poi non potevano rubargli più nulla i suoi garzoni. Ma lo fece chiamare il giudice, e lo mandò a farsi santo per forza, onde non desse il cattivo esempio. Quegli otto giorni erano una manna per chi ci avesse da fare nella casa di un povero diavolo, senza timore che il marito arrivasse improvviso di campagna a guastar la festa. La porta del convento era chiusa per tutti, ma i giovanotti che avevano da spendere, appena era notte, sgusciavano fuori e non tornavano prima dell'alba.
Ora don Piddu, dopo che gli giunsero all'orecchio certe chiacchiere che s'era lasciato scappare fra Giuseppe, una notte sgattaiolò fuori di nascosto, come se avesse avuto vent'anni, o l'innamorata che l'aspettasse, e non si sa quel che andò a sorprendere a casa sua. Certo quando rincasò prima dell'alba era pallido come un morto, e sembrava invecchiato di cent'anni. Questa volta il contrabbando era stato sorpreso, e come i donnaiuoli tornavano in convento, trovavano il padre missionario inginocchiato dietro l'uscio, a pregare pei peccati che gli altri erano andati a fare. Don Piddu si buttò ginocchioni anche lui, per confessarsi all'orecchio del missionario, piangendo tutte le lagrime che ci aveva negli occhi.
Ah! quel che aveva trovato! lì, a casa sua! in quel camerino di sua figlia che nemmeno c'entrava il sole!... Il ragazzo di stalla, che scappava dalla finestra; e Marina pallida come una morta che pure osava guardarlo in faccia, e si afferrava colle braccia disperate allo stipite dell'uscio per difendere l'amante. Allora gli passarono dinanzi agli occhi le altre figliuole, e la moglie inferma, e i giudici e i gendarmi, in un mare di sangue. – Tu! tu! balbettava. Ella tremava tutta, la scellerata, ma non rispondeva. Poi cadde sui ginocchi, colle mani giunte come se gli leggesse in faccia il parricidio. Allora egli fuggì via colle mani nei capelli.
Ma il confessore che gli consigliava di offrire a Dio quell'angustia, avrebbe dovuto dirgli:
– Vedete, vossignoria, anche gli altri poveretti, quando gli succede la stessa disgrazia... stanno zitti perché son poveri, e non sanno di lettera, e non sanno sfogarsi altrimenti che coll'andare in galera!
# Libertà
Sciorinarono dal campanile un fazzoletto a tre colori, suonarono le campane a stormo, e cominciarono a gridare in piazza: «Viva la libertà!».
Come il mare in tempesta. La folla spumeggiava e ondeggiava davanti al casino dei _galantuomini_ , davanti al Municipio, sugli scalini della chiesa: un mare di berrette bianche; le scuri e le falci che luccicavano. Poi irruppe in una stradicciuola.
– A te prima, barone! che hai fatto nerbare la gente dai tuoi campieri! – Innanzi a tutti gli altri una strega, coi vecchi capelli irti sul capo, armata soltanto delle unghie. – A te, prete del diavolo! che ci hai succhiato l'anima! – A te, ricco epulone, che non puoi scappare nemmeno, tanto sei grasso del sangue del povero! – A te, sbirro! che hai fatto la giustizia solo per chi non aveva niente! – A te, guardaboschi! che hai venduto la tua carne e la carne del prossimo per due tarì al giorno!
E il sangue che fumava ed ubbriacava. Le falci, le mani, i cenci, i sassi, tutto rosso di sangue! – Ai _galantuomini_! Ai _cappelli_! Ammazza! ammazza! Addosso ai _cappelli_!
Don Antonio sgattaiolava a casa per le scorciatoie. Il primo colpo lo fece cascare colla faccia insanguinata contro il marciapiede. – Perché? perché mi ammazzate? – Anche tu! al diavolo! – Un monello sciancato raccattò il cappello bisunto e ci sputò dentro. – Abbasso i cappelli! Viva la libertà! – Te'! tu pure! – Al reverendo che predicava l'inferno per chi rubava il pane. Egli tornava dal dir messa, coll'ostia consacrata nel pancione. – Non mi ammazzate, ché sono in peccato mortale. – La gnà Lucia, il peccato mortale; la gnà Lucia che il padre gli aveva venduta a 14 anni, l'inverno della fame, e riempiva la Ruota e le strade di monelli affamati. Se quella carne di cane fosse valsa a qualche cosa, ora avrebbero potuto satollarsi, mentre la sbrandellavano sugli usci delle case e sui ciottoli della strada a colpi di scure. Anche il lupo allorché capita affamato in una mandra, non pensa a riempirsi il ventre, e sgozza dalla rabbia. – Il figliuolo della Signora, che era accorso per vedere cosa fosse – lo speziale, nel mentre chiudeva in fretta e in furia – don Paolo, il quale tornava dalla vigna a cavallo del somarello, colle bisacce magre in groppa. Pure teneva in capo un berrettino vecchio che la sua ragazza gli aveva ricamato tempo fa, quando il male non aveva ancora colpito la vigna. Sua moglie lo vide cadere dinanzi al portone, mentre aspettava coi cinque figliuoli la scarsa minestra che era nelle bisacce del marito. – Paolo! Paolo! – Il primo lo colse nella spalla con un colpo di scure. Un altro gli fu addosso colla falce, e lo sventrò mentre si attaccava col braccio sanguinante al martello.
Ma il peggio avvenne appena cadde il figliolo del notaio, un ragazzo di undici anni, biondo come l'oro, non si sa come, travolto nella folla. Suo padre si era rialzato due o tre volte prima di strascinarsi a finire nel mondezzaio, gridandogli: – Neddu! Neddu! – Neddu fuggiva, dal terrore, cogli occhi e la bocca spalancati senza poter gridare. Lo rovesciarono; si rizzò anch'esso su di un ginocchio come suo padre; il torrente gli passò sopra; uno gli aveva messo lo scarpone sulla guancia e glie l'aveva sfracellata; nonostante il ragazzo chiedeva ancora grazia colle mani. – Non voleva morire, no, come aveva visto ammazzare suo padre; – strappava il cuore! – Il taglialegna, dalla pietà, gli menò un gran colpo di scure colle due mani, quasi avesse dovuto abbattere un rovere di cinquant'anni – e tremava come una foglia – Un altro gridò: – Bah! egli sarebbe stato notaio, anche lui!
Non importa! Ora che si avevano le mani rosse di quel sangue, bisognava versare tutto il resto. Tutti! tutti i _cappelli_! – Non era più la fame, le bastonate, le soperchierie che facevano ribollire la collera. Era il sangue innocente. Le donne più feroci ancora, agitando le braccia scarne, strillando d'ira in falsetto, colle carni tenere sotto i brindelli delle vesti. – Tu che venivi a pregare il buon Dio colla veste di seta! – Tu che avevi a schifo d'inginocchiarti accanto alla povera gente! – Te'! Te'! – Nelle case, su per le scale, dentro le alcove, lacerando la seta e la tela fine. Quanti orecchini su delle facce insanguinate! e quanti anelli d'oro nelle mani che cercavano di parare i colpi di scure!
La baronessa aveva fatto barricare il portone: travi, carri di campagna, botti piene, dietro; e i campieri che sparavano dalle finestre per vender cara la pelle. La folla chinava il capo alle schioppettate, perché non aveva armi da rispondere. Prima c'era la pena di morte chi tenesse armi da fuoco. – Viva la libertà! – E sfondarono il portone. Poi nella corte, sulle gradinate, scavalcando i feriti. Lasciarono stare i campieri. – I campieri dopo! – Prima volevano le carni della baronessa, le carni fatte di pernici e di vin buono. Ella correva di stanza in stanza col lattante al seno, scarmigliata – e le stanze erano molte. Si udiva la folla urlare per quegli andirivieni, avvicinandosi come la piena di un fiume. Il figlio maggiore, di 16 anni, ancora colle carni bianche anch'esso, puntellava l'uscio colle sue mani tremanti, gridando: – Mamà! mamà! – Al primo urto gli rovesciarono l'uscio addosso. Egli si afferrava alle gambe che lo calpestavano. Non gridava più. Sua madre s'era rifugiata nel balcone, tenendo avvinghiato il bambino, chiudendogli la bocca colla mano perché non gridasse, pazza. L'altro figliolo voleva difenderla col suo corpo, stralunato, quasi avesse avute cento mani, afferrando pel taglio tutte quelle scuri. Li separarono in un lampo. Uno abbrancò lei pei capelli, un altro per i fianchi, un altro per le vesti, sollevandola al di sopra della ringhiera. Il carbonaio le strappò dalle braccia il bambino lattante. L'altro fratello non vide niente; non vedeva altro che nero e rosso. Lo calpestavano, gli macinavano le ossa a colpi di tacchi ferrati; egli aveva addentato una mano che lo stringeva alla gola e non la lasciava più. Le scuri non potevano colpire nel mucchio e luccicavano in aria.
E in quel carnevale furibondo del mese di luglio, in mezzo agli urli briachi della folla digiuna, continuava a suonare a stormo la campana di Dio, fino a sera, senza mezzogiorno, senza avemaria, come in paese di turchi. Cominciavano a sbandarsi, stanchi della carneficina, mogi, mogi, ciascuno fuggendo il compagno. Prima di notte tutti gli usci erano chiusi, paurosi, e in ogni casa vegliava il lume. Per le stradicciuole non si udivano altro che i cani, frugando per i canti, con un rosicchiare secco di ossa, nel chiaro di luna che lavava ogni cosa, e mostrava spalancati i portoni e le finestre delle case deserte.
Aggiornava; una domenica senza gente in piazza né messa che suonasse. Il sagrestano s' era rintanato; di preti non se ne trovavano più. I primi che cominciarono a far capannello sul sagrato si guardavano in faccia sospettosi; ciascuno ripensando a quel che doveva avere sulla coscienza il vicino. Poi, quando furono in molti, si diedero a mormorare. – Senza messa non potevano starci, un giorno di domenica, come i cani! – Il casino dei _galantuomini_ era sbarrato, e non si sapeva dove andare a prendere gli ordini dei padroni per la settimana. Dal campanile penzolava sempre il fazzoletto tricolore, floscio, nella caldura gialla di luglio.
E come l'ombra s'impiccioliva lentamente sul sagrato, la folla si ammassava tutta in un canto. Fra due casucce della piazza, in fondo ad una stradicciola che scendeva a precipizio, si vedevano i campi giallastri nella pianura, i boschi cupi sui fianchi dell'Etna. Ora dovevano spartirsi quei boschi e quei campi. Ciascuno fra di sé calcolava colle dita quello che gli sarebbe toccato di sua parte, e guardava in cagnesco il vicino. – Libertà voleva dire che doveva essercene per tutti! – Quel Nino Bestia, e quel Ramurazzo, avrebbero preteso di continuare le prepotenze dei _cappelli_! – Se non c'era più il perito per misurare la terra, e il notaio per metterla sulla carta, ognuno avrebbe fatto a riffa e a raffa! – E se tu ti mangi la tua parte all'osteria, dopo bisogna tornare a spartire da capo? – Ladro tu e ladro io. – Ora che c'era la libertà, chi voleva mangiare per due avrebbe avuto la sua festa come quella dei _galantuomini_! – Il taglialegna brandiva in aria la mano quasi ci avesse ancora la scure.
Il giorno dopo si udì che veniva a far giustizia il generale, quello che faceva tremare la gente. Si vedevano le camice rosse dei suoi soldati salire lentamente per il burrone, verso il paesetto; sarebbe bastato rotolare dall'alto delle pietre per schiacciarli tutti. Ma nessuno si mosse. Le donne strillavano e si strappavano i capelli. Ormai gli uomini, neri e colle barbe lunghe, stavano sul monte, colle mani fra le cosce, a vedere arrivare quei giovanetti stanchi, curvi sotto il fucile arrugginito, e quel generale piccino sopra il suo gran cavallo nero, innanzi a tutti, solo.
Il generale fece portare della paglia nella chiesa, e mise a dormire i suoi ragazzi come un padre. La mattina, prima dell'alba, se non si levavano al suono della tromba, egli entrava nella chiesa a cavallo, sacramentando come un turco. Questo era l'uomo. E subito ordinò che glie ne fucilassero cinque o sei, Pippo, il nano, Pizzanello, i primi che capitarono. Il taglialegna, mentre lo facevano inginocchiare addosso al muro del cimitero, piangeva come un ragazzo, per certe parole che gli aveva dette sua madre, e pel grido che essa aveva cacciato quando glie lo strapparono dalle braccia. Da lontano, nelle viuzze più remote del paesetto, dietro gli usci, si udivano quelle schioppettate in fila come i mortaletti della festa.
Dopo arrivarono i giudici per davvero, dei galantuomini cogli occhiali, arrampicati sulle mule, disfatti dal viaggio, che si lagnavano ancora dello strapazzo mentre interrogavano gli accusati nel refettorio del convento, seduti di fianco sulla scranna, e dicendo ahi! ogni volta che mutavano lato. Un processo lungo che non finiva più. I colpevoli li condussero in città, a piedi, incatenati a coppia, fra due file di soldati col moschetto pronto. Le loro donne li seguivano correndo per le lunghe strade di campagna, in mezzo ai solchi, in mezzo ai fichidindia, in mezzo alle vigne, in mezzo alle biade color d'oro, trafelate, zoppicando, chiamandoli a nome ogni volta che la strada faceva gomito, e si potevano vedere in faccia i prigionieri. Alla città li chiusero nel gran carcere alto e vasto come un convento, tutto bucherellato da finestre colle inferriate; e se le donne volevano vedere i loro uomini, soltanto il lunedì, in presenza dei guardiani, dietro il cancello di ferro. E i poveretti divenivano sempre più gialli in quell'ombra perenne, senza scorgere mai il sole. Ogni lunedì erano più taciturni, rispondevano appena, si lagnavano meno. Gli altri giorni, se le donne ronzavano per la piazza attorno alla prigione, le sentinelle minacciavano col fucile. Poi non sapere che fare, dove trovare lavoro nella città, né come buscarsi il pane. Il letto nello stallazzo costava due soldi; il pane bianco si mangiava in un boccone e non riempiva lo stomaco; se si accoccolavano a passare una notte sull'uscio di una chiesa, le guardie le arrestavano. A poco a poco rimpatriarono, prima le mogli, poi le mamme. Un bel pezzo di giovinetta si perdette nella città e non se ne seppe più nulla. Tutti gli altri in paese erano tornati a fare quello che facevano prima. I _galantuomini_ non potevano lavorare le loro terre colle proprie mani, e la povera gente non poteva vivere senza i _galantuomini._ Fecero la pace. L'orfano dello speziale rubò la moglie a Neli Pirru, e gli parve una bella cosa, per vendicarsi di lui che gli aveva ammazzato il padre. Alla donna che aveva di tanto in tanto certe ubbie, e temeva che suo marito le tagliasse la faccia, all'uscire dal carcere, egli ripeteva: – Sta' tranquilla che non ne esce più. – Ormai nessuno ci pensava; solamente qualche madre, qualche vecchiarello, se gli correvano gli occhi verso la pianura, dove era la città, o la domenica, al vedere gli altri che parlavano tranquillamente dei loro affari coi _galantuomini_ , dinanzi al casino di conversazione, col berretto in mano, e si persuadevano che all'aria ci vanno i cenci.
Il processo durò tre anni, nientemeno! tre anni di prigione e senza vedere il sole. Sicché quegli accusati parevano tanti morti della sepoltura, ogni volta che li conducevano ammanettati al tribunale. Tutti quelli che potevano erano accorsi dal villaggio: testimoni, parenti, curiosi, come a una festa, per vedere i compaesani, dopo tanto tempo, stipati nella capponaia – ché capponi davvero si diventava là dentro! e Neli Pirru doveva vedersi sul mostaccio quello dello speziale, che s'era imparentato a tradimento con lui! Li facevano alzare in piedi ad uno ad uno. – Voi come vi chiamate? – E ciascuno si sentiva dire la sua, nome e cognome e quel che aveva fatto. Gli avvocati armeggiavano fra le chiacchiere, coi larghi maniconi pendenti, e si scalmanavano, facevano la schiuma alla bocca, asciugandosela subito col fazzoletto bianco, tirandoci su una presa di tabacco. I giudici sonnecchiavano, dietro le lenti dei loro occhiali, che agghiacciavano il cuore. Di faccia erano seduti in fila dodici _galantuomini_ , stanchi, annoiati, che sbadigliavano, si grattavano la barba, o ciangottavano fra di loro. Certo si dicevano che l'avevano scappata bella a non essere stati dei galantuomini di quel paesetto lassù, quando avevano fatto la libertà. E quei poveretti cercavano di leggere nelle loro facce. Poi se ne andarono a confabulare fra di loro, e gli imputati aspettavano pallidi, e cogli occhi fissi su quell'uscio chiuso. Come rientrarono, il loro capo, quello che parlava colla mano sulla pancia, era quasi pallido al pari degli accusati, e disse: – Sul mio onore e sulla mia coscienza!...
Il carbonaio, mentre tornavano a mettergli le manette, balbettava: – Dove mi conducete? – In galera? – O perché? Non mi è toccato neppure un palmo di terra! Se avevano detto che c'era la libertà!...
# Di là del mare
Ella ascoltava, avviluppata nella pelliccia, e colle spalle appoggiate alla cabina, fissando i grandi occhi pensosi nelle ombre vaganti del mare. Le stelle scintillavano sul loro capo, e attorno a loro non si udiva altro che il sordo rumore della macchina, e il muggito delle onde che si perdevano verso orizzonti sconfinati. A poppa, dietro le loro spalle, una voce che sembrava lontana, canticchiava sommessamente una canzone popolare, accompagnandosi coll'organetto.
Ella pensava forse alle calde emozioni provate la sera innanzi alla rappresentazione del San Carlo; o alla riviera di Chiaia, sfolgorante di luce, che si erano lasciata dietro le loro spalle. Aveva preso il braccio di lui mollemente, coll'abbandono dell'isolamento in cui erano, e s'era appoggiata al parapetto, guardando la striscia fosforescente che segnava il battello, e in cui l'elica spalancava abissi inesplorati, quasi cercasse di indovinare il mistero di altre esistenze ignorate. Dal lato opposto, verso le terre su cui Orione inchinavasi, altre esistenze sconosciute e quasi misteriose palpitavano e sentivano, chissà? povere gioie e poveri dolori, simili a quelli da lui narrati. – La donna ci pensava vagamente colle labbra strette, gli occhi fissi nel buio dell'orizzonte.
Prima di separarsi stettero un altro po' sull'uscio della cabina, al chiarore vacillante della lampada che dondolava. Il cameriere, rifinito dalla fatica, dormiva accoccolato sulla scala, sognando forse la sua casetta di Genova. A poppa il lume della bussola rischiarava appena la figura membruta dell'uomo che era al timone, immobile, cogli occhi fissi sul quadrante, e la mente chissà dove. A prua si udiva sempre la mesta cantilena siciliana, che narrava a modo suo di gioie, di dolori, o di speranze umili, in mezzo al muggito uniforme del mare, e al va e vieni regolare e impassibile dello stantuffo.
Sembrava che la donna non sapesse risolversi a lasciare la mano di lui. Infine alzò gli occhi e gli sorrise tristamente: – Domani! sospirò.
Egli chinò il capo senza rispondere.
– Vi ricorderete sempre di questa ultima sera?
Egli non rispose. – Io sì! – aggiunse la donna.
All'alba si rividero sul ponte. Il visetto delicato di lei sembrava abbattuto dall'insonnia. La brezza le scomponeva i morbidi capelli neri. Diggià la Sicilia sorgeva come una nuvola in fondo all'orizzonte. Poi l'Etna si accese tutt'a un tratto d'oro e di rubini, e la costa bianchiccia si squarciò qua e là in seni e promontorii oscuri. A bordo cominciava l'affaccendarsi del primo servizio mattutino. I passeggieri salivano ad uno ad uno sul ponte, pallidi, stralunati, imbacuccati diversamente, masticando un sigaro e barcollando. La grù cominciava a stridere, e la canzone della notte taceva come sbigottita e disorientata in tutto quel movimento. Sul mare turchino e lucente, delle grandi vele spiegate passavano a poppa, dondolando i vasti scafi che sembravano vuoti, con i pochi uomini a bordo che si mettevano la mano sugli occhi per vedere passare il vapore superbo. In fondo, delle altre barchette più piccole ancora, come punti neri, e le coste che si coronavano di spuma; a sinistra la Calabria, a destra la Punta del Faro, sabbiosa, Cariddi che allungava le braccia bianche verso Scilla rocciosa e altera.
All'improvviso, nella lunga linea della costa che sembrava unita, si aperse lo stretto come un fiume turchino, e al di là il mare che si allargava nuovamente, sterminato. La donna fece un'esclamazione di meraviglia. Poi voleva che egli le indicasse le montagne di Licodia e la Piana di Catania, o il Biviere di Lentini dalle sponde piatte. Egli le accennava da lontano, dietro le montagne azzurre, le linee larghe e melanconiche della pianura biancastra, le chine molli e grigie d'ulivi, le rupi aspre di fichidindia, le alpestri viottole erbose e profumate. Pareva che quei luoghi si animassero dei personaggi della leggenda, mentre egli li accennava ad uno ad uno. Colà la Malaria; su quel versante dell'Etna il paesetto dove la libertà irruppe come una vendetta; laggiù gli umili drammi del Mistero, e la giustizia ironica di Don Licciu Papa. Ella ascoltando dimenticava persino il dramma palpitante in cui loro due si agitavano, mentre Messina si avanzava verso di loro col vasto semicerchio della sua _Palazzata._ Tutt'a un tratto si riscosse e mormorò:
– Eccolo!
Dalla riva si staccava una barchetta, in cui un fazzoletto bianco si agitava per salutare come un alcione nella tempesta.
– Addio! mormorò il giovane.
La donna non rispose e chinò il capo. Poi gli strinse forte la mano sotto la pelliccia e si scostò di un passo.
– Non addio. Arrivederci!
– Quando?
– Non lo so. Ma non addio.
Ed egli la vide porgere le labbra all'uomo che era venuto ad incontrarla nella barchetta. E nella mente gli passavano delle larve sinistre, i fantasmi dei personaggi delle sue leggende, col cipiglio bieco e il coltellaccio in mano.
Il velo azzurro di lei scompariva verso la riva, in mezzo alla folla delle barche e alle catene delle áncore.
Passarono i mesi. Finalmente ella gli scrisse che poteva andarla a trovare.
«In una casetta isolata, in mezzo alle vigne – ci sarà una croce segnata col gesso sull'uscio. Io verrò dal sentiero fra i campi. Aspettatemi. Non vi fate scorgere, o sono perduta.»
Era d'autunno ancora, ma pioveva e tirava vento come d'inverno. Egli nascosto dietro l'uscio, ansioso, col cuore che gli martellava, spiava avidamente se le righe di pioggia che solcavano lo spiraglio cominciassero a diradarsi. Le foglie secche turbinavano dietro la soglia come il fruscìo di una veste. Che faceva essa? Sarebbe venuta? L'orologio rispondeva sempre di no, di no, ad ogni quarto d'ora, dal paesetto vicino. Finalmente un raggio di sole penetrò da una tegola smossa. La campagna tutta s'irradiava. I carrubbi stormivano sul tetto, e in fondo, dietro i viali sgocciolanti, si apriva il sentieruolo fiorito di margherite gialle e bianche. Di là sarebbe comparso il suo ombrellino bianco, di là, o al di sopra del muricciuolo a destra. Una vespa ronzava nel raggio dorato che penetrava dalle commessure, e urtava contro le imposte, dicendo: Viene! viene! – Tutt'a un tratto qualcuno spinse bruscamente la porticina a sinistra. – Come un tuffo nel sangue! – Era lei! bianca, tutta bianca, dalla veste al viso pallido. Al primo vederlo gli cadde fra le braccia, colla bocca contro la bocca di lui.
Quante ore passarono in quella povera stanzuccia affumicata? Quante cose si dissero? Il tarlo impassibile e monotono continuava a rodere i vecchi travicelli del tetto. L'orologio del paesetto vicino lasciava cadere le ore ad una ad una. Da un buco del muro potevano scorgersi i riflessi delle foglie che si agitavano, e alternavano ombre e luce verde come in fondo a un lago.
Così la vita. – Ad un tratto ella siccome stralunata, passandosi le mani sugli occhi, aprì l'uscio per vedere il sole che tramontava. Poscia, risolutamente, gli buttò le braccia al collo, dicendogli: – Non ti lascio più.
A piedi, tenendosi a braccetto, andarono a raggiungere la piccola stazione vicina, perduta nella pianura deserta. Non lasciarsi più! Che gioia sterminata e trepida! Andavano stretti l'un contro l'altro, taciti, come sbigottiti, per la campagna silenziosa, nell'ora mesta della sera.
Degli insetti ronzavano sul ciglione del sentiero. Dalla terra screpolata si levava una nebbia grave e mesta. Non una voce umana, non un abbaiare di cani. Lontano ammiccava nelle tenebre un lume solitario. Finalmente arrivò il treno sbuffante e impennacchiato. Partirono insieme; andarono lontano, lontano, in mezzo a quelle montagne misteriose di cui egli le aveva parlato, che a lei sembrava di conoscere.
Per sempre!
Per sempre. Essi si levavano col giorno, scorazzavano pei campi, nelle prime rugiade, sedevano al meriggio nel folto delle piante, all'ombra degli abeti, di cui le foglie bianche fremevano senza vento, felici di sentirsi soli, nel gran silenzio. Indugiavano a tarda sera, per veder morire il giorno sulle vette dei monti, quando i vetri si accendevano a un tratto e scoprivano casupole lontane. L'ombra saliva lungo le viottole della valle che assumevano un aspetto malinconico; poi il raggio color d'oro si fermava un istante su di un cespuglio in cima al muricciuolo. Anche quel cespuglio aveva la sua ora, e il suo raggio di sole. Degli insetti minuscoli vi ronzavano intorno, nella luce tiepida. Al tornare dell'inverno il cespuglio sarebbe scomparso e il sole e la notte si sarebbero alternate ancora sui sassi nudi e tristi, umidi di pioggia. Così erano scomparsi il casolare del gesso, e l'osteria di «Ammazzamogli» in cima al monticello deserto. Soltanto le rovine sbocconcellate si disegnavano nere nella porpora del tramonto. Il Biviere si stendeva sempre in fondo alla pianura come uno specchio appannato. Più in qua i vasti campi di Mazzarò, i folti oliveti grigi su cui il tramonto scendeva più fosco, le vigne verdi, i pascoli sconfinati che svanivano nella gloria dell'occidente, sul cocuzzolo dei monti; e dell'altra gente si affacciava ancora agli usci delle fattorie grandi come villaggi, per veder passare degli altri viandanti. Nessuno sapeva più di Cirino, di compare Carmine, o di altri. Le larve erano passate. Solo rimaneva solenne e immutabile il paesaggio, colle larghe linee orientali, dai toni caldi e robusti. Sfinge misteriosa, che rappresentava i fantasmi passeggieri, con un carattere di necessità fatale. Nel paesello i figli delle vittime avevano fatto pace cogli strumenti ciechi e sanguinarii della libertà; curatolo Arcangelo strascinava la tarda vecchiaia a spese del signorino; una figlia di compare Santo era andata sposa nella casa di mastro Cola. All'osteria del Biviere un cane spelato e mezzo cieco, che i diversi padroni nel succedersi l'uno all'altro avevano dimenticato sulla porta, abbaiava tristamente ai rari viandanti che passavano.
Poi il cespuglio si faceva smorto anch'esso a poco a poco, e l'assiolo si metteva a cantare nel bosco lontano.
Addio, tramonti del paese lontano! Addio abeti solitari alla cui ombra ella aveva tante volte ascoltato le storie che egli narrava, che stormivate al loro passaggio, e avete visto passare tanta gente, e sorgere e tramontare il sole tante volte laggiù! Addio! Anch'essa è lontana.
Un giorno venne dalla città una cattiva notizia. Era bastata una parola, di un uomo lontano, di cui ella non poteva parlare senza impallidire e piegare il capo. Innamorati, giovani, ricchi tutti e due, tutti e due che s'erano detti di voler restare uniti per sempre, era bastata una parola di quell'uomo per separarli. Non era il bisogno del pane, com'era accaduto a Pino il Tomo, né il coltellaccio del geloso che li divideva. Era qualcosa di più sottile e di più forte che li separava. Era la vita in cui vivevano e di cui erano fatti. Gli amanti ammutolivano e chinavano il capo dinanzi alla volontà del marito. Ora ella sembrava che temesse e sfuggisse l'altro. Al momento di lasciarlo pianse tutte le sue lagrime che egli bevve avidamente; ma partì. Chissà quante volte si rammentano ancora di quel tempo, in mezzo alle ebbrezze diverse, alle feste febbrili, al turbinoso avvicendarsi degli eventi, alle aspre bisogne della vita? Quante volte ella si sarà ricordata del paesetto lontano, del deserto in cui erano stati soli col loro amore, della ceppaia al cui rezzo ella aveva reclinato il capo sulla spalla di lui, e gli aveva detto sorridendo: – L'uggia per le camelie!
Delle camelie ce n'erano tante e superbe, nella splendida serra in cui giungevano soffocati gli allegri rumori della festa, molto tempo dopo, quando un altro ne aveva spiccata per lei una purpurea come di sangue, e glie la aveva messa nei capelli. Addio, tramonti lontani del paese lontano! Anche lui, allorché levava il capo stanco a fissare nell'aureola della lampada solitaria le larve del passato, quante immagini e quanti ricordi! di qua e di là pel mondo, nella solitudine dei campi, e nel turbinìo delle grandi città! Quante cose erano trascorse! e quanto avevano vissuto quei due cuori lontano l'uno dall'altro!
Infine si rivedevano nella vertigine del carnevale. Egli era andato alla festa per veder lei, coll'anima stanca e il cuore serrato d'angoscia. Ella era là difatti, splendente, circondata e lusingata in cento modi. Pure aveva il viso stanco anch'essa, e il sorriso triste e distratto. I loro occhi s'incontrarono e scintillarono. Nulla più. Sul tardi si trovarono accanto come per caso, nell'ombra dei grandi palmizii immobili. – Domani! gli disse. – Domani, alla tal'ora e nel tal luogo. Avvenga che può! voglio vedervi! – Il seno bianco e delicato le tempestava dentro il merletto trasparente, e il ventaglio le tremava fra le mani. Poi chinò il capo, cogli occhi fissi ed astratti; lievi e fugaci rossori le passavano sulla nuca del color della magnolia. Come batteva forte il cuore a lui! come era squisita e trepidante la gioia di quel momento! Ma allorché si rividero l'indomani non era più la stessa cosa. Chissà perché?... Essi avevano assaporato il frutto velenoso della scienza mondana; il piacere raffinato dello sguardo e della parola scambiati di nascosto in mezzo a duecento persone, di una promessa che val più della realtà, perché è mormorata dietro il ventaglio e in mezzo al profumo dei fiori, allo scintillìo delle gemme e all'eccitamento della musica. Allorché si buttarono nelle braccia l'uno dell'altro, quando si dissero che si amavano nella bocca, entrambi pensavano con desiderio molle ed acuto al rapido momento della sera innanzi, in cui sottovoce, senza guardarsi, quasi senza parole, si erano detto che il cuore turbinava loro in petto ad entrambi nel trovarsi accanto. Quando si lasciarono, e si strinsero la mano, sulla soglia, erano tristi tutti e due, e non tristi soltanto perché dovevano dirsi addio – quasi mancasse loro qualche cosa. Pure si tenevano sempre per mano, ad entrambi veniva per istinto la domanda. – Ti rammenti? – E non osavano. Ella aveva detto che partiva l'indomani col primo treno, ed egli la lasciava partire.
L'aveva vista allontanarsi pel viale deserto, e rimaneva là, colla fronte contro le stecche di quella persiana. La sera calava. Un organino suonava in lontananza alla porta di un'osteria.
Ella partiva l'indomani col primo treno. Gli aveva detto: – Bisogna che vada con _lui_! – Anch'egli aveva ricevuto un telegramma che lo chiamava lontano. Su quel foglio ella aveva scritto _Per sempre_ , e una data. La vita li ripigliava entrambi, l'una di qua e l'altro di là, inesorabilmente. La sera dopo anch'esso era alla stazione, triste e solo. Della gente si abbracciava e si diceva addio; degli sposi partivano sorridenti; una mamma, povera vecchierella del contado, si strascinava lagrimosa dietro il suo ragazzo, robusto giovanotto in uniforme da bersagliere, col sacco in spalla, che cercava l'uscita di porta in porta.
Il treno si mosse. Prima scomparve la città, le vie formicolanti di lumi, il sobborgo festante di brigatelle allegre. Poi cominciò a passare come un lampo la campagna solitaria, i prati aperti, i fiumicelli che luccicavano nell'ombra. Di tanto in tanto un casolare che fumava, della gente raccolta dinanzi a un uscio. Sul muricciuolo di una piccola stazione, dove il convoglio si era arrestato un momento sbuffante, due innamorati avevano lasciato scritto a gran lettere di carbone i loro nomi oscuri. Egli pensava che anch'essa era passata di là il mattino, e aveva visto quei nomi.
Lontano lontano, molto tempo dopo, nella immensa città nebbiosa e triste, egli si ricordava ancora qualche volta di quei due nomi umili e sconosciuti, in mezzo al via vai affollato e frettoloso, al frastuono incessante, alla febbre dell'immensa attività generale, affannosa e inesorabile, ai cocchi sfarzosi, agli uomini che passavano nel fango, fra due assi coperte d'affissi, dinanzi alle splendide vetrine scintillanti di gemme, accanto alle stamberghe che schieravano in fila teschi umani e scarpe vecchie. Di tratto in tratto si udiva il sibilo di un treno che passava sotterra o per aria, e si perdeva in lontananza, verso gli orizzonti pallidi, quasi con un desiderio dei paesi del sole. Allora gli tornava in mente il nome di quei due sconosciuti che avevano scritto la storia delle loro umili gioie sul muro di una casa davanti alla quale tanta gente passava. Due giovanetti biondi e calmi passeggiavano lentamente pei larghi viali del giardino tenendosi per mano; il giovane aveva regalato alla ragazza un mazzolino di rose purpuree che aveva mercanteggiato ansiosamente un quarto d'ora da una vecchierella cenciosa e triste; la giovinetta, colle sue rose in seno, come una regina, dileguavasi secolui lontano dalla folla delle amazzoni e dei cocchi superbi. Quando furono soli sotto i grandi alberi della riviera, sedettero accanto, parlandosi sottovoce colla calma espansione del loro affetto.
Il sole tramontava nell'occidente smorto; e anche là, nei viali solitari, giungeva il suono di un organino, con cui un mendicante dei paesi lontani andava cercando il pane in una lingua sconosciuta.
Addio, dolce melanconia del tramonto, ombre discrete e larghi orizzonti solitari del noto paese. Addio, viottole profumate dove era così bello passeggiare tenendosi abbracciati. Addio, povera gente ignota che sgranavate gli occhi al veder passare i due felici.
Alle volte, quando lo assaliva la dolce mestizia di quelle memorie, egli ripensava agli umili attori degli umili drammi con un'aspirazione vaga e incosciente di pace e d'obblio, a quella data e a quelle due parole – _per sempre_ – che ella gli aveva lasciato in un momento d'angoscia, rimasto vivo più d'ogni gioia febbrile nella sua memoria e nel suo cuore. E allora avrebbe voluto mettere il nome di lei su di una pagina o su di un sasso, al pari di quei due sconosciuti che avevano scritto il ricordo del loro amore sul muro di una stazione lontana.
# PER LE VIE
# Il bastione di Monforte
Nel vano della finestra s'incorniciano i castagni d'India del viale, verdi sotto l'azzurro immenso – con tutte le tinte verdi della vasta campagna – il verde fresco dei pascoli prima, dove il sole bacia le frondi; più in là l'ombrìa misteriosa dei boschi. Fra i rami che agita il venticello s'intravvede ondeggiante un lembo di cielo, quasi visione di patria lontana. Al muoversi delle foglie le ombre e la luce scorrono e s'inseguono in tutta la distesa frastagliata di verde e di sole come una brezza che vi giunga da orizzonti sconosciuti. E nel folto, invisibili, i passeri garriscono la loro allegra giornata con un fruscìo d'ale fresco e carezzevole anch'esso.
Sotto, nel largo viale, la città arriva ancora col passo affaccendato di qualche viandante, col lento vagabondaggio di una coppia furtiva. Ella va a capo chino, segnando i passi coll'appoggiare cadenzato dell'ombrellino, e l'ondeggiamento carezzevole del vestito attillato, che il sole ricama di bizzarri disegni, mentre l'ombre mobili delle frondi giuocano sul biondo dei capelli e sulla nuca bianca come rapidi baci che la sfiorino tutta. Ed egli le parla gesticolando, acceso della sua parola istessa che gli suona innamorata. A un tratto levano il capo entrambi al sopraggiungere di un legno che va adagio, dondolando come una culla, colle tendine chiuse; e la giovinetta si fa rossa, pensando alla penombra azzurra di quelle tende che addormentò le sue prime ritrosie. Un vecchio che va curvo per la sua strada alza il capo soltanto per vedere se la giornata gli darà il sole.
E passa il rumore di un carro di cui si vedono le sole ruote polverose girare al di sotto dei rami bassi, e ciondolare addormentati del pari il muso del cavallo e le gambe del carrettiere penzoloni, rigate di sole. Poscia il trotto rapido di un cavallo, col lampo del morso lucente; o la fuggevole visione di una _vittoria_ bruna, nella quale si adagia mollemente fra le piume e il velluto una forma bianca e vaporosa. Così si dileguano in alto le nuvole viaggiando per lidi ignoti, e la dama bianca vi cerca cogli occhi i sogni o i ricordi dell'ultimo ballo che vagano lontano, mollemente del pari.
E le foglioline si agitano fra di loro, con un tremolìo fresco d'ombre e di luce; a un tratto, nell'ebbrezza di sentirsi vivere al sole, stormiscono insieme, e cantano al limite della città rumorosa la vita quieta dei boschi. Le coppie innamorate tacciono, quasi comprese di un sentimento più vasto del loro; e colla mano nella mano, vanno, sognando. Più in là li desta il trotto stracco del carrozzino postale che passa barcollando, portando svogliatamente la noia quotidiana di tutte le faccenduole umane che va a raccogliere dalle cassette, e strascina sempre la stessa via, al suono fesso della sonagliera, addormentato sotto il gran mantice tentennante. Dall'altro lato risponde il fischio del convoglio che corre laggiù, verso il sole, tirandosi dietro il pensiero, lontano, lontano, verso altri luoghi, verso il passato.
Ecco, fra i rami degli ippocastani c'è una linea d'ombra che sprofonda nel vuoto, come un viale tagliato nel dosso di un monticello, sotto un gran pennacchio di carrubbi. Le belle passeggiate d'allora nel meriggio caldo e silenzioso, quando le cicale stridevano nella valletta addormentata al sole! Accanto serpeggia verso l'alto la linea bruna di un tronco, rendendo immagine del sentiero che ascendeva fra i pascoli ed il sommacco di un noto poggio; e in cima, dove l'azzurro scappi infine libero, sembra di scorgere quella vetta che vedeva tanta campagna intorno. Un dì che voci allegre fra i sommacchi di quel poggio e le vigne di quel monticello! e tutta la comitiva che s'arrampicava festante per l'erta in quel dolce tramonto d'ottobre! E il chiaro di luna della sera in cui si aspettavano da quella vetta i fuochi della festa al paesetto lontano, e che bagna ancora l'anima di luce malinconica al tornare di queste memorie! Quanto tempo è trascorso? Quanto è lontano ormai quel paesetto? Ora il carrozzino postale vi porta la sola cosa viva che rimanga di tanta festa, sotto un francobollo da venti centesimi. E una farfalletta bianca s'affatica a svolazzare su pel viale immaginario, fra i rami dei castagni d'India, aspirando forse alle cime troppo alte per le sue alucce.
Così quella donna che viene ogni giorno a passeggiare pel viale, e aspetta, e torna a rileggere un foglio spiegazzato che trae di tasca, e guarda ansiosa di qua e di là ad ogni passo che faccia scricchiolare la sabbia, rizzando il capo con tal moto che sembra vederle brillare tutta l'anima negli occhi. Ogni tanto si ferma sotto un albero colle braccia penzoloni e l'atteggiamento stanco. Anch'essa andò a chiedere trepidante quella lettera al postino che ne scorreva un fascio sbadigliando. Ora legge e rilegge la parola luminosa che ci dev'essere per rischiarare l'ombra uggiosa di quel viale, per ravvivare il verde di quegli alberi che le sono passati dinanzi agli occhi con mille gradazioni di tinte nelle desolate ore d'attesa. L'organetto che suonava il mattino gaio, in qualche osteria del sobborgo, e le cantava in cuore tutte le liete promesse della speranza, torna a passare collo stesso motivo già velato dalla mestizia della sera. Gli amanti che si tengono per mano in mezzo a quella festa d'azzurro e di verde, si voltano ridendo al vederla aspettare ancora, sola, vestita di nero. La sera giunge, e l'ombra s'allunga malinconica.
A quell'ora, ogni giorno, suol passare uno sconosciuto alto e pallido, coll'andatura svogliata e l'occhio vagabondo di chi voglia ingannare l'ora del pranzo. Allorché incontrò la donna vestita di nero egli volse a fissarle il volto magro e austero in cui la percezione acuta della vita ha scavato come dei solchi. E chinò il capo quasi indovinasse, stanco della stanchezza di quella derelitta. Ma fu un lampo, e seguitò ad andare diritto e fiero per la sua via, portando negli occhi la visione di tutte le camerette nude e fredde in cui si sono strascinati i suoi sogni di giovinezza e i suoi bauli sconquassati, pieni solo di scartafacci, nel vagabondare dietro un sogno. Quanti dolori ha incontrato per quella via, e quante grida d'amore o di fame ha sentito attraverso le pareti sottili di quelle camerette? Più tardi forse andrà a pranzare con una tazza di caffè e latte fra gli specchi e le dorature del Biffi, pensando a quella donna che aspettava colla stanchezza dell'anima negli occhi, mentre l'orchestra suona la mazurca dell' _Excelsior._ Ora l'operaio che gli passa allato, strascinando un carretto, non gli bada neppure. La città è troppo vasta, e ce ne son tanti.
E il tramonto in alto si spegne, tranquillo, in un cinguettìo confuso, con mille rumori indistinti che dileguano insieme all'azzurro che svanisce lontano, lontano, verso il paese dei sogni e delle memorie; e vi trasporta ai giorni in cui sentiste le prime mestizie della sera, e la prima canzone d'amore vi si gonfiò melodiosa nell'anima.
Ora la canzone passa vagabonda e avvinazzata pel viale, al casto lume della luna che stampa in terra le larghe orme nere dei castagni addormentati – la canzone in cui suonano le note rauche della rissa d'osteria e la noia delle querimonie che aspettano a casa colla donna – o la gaiezza dolorosa di chi non vuol pensare al domani senza pane – oppure la brutale galanteria che si lascia alle spalle l'ospedale e la prigione, o il richiamo caldo che cerca l'ora molle d'amore dopo la dura giornata dell'operaio. Solo il bisbiglìo di due voci sommesse che si nascondono nell'ombra canta la primavera innamorata e pudibonda. E a un tratto, nella tarda ora silenziosa, in mezzo alla gran luce d'argento che piove sui rami, da una macchia nell'oscurità si leva una nota d'argento anch'essa, e canta la festa dei nidi alle ragazze che ascoltano alla finestra. In fondo, fra i rami, s'intravvede lontano un lumicino, in una stanzuccia solitaria.
A quest'ora pure la cascatella mormora laggiù nel paese lontano, tutta sola in quell'angolo della rupe paurosa, sotto i grappoli di capelvenere, dinanzi la valletta che si stende bianca di luna.
O i molli plenilunî estivi, in cui la giovinezza canta e sogna per le strade, e le memorie sorgono dolci e candide dal passato ad una ad una! – E le fredde lune d'acciaio del Natale, quando i grandi scheletri dei castagni d'India segnano di nero l'azzurro profondo e cupo, e il turbine strappa le foglie dimenticate dall'autunno con un mugolìo che viene da lungi, dalle notti remote in cui passava dietro l'uscio chiuso sulla famigliuola raccolta intorno al ceppo, e spazzava via tutto! – E l'albe livide, i meriggi foschi sui rami inargentati di neve, i gemiti lunghi che vengono col vento dalle notti remote, e i giorni che scorrono silenziosi e deserti sul viale bianco di neve. Ora di tanto in tanto passa il carro funebre senza far rumore, come una macchia nera, ricamato di neve anch'esso, quasi recasse la fioritura della morte; e il doganiere che inganna la lunga guardia facendo quattro ciarle colla servotta dietro il muro, sbircia sospettoso se mai il drappo funebre dei morti non nasconda il contrabbando dei vivi.
# In piazza della Scala
Pazienza l'estate! Le notti sono corte; non è freddo; fin dopo il tocco c'è ancora della gente che si fa scarrozzare a prendere il fresco sui Bastioni, e se calan le tendine, c'è da buscarsi una buona mancia. Si fanno quattro chiacchiere coi compagni per iscacciare il sonno, e i cavalli dormono col muso sulle zampe. Quello è il vero carnevale! Ma quando arriva l'altro, l'è duro da rosicare per i poveri diavoli che stanno a cassetta ad aspettare una corsa di un franco, colle redini gelate in mano, bianchi di neve come la statua dal barbone, che sta lì a guardare, in mezzo ai lampioni, coi suoi quattro figliuoletti d'attorno.
E' dicono che mette allegria la neve, quelli che escono dal Cova, col naso rosso, e quelle altre che vanno a scaldarsi al veglione della Scala, colle gambe nude. Accidenti! Almeno s'avesse il robone di marmo, come la statua! e i figliuoli di marmo anch'essi, che non mangiano!
Ma quelli di carne e d'ossa, se mangiano! e il cavallo, e il padrone di casa, e questo, e quest'altro! che al 31 dicembre, quando la gente va ad aspettare l'anno nuovo coi piedi sotto la tavola nelle trattorie, il Bigio tornava a imprecare: – Mostro di un anno! Vattene in malora! Cinque lire sole non ho potuto metterle da parte.
Prima i denari si spendevano allegramente all'osteria, dal liquorista lì vicino; e che belle scampagnate cogli amici, a Loreto e alla Cagnola; senza moglie, né figli, né pensieri. Ah! se non fosse stato per la Ghita che tirava su le gonnelle sugli zoccoletti, per far vedere le calze rosse, trottando lesta lesta in piazza della Scala! Delle calze che vi mangiavano gli occhi. E certa grazietta nel muovere i fianchi, che il Bigio amiccava ogni volta, e le gridava dietro: – Vettura?
Lei da prima si faceva rossa: ma poi ci tirava su un sorrisetto, e finì col prenderla davvero la vettura; e scarrozzando, il Bigio, voltato verso i cristalli, le spiattellava tante chiacchiere, tante, che una domenica la condusse al municipio, e pregò un camerata di tenergli d'occhio il cavallo, intanto che andava a sposare la Ghitina.
Adesso che la Ghitina si era fatta bolsa come il cavallo, lui vedeva trottare allo stesso modo la figliuola, cogli stivaletti alti e il cappellino a sghimbescio, sotto pretesto che imparava a far la modista, e sempre nelle ore in cui il caffè lì di faccia era pieno di fannulloni, che le dicevano cogli occhi tante cose sfacciate.
Bisognava aver pazienza, perché quello era il mestiere dell'Adelina; e la Ghita, ogni volta che il Bigio cercava di metterci il naso, gli spifferava il fatto suo, che le ragazze bisogna si cerchino fortuna; e se ella avesse avuto giudizio come l'Adelina, a quest'ora forse andrebbe in carrozza per conto suo, invece di tenerci il marito a buscarsi da vivere.
Tant'è, suo marito, quando vedeva passare l'Adele, dondolandosi come la mamma nel vestitino nero, sotto quelle occhiate che gridavano anch'esse: – Vettura? – non poteva frenarsi di far schioccare la frusta, a rischio di tirarsi addosso il _cappellone_ di guardia lì vicino.
Ma là! Bisognava masticare la briglia, che non s'era più puledri scapoli, e adattarsi al finimento che s'erano messi addosso, lui e la Ghita, la quale continuava a far figliuoli, che non pareva vero, e non si sapeva più come impiegarli. Il maggiore, nel treno militare, 1º reggimento, e sarebbe stato un bel pezzo di cocchiere. L'altro, stalliere della società degli _omnibus._ L'ultimo aveva voluto fare lo stampatore, perché aveva visto i ragazzi della tipografia, lì nella contrada, comprar le mele cotte a colazione, col berrettino di carta in testa. E infine una manata di ragazzine cenciose, che l'Adelina non permetteva le andassero dietro, e si vergognava se le incontrava per la strada. Voleva andar sola, lei, per le strade; tanto che un bel giorno spiccò il volo, e non tornò più in via della Stella. Al Bigio che si disperava e voleva correre col suo legno chissà dove, la Ghita ripeteva:
– Che pretendi? L'Adelina era fatta per esser signora, cagna d'una miseria!
Lei si consolava colla portinaia lì sotto, scaldandosi al braciere, o dal liquorista, dove andava a comprare di soppiatto un bicchierino sotto il grembiule. Ma il Bigio aveva un bel fermarsi a tutte le osterie, ché quando era acceso vedeva la figliuola in ogni coppia misteriosa che gli faceva segno di fermarsi, e ordinava soltanto – Gira! – lei voltandosi dall'altra parte, e tenendo il manicotto sul viso, – e quando incontrava un legno sui Bastioni, lemme lemme, colle tendine calate, e quando al veglione smontava una ragazza, che di nascosto non aveva altro che il viso, egli brontolava, qualunque fosse la mancia, e si guastava cogli avventori.
Cagna miseria! come diceva la Ghita. Denari! tutto sta nei denari a questo mondo! Quelli che scarrozzavano colle tendine chiuse, quelli che facevano la posta alle ragazze dinanzi al caffè, quelli che si fregavan le mani, col naso rosso, uscendo dal Cova! c'era gente che spendeva cento lire, e più, al veglione, o al teatro; e delle signore che per coprirsi le spalle nude avevano bisogno di una pelliccia di mille lire, gli era stato detto; e quella fila di carrozze scintillanti che aspettavano, lì contro il Marino, col tintinnìo superbo dei morsi e dei freni d'acciaio, e gli staffieri accanto che vi guardavano dall'alto in basso, quasi ci avessero avuto il freno anch'essi. Il suo ragazzo medesimo, quello dell' _Anonima_ , allorché gli facevano fare il servizio delle vetture di rimessa, dopo che si era insaccate le mani sudicie nei guanti di cotone, se le teneva sulle cosce al pari della statua del robone, e non avrebbe guardato in faccia suo padre che l'aveva fatto. Piuttosto preferiva l'altro suo figliuolo, quello che aiutava a stampare il giornale. Il Bigio spendeva un soldo per leggere a cassetta, fra una corsa e l'altra, tutte le ingiustizie e le birbonate che ci sono al mondo, e sfogarsi colle parole stampate.
Aveva ragione il giornale. Bisognava finirla colle ingiustizie e le birbonate di questo mondo! Tutti eguali come Dio ci ha fatti. Non mantelli da mille lire, né ragazze che scappano per cercar fortuna, né denari per comperarle, né carrozze che costano tante migliaia di lire, né omnibus, né tramvai, che levano il pane di bocca alla povera gente. Se ci hanno a essere delle vetture devono lasciarsi soltanto quelle che fanno il mestiere, in piazza della Scala, e levar di mezzo anche quella del n. 26, che trova sempre il modo di mettersi in capofila.
Il Bigio la sapeva lunga, a furia di leggere il giornale. In piazza della Scala teneva cattedra, e chiacchierava come un predicatore in mezzo ai camerati, tutta notte, l'estate, vociando e rincorrendosi fra le ruote delle vetture per passare il tempo, e di tanto in tanto davano una capatina dal liquorista che aveva tutta la sua bottega lì nella cesta, sulla panca della piazza. L'è un divertimento a stare in crocchio a quell'ora, al fresco, e di tanto in tanto vi pigliano anche per qualche corsa. Il posto è buono, c'è lì vicino la Galleria, due teatri, sette caffè, e se fanno una dimostrazione a Milano, non può mancare di passare di là, colla banda in testa. Ma in inverno e' s'ha tutt'altra voglia! Le ore non iscorrono mai, in quella piazza bianca che sembra un camposanto, con quei lumi solitari attorno a quelle statue fredde anch'esse. Allora vengono altri pensieri in mente – e le scuderie dei signori dove non c'è freddo, e l'Adele che ha trovato da stare al caldo. – Anche colui che predica di giorno l'eguaglianza nel giornale, a quell'ora dorme tranquillamente, o se ne torna dal teatro, col naso dentro la pelliccia.
Il caffè Martini sta aperto sin tardi, illuminato a giorno che par si debba scaldarsi soltanto a passar vicino ai vetri delle porte, tutti appannati dal gran freddo che è di fuori; così quelli che ci fanno tardi bevendo non son visti da nessuno, e se un povero diavolo invece piglia una sbornia per le strade, tutti gli corrono dietro a dargli la baia. Di facciata le finestre del club sono aperte anch'esse sino all'alba. Lì c'è dei signori che non sanno cosa fare del loro tempo e del loro denaro. E allorché sono stanchi di giuocare fanno suonare il fischietto, e se ne vanno a casa in legno, spendendo solo una lira. Ah! se fosse a cassetta quella povera donna che sta l'intera notte sotto l'arco della galleria, per vendere del caffè a due soldi la tazza, e sapesse che porta delle migliaia di lire, vinte al giuoco in due ore, nel paletò di un signore mezzo addormentato, passando lungo il Naviglio, di notte, al buio!...
O quegli altri poveri diavoli che fingono di spassarsi andando su e giù per la galleria deserta, col vento che vi soffia gelato da ogni parte, aspettando che il custode volti il capo, o finga di chiudere gli occhi, per sdraiarsi nel vano di una porta, raggomitolati in un soprabito cencioso.
Questi qui non isbraitano, non stampano giornali, non si mettono in prima fila nelle dimostrazioni. Le dimostrazioni gli altri, alla fin fine, le fanno a piedi, senza spendere un soldo di carrozza.
# Al veglione
C'era andato a portare un paniere di bottiglie, di quelle col collo inargentato, nel palco della contessa, e s'era fermato col pretesto di aspettare che le vuotassero; tanto, in cinque com'erano nel palchetto, non potevano asciugarle tutte, e qualcosa sarebbe rimasta anche in fondo ai piatti. Sicché alle sue donne aveva detto: – Aspettatemi alla porta del teatro, in mezzo alla gente che sta a veder passare i signori.
Lì, sull'uscio del palchetto, i servitori lo guardavano in cagnesco, coi loro faccioni da prete, ché i padroni stessi, là dentro il palco, come li aveva visti da una sbirciatina attraverso il cristallo, non stavano così impalati e superbiosi come quei servitori nelle loro livree nuove fiammanti.
Nel palco era un va e vieni di signori colla cravatta bianca, e il fiore alla bottoniera, come i lacchè delle carrozze di gala, che pareva un porto di mare. E ogni volta che l'uscio si apriva arrivava come uno sbuffo di musica e d'allegria, una luminaria di tutti i palchetti di faccia, e una folla di colori rossi, bianchi, turchini, di spalle e di braccia nude, e di petti di camicia bianchi. Anche la contessa aveva le spalle nude e le voltava al teatro, per far vedere che non gliene importava nulla. Un signore che le stava dietro, col naso proprio sulle spalle, le parlava serio serio, e non si muoveva più di lì, che doveva sentir di buono quel posto. L'altra amica, una bella bionda, badava invece a rosicarsi il ventaglio, guardando di qua e di là fuori del palco, come se cercasse un terno al lotto, e si voltava ogni momento verso l'uscio del corridoio, con quei suoi occhi celesti e quel bel musino color di rosa, tanto che il povero Pinella si faceva rosso in viso, come c'entrasse per qualcosa anche lui.
Ah, la Luisina che era lì fuori, nella folla, non gli era sembrata fatta di quella pasta nemmeno quando l'aspettava alla porta dei padroni, via S. Antonio, la domenica, che s'erano picchiati col servitore del pian di sotto, il quale pretendeva che la Luisina desse retta a lui, perché ci aveva il soprabitone coi bottoni inargentati.
Quest'altro, quel del faccione da prete, impalato dietro l'uscio, gli disse: – E lei? Cosa sta ad aspettare qui?
– Aspetto le bottiglie, rispose Pinella.
– Le bottiglie? Gliele daremo poi, le bottiglie; dopo cena. C'è tempo, c'è tempo.
– Fossi matto! pensava Pinella sgattaiolando pel corridoio. Di qui non mi muovo!
Egli aveva visto che il suo padrone di casa per entrare in teatro aveva pagato 10 lire, sbuffando, anzimando pel grasso, rosso come un tacchino dentro il suo zimarrone di pelliccia, tastando i biglietti nel portafogli colle dita corte. Fortuna che non aveva scorto Pinella, se no gli chiedeva lì stesso i denari della pigione.
Egli era già salito due volte sino al quinto piano, soffiando, per riscuoterli. Ma la Luisina aveva acchiappato un reuma alla gamba, collo star di notte a vendere il caffè sotto l'arco della Galleria, e quei pochi soldi che buscava la Carlotta vendendo paralumi per le strade e nei caffè, se n'erano andati tutti in quel mese che la mamma era stata in letto.
Per le scale, e nei corridoi, c'era folla anche là. Mascherine che strillavano e si rincorrevano; signore incappucciate, giovanotti col cappello sotto il braccio che le appostavano a chiacchierare sottovoce in un cantuccio all'oscuro. Pinella riescì a ficcarsi in un andito, fra le assi del palcoscenico, dietro una gran tela dipinta, dove c'erano degli strappi che parevano fatti apposta per mettervi un occhio. Là si stava da papa. Sembrava una lanterna magica. Vedevasi tutto il teatro, pieno zeppo, dappertutto fin sulle pareti, per cinque piani. Lumi, pietre preziose, cravatte bianche, vesti di seta, ricami d'oro, braccia nude, gambe nude, gente tutta nera, strilli, colpi di gran cassa, squilli di tromba, stappare di bottiglie, un brulichìo, una baraonda.
– Bello! eh? gli soffiò dietro le orecchie un ragazzone che era entrato di straforo come lui.
– Eccome! esclamò Pinella. E' si divertono per 10 lire! – Lì davanti, su di una panca a ridosso della scena, erano sedute due mascherine, e cercavano di esser sole anche loro, perché avevano un mondo di cose da dirsi. Lui, il giovanotto, gliele lasciava cascare sul collo, che la ragazza aveva bianco e delicato, così che quei ricciolini sulla nuca tremavano come avessero freddo, e le spalle pure trasalivano, e si facevano rosse mentre ella chinava il capo, non ricordandosi neppure che ci aveva la maschera sul viso.
– La ci casca! La ci casca! gongolava il vicino di Pinella. Ma il povero Pinella in quel momento osservava che la ragazza era magrolina e aveva i capelli castagni come la Carlotta. E l'altro insisteva, insisteva, col fiato caldo sul collo di lei, che avvampava quasi ci si scaldasse, e ritirava pian piano gli stivalini di raso sotto la panca, come per nascondere le gambe nude, nella maglia color di rosa, che luccicava qua e là, e sembrava arrossire anch'essa.
Ah, la Carlotta aspettava di fuori, al freddo, è vero; ma Pinella era più contento così. – La ci va! La ci va! continuava il suo vicino. La ragazza s'era levata, per forza, col mento sul petto, e il seno che si contraeva come un mantice, sotto i ricami d'oro falso. L'altro le aveva preso il braccio, e la tirava, la tirava. Ella si lasciava tirare, passo passo, colle gambe nude che esitavano l'una dietro l'altra. – Tombola! urlò loro dietro il ragazzaccio. E sparvero nella folla.
Pinella se ne andò anche lui col cuore grosso, pensando che una volta aveva sorpreso la Carlotta in piazza della Rosa, a chiacchierare con un giovanotto, proprio come quest'altra, colle guance rosse e il mento sul petto. Ella aveva trovato il pretesto che il giovanotto era un avventore il quale aveva bisogno di una dozzina di paralumi, a casa sua.
A cavalcioni sul parapetto di un palco in prima fila si vedeva una ragazza, vestita all'incirca tal quale l'aveva messa al mondo sua madre, e a viso scoperto, che era bello come il sole, e non aveva bisogno di nasconder nulla. Colle gambe che lasciava spenzolare fuori del palco, minacciava tutti quelli che le venivano a tiro, giovani, vecchi, signori, quel che fossero, e se uno non chinava il capo nel passare dinanzi a lei, glielo faceva chinare per forza. Né ci era da aversela a male, tanto era bella e allegra col bicchiere in mano e le braccia bianche levate in alto; e conosceva tutti, e li chiamava col tu per nome a uno ad uno. Ad un bel giovane che le sorrideva sotto il palco, ritto e fiero, ella gli vuotò sul capo il bicchiere di sciampagna.
– Questo qui, disse uno nella folla, s'è maritato che non è un mese, e la sposa è lì che guarda, in seconda fila.
La sposa in seconda fila, tutta bianca e col viso di ragazza, stava a vedere, seria seria, e con grand'occhi intenti.
– Adesso, pensò Pinella, l'è ora di andare dalla contessa, per le bottiglie.
Nel palco colle cortine rosse calate, dopo l'allegria di prima, s'erano fatti tutti serii e taciturni, che non vedevano l'ora d'andarsene, e posavano i gomiti sulla tavola, carica di lumi e d'argenterie, coi mazzi di fiori da cento lire buttati in un canto.
Nello stanzino dirimpetto i servitori mangiavano in fretta, mentre sparecchiavano, imboccando le bottiglie a guisa di trombette, appena fuori del palco, cacciando i guanti nelle salse e nei dolciumi, lustri e allegri come mascheroni di fontana. Quello del faccione, il superbioso, appena vide arrivare Pinella, cominciò a sclamare: – Corpo!... e voleva mandarlo via. Ma un vecchietto tutto bianco e raggricchiato in una livrea color marrone, disse:
– No! No! lasciatelo stare. Ce n'è per tutti. È carnevale, allegria! allegria!
Anzi gli tagliò una bella fetta di pasticcio, e un altro, colla bocca piena, bofonchiò:
– E' costa cento lire.
Il vecchietto, rizzando su la personcina, aggiunse: – Quando stavo col duca, nel palco, a ogni veglione, si stappavano delle bottiglie per più di 1000 lire.
– Presto! presto! venne a dire il faccione, forbendosi il mento in furia con una tovaglia sudicia. – I padroni hanno ordinato le carrozze.
A Pinella sembrava invece che andavano via sul più bello, e mentre raccoglieva le bottiglie non sapeva capacitarsi perché si sciupassero tanti denari e tanti pasticci da 100 lire se ci si annoiava così presto. Ora che aveva bevuto si sentiva anch'egli il caldo e la smania dell'allegria. I palchi cominciavano a vuotarsi, e dagli usci spalancati intanto si vedeva la folla irrompere di nuovo in platea come un fiume, coi volti accesi, i capelli arruffati, le vesti discinte, le maglie cascanti, le cravatte per traverso, i cappelli ammaccati, strillando, annaspando, pigiandosi, urlando, in mezzo al suono disperato dei tromboni, ai colpi di gran cassa; e un tanfo, una caldura, una frenesia che saliva da ogni parte, un polverìo che velava ogni cosa, denso, come una nebbia, sulla galoppa che girava in tondo a guisa di un turbine, e da un canto, in mezzo a un cerchio di signori in cravatta bianca, pallidi, intenti, ansiosi, che facevano largo per vedere, una coppia più sfrenata delle altre, cogli occhi schizzanti fuori della maschera come pezzi di carbone acceso, i denti bianchi, ghignando, il viso smorto, la testa accovacciata, gli omeri che scappavano dal busto, le gambe nude che s'intrecciavano, con molli contorcimenti dei fianchi. E in seconda fila lassù, la bella sposina dal viso di ragazza, tutta bianca, ritta dinanzi al parapetto, che spalancava gli occhi curiosi, indugiando, mentre suo marito le poneva la mantiglia sulle spalle, e trasaliva al contatto dei guanti di lui.
La Luisina e la Carlotta aspettavano alla porta del teatro, nella piazza bianca di neve, col viso rosso, battendo i piedi e soffiando sulle dita in mezzo alla folla che spalancava gli occhi per veder passare le belle dame imbacuccate nelle pelliccie bianche, dietro i vetri scintillanti delle carrozze. E ad ogni modesto legno di piazza che si avanzava barcollando, la Carlotta guardava le coppie misteriose che vi montavano, accompagnava le gambe in maglia color di rosa cogli stessi grandi occhi avidi e curiosi della sposina tutta bianca, che era in seconda fila.
# Il canarino del N. 15
Come il bugigattolo dei portinai non vedeva mai il sole, e avevano una figliuola rachitica, la mettevano a sedere nel vano della finestra, e ve la lasciavano tutto il santo giorno, sicché i vicini la chiamavano «il canarino del n. 15».
Màlia vedeva passar la gente; vedeva accendere i lumi la sera; e se entrava qualcuno a chiedere di un pigionale rispondeva per la mamma, la sora Giuseppina, che stava al fuoco, o a leggere i giornali dei casigliani.
Sinché c'era un po' di luce faceva anche della trina, con quelle sue mani pallide e lunghe; e un giovanetto della stamperia lì dicontro, al veder sempre dietro i vetri quel visetto, che era delicato, e con delle pèsche azzurre sotto gli occhi, se n'era come si dice innamorato. Ma poi seppe la storia del canarino, e di mezza la persona che era morta sino alla cintola, e non alzò più gli occhi, quando andava e veniva dalla stamperia.
Ella pure ci aveva badato: tanto nessuno la guardava mai! e quel po' di sangue che le restava le tingeva come una rosa la faccia pallida, ogni volta che udiva il passo di lui sull'acciottolato. La stradicciuola umida e scura le sembrava gaia, con quello stelo di pianticella magra che si dondolava dal terrazzino del primo piano, e quei finestroni scuri della tipografia dirimpetto, dov'era un gran lavorìo di puleggie, e uno scorrere di striscie di cuoio, lunghe, lunghe, che non finivano mai, e si tiravano dietro il suo cervello, tutto il giorno. Sul muro c'erano dei gran fogli stampati, che ella leggeva e tornava a leggere, sebbene li sapesse a memoria; e la notte li vedeva ancora, nel buio, cogli occhi spalancati, bianchi, rossi, azzurri, mentre si udiva il babbo che tornava a casa cantando con voce rauca: «O Beatrice, il cor mi dice».
Ella pure, la Màlia, si sentiva gonfiare in cuore la canzone, quando i monelli passavano cantando e battendo gli zoccoli sul terreno ghiacciato, nella nebbia fitta. Ascoltava, ascoltava, col mento sul petto, e provava e riprovava la cantilena sottovoce, davvero come un canarino che ripassi la parte.
Diventava anche civettuola. La mattina, prima che la mettessero dietro la finestra, si lisciava i capelli, e ci appuntava un garofano, quando l'aveva, con quelle mani scarne. Come la Gilda, sua sorella, si attillava per andar dalla sarta, col velo nero sulla testolina maliziosa, e scutrettolava vispa vispa nella vestina tutta in fronzoli, la guardava con quel sorriso dolce e malinconico delle sue labbra pallide, poi la chiamava con un cenno del capo, e voleva darle un bacio. Un giorno che la Gilda le regalò un fiocchetto di nastro smesso, ella si fece rossa dal piacere. Alle volte le moriva sulle labbra la domanda se nei giornali non ci fosse un rimedio per lei.
La poveretta non si stancava mai di aspettare che quel giovane tornasse ad alzare il capo verso la finestra. Aspettava, aspettava, cogli occhi alla viuzza, e le dita scarne che facevano andare la spoletta. Ma poi lo vide che accompagnava la Gilda, passo passo, tenendo le mani nelle tasche, e si fermarono ancora a chiacchierare sulla porta.
Si vedeva soltanto la schiena di lui, che le parlava con calore, e la Gilda pensierosa raspava nel selciato colla punta dell'ombrellino. Essa poi disse:
– Qui no, che c'è la Màlia a far la sentinella, ed è una seccatura.
Alfine un sabato sera il giovanotto entrò anche lui insieme alla Gilda, e si misero a chiacchierare colla sora Giuseppina, che metteva delle castagne nella cenere calda. Si chiamava Carlini; era scapolo, compositore-tipografo, e guadagnava 36 lire la settimana. Prima d'andarsene diede la buonasera anche alla Màlia, che stava al buio nel vano della finestra.
D'allora in poi cominciò a venire sovente, poi quasi ogni sera. La sora Giuseppina aveva preso a volergli bene, pel suo fare ben educato, ché non veniva mai colle mani vuote: confetti, mandarini, bruciate, alle volte anche una bottiglia sigillata. Allora si fermava in casa anche il babbo della ragazza, il sor Battista, a chiacchierare col Carlini come un padre, dicendogli che voleva cucirgli lui il primo vestito nuovo, se mai. Egli ci aveva là il banco e le forbici da sarto, e il ferro da stirare, e l'attaccapanni e lo specchio pei clienti. Adesso lo specchio serviva per la Gilda. Mentre il giovane aspettava l'innamorata si metteva a discorrere colla Màlia; le parlava della sorella, le diceva quanto le volesse bene, e che incominciava a mettere dei soldi alla Cassa di Risparmio. Appena tornava la Gilda si mettevano a sussurrare in un cantuccio, bocca contro bocca, pigliandosi le mani allorché la mamma voltava le spalle.
Una sera egli le diede un grosso bacio dietro l'orecchio, mentre la sora Giuseppina sbadigliava in faccia al fuoco, e Carlini credeva che nessuno li vedesse, tanto che alle volte se ne andava senza pensare nemmeno che la Màlia fosse là, per darle la buonanotte. Una domenica arrivò tutto contento colla nuova che aveva trovata la casa che ci voleva: due stanzette a Porta Garibaldi, ed era anche in trattative per comprare i mobili dell'inquilino che sloggiava, un povero diavolo col sequestro sulle spalle, per via della pigione. Il Carlini era così contento che diceva alla Màlia:
– Peccato che non possiate venire a vederla anche voi!
La ragazza si fece rossa. Ma rispose: – La Gilda sarà contenta lei.
Ma la Gilda non sembrava molto contenta. Spesso il Carlini l'aspettava inutilmente, e si lagnava colla Màlia di sua sorella, che non gli voleva bene come lui gliene voleva, e gli lesinava le buone parole e tutto il resto. Allora il povero giovane non la finiva più coi piagnistei; raccontava ogni cosa per filo e per segno: che piacere le aveva fatto tal parola, come sorrideva con quella smorfietta, come s'era lasciata dare quel bacio. Almeno provava un conforto nello sfogarsi colla Màlia. Gli pareva quasi di parlare colla Gilda, tanto la Màlia somigliava a sua sorella, nell'ombra, mentre lo ascoltava guardandolo con quegli occhi. Arrivava perfino a prenderle la mano, dimenticando che era mezzo morta su quella seggiola.
– Guardate, le diceva. Vorrei che la Gilda foste voi, col cuore che avete!
Stava lì per delle ore, colle mani sui ginocchi, finché tornava la Gilda. Almeno udiva il trottarello lesto dei suoi tacchetti, e la vedeva arrivare con quel visetto rosso dal freddo, e quegli occhi belli che interrogavano in giro tutta la stanzetta al primo entrare. La Gilda era vanarella e ambiziosa; gli aveva proibito di accompagnarla colla sua camiciuola turchina da operaio, quando andava impettita per via. Una sera Màlia la vide tornare a casa in compagnia di un signorino, di cui la tuba lucida passava rasente al davanzale, e si fermarono sulla porta come faceva prima col Carlini. Ma a costui non disse nulla.
Il poveraccio s'era dissestato. La pigione di casa, i mobili da pagare, i regalucci per la ragazza, il tempo che perdeva: tanto che il direttore della tipografia gli aveva detto: «A che giuoco giuochiamo?». Egli tornava a confidarsi colla Màlia, e la pregava:
– Dovreste parlargliene voi a vostra sorella.
Gilda fece una spallucciata, e rispose alla Màlia:
– Piglialo tu.
A capodanno il Carlini portò in regalo un bel taglio di lanina a righe rosse; tanto rosse che la Gilda diede in uno scoppio di risa, e disse che era adatta per qualche contadina di Desio o di Gorla, come le aveva viste a Loreto. Il giovanotto rimaneva mortificato con l'involto in mano, ripiegandolo adagio adagio, e lo offrì alla Màlia, se lo voleva lei.
Era il primo regalo che la Màlia riceveva e le parve una gran cosa. La sora Giuseppina, per scusare l'uscita della Gilda, prese a dire che quella ragazza era di gusto fine, come una signora, e non trovava mai cosa abbastanza bella pel suo merito. – Per quella figliuola là non sto mica in pena – soleva dire.
La Gilda infatti veniva a casa ora con una mantiglia nuova, che le gonfiava il seno tutto di frange, ora con le scarpine che le strizzavano i piedi, ed ora con un cappellaccio peloso che faceva ombra sugli occhi lucenti al pari di due stelle. Una volta portò un braccialetto d'argento dorato, con una ametista grossa come una nocciuola, che passò di mano in mano per tutto il vicinato. La mamma gongolava e strombazzava i risparmi che faceva la figliuola dalla sarta. La Màlia volle vedere anche lei; e il babbo stava per stendere le mani, e lo chiese in prestito per una sera, onde mostrarlo agli amici, dal tabaccaio e dal liquorista lì accanto. Ma la Gilda si ribellò. Allora il sor Battista cominciò a gridare se ella tornava a casa tardi, e a sfogarsi con Carlini che perdeva il suo tempo e i regalucci dietro quell'ingrata, la quale non aveva cuore nemmeno pei genitori. Gilda un bel giorno gli levò l'incomodo di aspettarla più.
Malgrado le sbravazzate del sor Battista nella casa ci fu il lutto. La sora Giuseppina non fece altro che brontolare e litigare col marito tutta sera. Il sor Battista andò a letto ubbriaco. La Màlia udì sino all'alba il Carlini che aspettava passeggiando nella strada.
Poi la sora Carlina, che vendeva i giornali lì alla cantonata, venne a raccontare qualmente avevano vista la Gilda in Galleria, vestita come una signora. Il babbo giurò che voleva andare col Carlini in traccia del sangue suo, quella domenica, e l'accompagnarono a casa che non si reggeva in piedi.
Il Carlini si era affiatato col sor Battista. Lavorava soltanto quando non poteva farne a meno, ora qua ed ora là nelle piccole stamperie, l'accompagnava all'osteria, e tornavano a braccetto. In casa s'era fatto come un della famiglia per abitudine. Accendeva il fuoco, o il gaz per le scale, menava la tromba, teneva sempre in ordine i ferri del sarto, caso mai servissero, e scopava anche la corte, per risparmiare la sora Giuseppina, giacché suo marito non stava in casa gran fatto. La sora Giuseppina, per gratitudine, voleva fargli credere che la Gilda gli volesse sempre bene, e sarebbe tornata un giorno o l'altro. Egli scuoteva il capo; ma gli piaceva discorrerne colla vecchia, o colla Màlia, che somigliava tutta a sua sorella. Gli pareva di alleggerirsi il cuore in tal modo, quando ella l'ascoltava fra chiaro e scuro, fissandolo con quegli occhi. E una volta che era stato all'osteria, e si sentiva una gran confusione dalla tenerezza, le diede anche un bacio.
La Màlia non gridò: ma si mise a tremare come una foglia. Già non c'era avvezza; e la mamma per lei non stava in guardia. L'indomani, a testa riposata, Carlini era venuto a chiacchierare come il solito, spensierato e indifferente. Ma la poveretta si sentiva sempre quel bacio sulla bocca, col fiato acre di lui, e vi aveva pensato tutta la notte. Allora in principio di primavera, come se quel bacio fosse stato del fuoco vivo, Màlia cominciò a struggersi e a consumarsi a poco a poco. La mamma ripeteva alla sora Carolina e alla portinaia della casa accanto che il male le saliva dalle gambe per tutta la persona. Il medico glielo avea detto.
Il marzo era piovoso. Tutto il giorno si udiva la grondaia che scrosciava sul tetto di vetro della stamperia, e la gente che sfangava per la stradicciuola. Ogni po' si fermava alla porta un legno grondante acqua, e sbattevano in furia gli sportelli e l'usciale.
– Questa è la Gilda, esclamava la mamma. La Màlia pallida cogli occhi fissi alla porta, non diceva nulla, ma s'affilava in viso. Poi nell'ora malinconica in cui anche la finestra si oscurava, passava la voce lamentevole di quel che vendeva i giornali: – _Secolo_! il _Secolo_! – come una malinconia che cresceva. E la Gilda non veniva.
Al san Giorgio, com'era tornato il bel tempo, la giornalista lì accanto ed altri vicini progettarono una gita in campagna. Il Carlini, che s'era fatto di casa, fu della partita anche lui. La sera scesero dal tramvai tutti brilli, e portando delle manciate di margheritine e di fiori di campo. Il Carlini, in vena di galanteria, volle regalare alla Màlia tutti quei fiori che gli impacciavano le mani. La povera malata ne fu contenta, come se le avessero portato un pezzo di campagna. Dal suo lettuccio aveva vista la bella giornata di là dalla finestra, sul muro dirimpetto che sembrava più chiaro, colla pianticella del terrazzino che metteva le prime foglie. Ella voleva che le piantassero quei fiorellini in un po' di terra, perché non morissero, in qualche coccio di stoviglia, che ce ne dovevano essere tante in cucina. Un capriccio da moribonda, si sa. Gli altri rispondevano ridendo che era come far camminare un morto. Per contentarla ne collocarono alcuni in un bicchier d'acqua sul cassettone, e a fine di tenerla allegra tirarono fuori il discorso della veste a righe rosse e nere, tuttora in pezza, che la Màlia si sarebbe fatta fare, quando stava meglio. Suo padre ci aveva lì le forbici, e il refe e tutti i ferri del mestiere. La poveretta li ascoltava guardandoli in volto ad uno ad uno, e sorrideva come una bambina. Il giorno dopo i fiori del bicchiere erano morti. Nel bugigattolo mancava l'aria per vivere.
L'estate cresceva. Giorno e notte bisognava tener spalancata la finestra pel gran caldo. Il muro di faccia si era fatto giallo e rugoso. Quando c'era la luna scendeva sin nella stradicciuola in un riflesso chiaro e smorto. Si udivano le mamme e i vicini chiacchierare sulle porte.
Al ferragosto il sor Battista coi denari delle mancie prese una sbornia coi fiocchi, e si picchiarono colla sora Giuseppina. Il Carlini, nel far da paciere, si buscò un pugno che l'accecò mezzo.
La Màlia quella sera stava peggio; e con quello spavento per giunta, il medico che veniva pel primo piano disse chiaro e tondo che poco le restava da penare, povera ragazza.
A quell'annunzio babbo e mamma fecero la pace, e venne anche la Gilda vestita di seta, senza che si sapesse chi glielo aveva detto.
La Màlia invece credeva di star meglio, e chiese che le sciorinassero sul letto il vestito in pezza del Carlini, onde «farci festa» diceva lei. Stava a sedere sul letto, appoggiata ai guanciali, e per respirare si aiutava muovendo le braccia stecchite, come fa un uccelletto colle ali.
La sora Carolina disse che bisognava andare pel prete, e il babbo che quelle minchionerie le aveva sempre disprezzate col _Secolo_ , se ne andò all'osteria in segno di protesta. La sora Giuseppina accese due candele, e mise una tovaglia sul cassettone. Màlia, al vedere quei preparativi si scompose in viso, ma si confessò col prete, anche il bacio del Carlini, e dopo volle che la mamma e la sorella non la lasciassero sola.
Il babbo, l'aspettarono, s'intende. La sora Giuseppina si era appisolata sul canapè, e Gilda discorreva sottovoce col Carlini accanto alla finestra, credendo che la Màlia dormisse. Così la poveretta passò senza che se ne accorgessero, e i vicini dissero che era morta proprio come un canarino.
Il babbo il giorno dopo pianse come un vitello, e la sua moglie sospirava:
– Povero angelo! Ha finito di penare! Ma eravamo abituati a vederla là, a quella finestra, come un canarino. Ora ci parrà di esser soli peggio dei cani.
La Gilda promise di tornar spesso e lasciò i denari pel funerale. Ma a poco a poco anche il Carlini diradò le visite, e come aveva cambiato alloggio a San Michele, non si vide più.
Sulla finestra il babbo, per mutar vita, fece inchiodare un pezzetto d'asse, con su l'insegna «Sarto» la quale vi rimase tale e quale come il canarino del n. 15.
# Amore senza benda
Battista, il ciabattino, era morto col crepacuore che Tonio, suo eguale, fosse arrivato a metter bottega in Cordusio, e lui no: la vedova seguitava ad arrabattarsi facendo la levatrice in Borgo degli Ortolani, magra come un'acciuga, con delle mani spolpate che sembrava se le fosse fatte apposta pel suo mestiere. Tutta pel figliuolo, Sandro, un ragazzo promettente, che «l'avrebbe fatta morire nelle lenzuola di tela fine, se Dio voleva, com'era nata», diceva la sora Antonietta a tutto il vicinato; e si turava il naso colle dita gialle quando saliva certe scale. Dell'altra figlia non parlava mai: che era portinaia in San Pietro all'Orto, e il marito le faceva provar la fame.
Sandrino aveva la sua ambizione anche lui, e gli era venuta una volta che il padrone l'aveva condotto a vedere il ballo del Dal Verme, in galleria. Volle essere artista, comparsa o tramagnino. La sora Antonietta chiudeva gli occhi perché Sandrino era il più bel brunetto di Milano, – non lo diceva perché l'avesse fatto lei! – ed anche pei cinquanta centesimi che si buscava ogni sera a quel mestiere. Quando ballava la tarantella del Masaniello, vestito da lazzarone, la contessa del palchetto a sinistra se lo mangiava cogli occhi, dicevano.
A lui non gliene importava della contessa, perché era fatta come un salame nella carta inargentata; ma ci aveva gusto pei suoi compagni di bottega, che si martellavano d'invidia a batter la suola tutto il giorno, lo canzonavano e lo chiamavano «sor conte» per gelosia.
La domenica, colla giacchetta attillata, e il virginia da sette all'aria, se ne andava girelloni sul corso, più alto un palmo del solito, a veder le contesse.
All'occorrenza parlava di tanti che erano cominciati ballerini, tramagnini al pari di lui, o anche semplici comparse, per arrivare ad essere coreografi, cavalieri, ricchi sfondolati, artisti insomma, tale e quale come il maestro Verdi. – «Artisti da piedi! rispondeva la mamma. – No, no, ci vuol altro!» – Ella aveva messo gli occhi addosso alla figlia unica del padrone di casa, carbonaio, una grassona col naso a trombetta, e le mani piene di geloni sino a tutto aprile. – Con quella lì, quando fosse morto il vecchio c'era da mettere carrozza e cavalli. Perciò teneva l'orfanella come la pupilla degli occhi suoi, le faceva da madre, la lisciava e l'accarezzava. Nelle serate a benefizio della famiglia artistica, quando la Scala rimaneva quasi vuota, si faceva dare gratis dei biglietti di piccionaia, e conduceva al ballo tutta la famiglia, il carbonaio colla camicia di bucato e la ragazza strizzata nello spenserino di seta celeste, per mostrare il suo Sandro, là, quello colle lenticchie d'oro sulle mutande, che faceva girare il lanternone! Un ragazzo di talento! Purché non si fosse indotto a far qualche scioccheria colle contesse che sapeva lei! Il carbonaio spalancava gli occhi al veder le ballerine, e diventava rosso che pareva gli stesse per venire un accidente.
Ma Sandrino non voleva saperne della carbonaia. Egli s'era innamorato di Olga, una ragazza _del corpo di ballo_ , dal musino di gatta, con tanto di pesche sotto gli occhi, che non aveva ancora sedici anni. La mamma di lei, ortolana in via della Vetra, soleva dire alle vicine:
– Non volevo che facesse la ballerina; ma quella ragazza si sentiva il mestiere nel sangue.
La Olga quando ammazzolava le carote colle mani sudicie, chiamavasi Giovanna, e aveva una vesticciuola sbrindellata indosso. Allorché la Carlotta, lì vicino, le regalava un nastro vecchio, e poteva scappar da lei a infarinarsi il viso, borbottava tutta contenta:
– Vedete, se fossi come la Carlotta! Qui mi si rovinano le mani, ogni anno!
E tutta sola, davanti allo specchio della ballerina, tirava su le gonnelle, e studiava i passi e le smorfie, e a dimenare i fianchi.
Alla Scala da principio se ne stava lì grulla, ritta sulle zampe come il pellicano, non sapendo cosa farne. Sandrino prese a proteggerla perché le altre ragazze la tormentavano coi motteggi.
– Non dia retta, sora Giovannina. Son canaglia, che hanno la superbia nel vestito; ma se vedesse che camicie, nello spogliatoio! – Ella, per riconoscenza, gli piantava addosso quegli occhi che facevano girare il capo.
La prima volta che si lasciò rubare un bacio, al buio nel corridoio, gli si attaccò al collo, come una sanguisuga, e giurarono di amarsi sempre. La sora Antonietta inferocita, non voleva sentirne parlare; e sbuffava ogni volta che Sandrino gliela conduceva a casa la domenica. Solo il carbonaio l'accoglieva amorevolmente, e le prendeva il ganascino, colle mani sudicie che lasciavano il segno. Sandro duro come un mulo. Infine sua madre andò a dire il fatto suo a quella di via della Vetra: – «Cosa s'erano messi in testa quei presuntuosi? Volevano far sposare a Sandrino una che mostrava le gambe per cinquanta lire al mese? Meglio di quella glie ne erano passate tante per le mani, che erano cadute per l'ambizione di chiappare il sole e la luna!» – «Il sole e la luna! – rimbeccò l'ortolana – col bel mestiere che fa la mamma, che ogni momento vi chiamano in questura e dinanzi al giudice!» Sandrino, quella volta, s'era presi degli schiaffi nel mettere pace; e la Olga, causa innocente, per consolarlo alla prova gli saltò in mutandine sulle ginocchia, come una bambina.
– Quando quella ragazza si farà – dicevano le più esperte della scuola – vedrete!
Intanto cominciarono a ronzarle attorno i mosconi delle sedie d'orchestra, e la Nana, a cui Sandrino giurava di voler raddrizzar le gambe storte, portava i bigliettini e i mazzi di fiori. La Olga resisteva. Ma quando il barone delle poltrone le piantava addosso l'occhialetto, la ragazza tendeva il garretto, e lasciava correre in platea delle occhiate nere come il diavolo.
La Carlotta, vedendo che quella pitocca raccolta da lei stessa, alla sua porta, voleva levargli il pane, sputava veleno contro Sandrino che vedeva e taceva. – No che non taccio! – sclamava Sandrino. – Sentirete quel che farò se me ne accorgo io!
Una sera stava vestendosi pel ballo, col cappellaccio a piume, e il mantello ricamato d'oro quando vide passare la Nana, con un mazzo di fiori, che infilava arrancando il corridoio delle ballerine.
– Sangue di!... corpo di!... – cominciò a sbraitare; ma pel momento non poté far altro, ché di fuori chiamavano pel ballo. Olga comparve l'ultima, infarinata come un pesce, scutrettolando più che mai, e col garretto teso, quasi avesse preso un terno secco quella sera.
– Olga, – le disse Sandrino sotto la fontana di carta, mentre le ragazze si schieravano scalpicciando e sciorinando le gonnelline. – Olga, non mi fare la civetta, o guai a te!...
La Olga avrebbe potuto stare nella prima quadriglia, tanto si sbracciava e dimenava i fianchi, che bisognava scorgerla per forza. – O che non l'abbassa mai l'occhialetto quello sfacciato! – borbottava lui, mentre sgambettava con grazia reggendo la ghirlanda di fiori di tela, sotto la quale Olga passava e ripassava luccicante e con tutte le vele al vento. Ella, per togliersi la seccatura, gli rispose che quel signore voleva godersi i denari che spendeva. – E tu ci hai gusto! – insisteva Sandro. – Lo fai apposta! Quando hai a passare sotto la ghirlanda, ti chini come se io fossi nano. – Mi chino come mi piace! – rispose lei alfine. E per giunta il direttore assestò a lui la multa.
Al vederla così caparbia, con quegli occhi indiavolati, che buttava all'aria ogni cosa, egli se la mangiava con li sguardi come quell'altro, e ballava fuori tempo dalla rabbia. La Olga pareva che lo facesse apposta a girargli intorno senza farsi cogliere. Infine, nel galoppo finale, poté balbettarle ansante sulla nuca:
– Se tu cerchi l'amoroso nelle poltrone, troverò anch'io qualcosa nei palchi.
– Bravo! – rispose lei. – Ingégnati!
Egli si strappava i pizzi e i ricami di dosso, buttandoli sul tavolaccio unto, e sbuffava e giurava che voleva aspettar davvero la contessa. Ma questa gli passò accanto sotto il portico senza vederlo nemmeno, e il cocchiere, impellicciato sino al naso, gli andava quasi addosso coi cavalli, senza dir: ehi!
Sandrino tornò mogio mogio in via Filodrammatici, donde le ragazze uscivano in frotta, e la Irma strapazzava per bene il suo banchiere che non l'aveva aspettata come al solito sotto il portico dell'Accademia. Olga veniva l'ultima, lemme lemme, col suo scialletto bianco che metteva freddo a vederlo, e un bel mazzo di rose sotto il naso.
– Vedi come la Irma sa farsi rispettare? – disse a Sandro. – Ed è un signore con cavalli e carrozza!
Sandrino pretendeva invece che gli dicesse chi le aveva date quelle rose. Ma ella non volle dirglielo. Poi gli inventò che gliele aveva regalate la Bionda.
– Vengono da Genova, – osservò. – E costan molto!
In questa li raggiunse una carrozza, all'angolo di via Torino, e il signore delle poltrone si affacciò allo sportello per buttare un bacio alla ragazza. Sandrino gridava e sacramentava che voleva correr dietro al legno. Ma lei lo trattenne per le falde del soprabito un po' malandato, sicché Sandrino si chetò subito.
– Perché hanno dei denari!... Ma Dio Madonna!...
– Se mi accompagni per far di queste scene preferisco andarmene tutta sola, – disse lei.
– Lo so che sei già stufa! Se sei stufa, dimmelo che me ne vado!
Ella non rispondeva, a capo chino, dimenando i fianchi, talché Sandrino si ammansò da lì a poco. Quando era colla Olga non sentiva né il freddo, né la stanchezza, e l'avrebbe accompagnata in capo al mondo.
– Però, – brontolò lei, – qualche volta potresti pigliare un brum, col freddo che fa. Sento la neve dai buchi delle scarpe.
– Vuoi che pigliamo il brum?
– No, adesso è inutile, adesso!
E seguitava a brontolare.
– Del resto, pel gusto che c'è... sono due anni che ho questo scialletto, e pare una tela di ragno! Come se tua madre non fosse venuta sino a casa mia per dire che volevano rubargli il figliuolo! Non siamo mica dei pezzenti, sai!
– Lascia stare, lascia stare – rispondeva lui, ma vedendo che infilava già la chiave nella toppa: – Così mi lasci, senza darmi un bacio?...
La Olga si volse e glielo diede. Poi entrò nell'andito e chiuse l'uscio.
Il domani, Sandrino si fece anticipare quindici lire dal principale, e comperò un manicotto e una pellegrina di pelle di gatto. Ma la Olga non venne alla prova. Il giorno dopo le appiopparono la multa, ed ella snocciolò le lirette una sull'altra, sorridendo come niente fosse.
– Grandezze! – esclamò Sandrino masticando veleno. – Ha preso l'ambo, sora Olga!
Giurò che voleva darle due schiaffi se la incontrava col barone, in parola d'onore! E glieli diede davvero, al caffè Merlo dei Giardini Pubblici, una domenica mentre pigliava il sorbetto, coi guanti sino al gomito, sotto un cappellone tutto piume. Pinf! panf! Il barone, pallido come un cencio, voleva compromettersi. Però la Olga se lo condusse via, gridandogli di non sporcarsi le mani con quello straccione.
– Straccione! – borbottava lui. – Ora che ci hai di meglio son diventato uno straccione! E' par tisico in terzo grado il tuo barone! È vero che a questo mondo tutto sta nei denari!
Ed ora faceva l'occhio di triglia alla sora Mariettina, la figlia del padrone di casa, dalla finestra del cortiletto puzzolente. – La sta bene, sora Mariettina? Gran bella giornata oggi! – La mamma sottomano aggiungeva: – Quel ragazzo è innamorato morto di lei. Ne farà una malattia, ne farà! – E si asciugava gli occhi col grembiule. La sora Marietta si sentiva gonfiare il petto sino al naso. Scendeva nel cortile, a pigliar aria, e si perdeva per la scaletta col giovane. Il babbo, sempre in mezzo al suo carbone, non si accorgeva di nulla. Quando la sora Antonietta vide i ferri ben scaldati, annunziò che avrebbe fatto San Michele e se ne sarebbe andata via di quella casa per impedire il male, se era tempo.
Sandrino sospirava, guardando la ragazza; e tutti e due volevano buttarsi nel Naviglio, se avevano a lasciarsi. – Non te l'avevo detto? – esclamava la madre; e tremava che non avesse a succedere qualche guaio grosso. Quello scrupolo non le faceva chiuder occhio nella notte, e se ne confessava col sor prevosto perché ne parlasse al padre della ragazza. Ma il carbonaio, che aveva l'anima nera come la pece, non volle sentir ragione.
– Bugie! Tutta invenzione della levatrice, che non si contenta di far quel mestiere solo.
Allora la Mariettina, a provare ch'era vero, scappò via con Sandro. Egli le aveva detto come alla Olga: – O lei, o nessun'altra!
In tal modo Sandrino ebbe la Mariettina, ma senza dote. E la levatrice dovette adattarvisi pel decoro dell'impiego. Allora il suocero si riconciliò con tutta la brigata, e andava dicendo che il veder quelle due tortorelle gli metteva il pizzicore di fare come loro, benedetti! Già, gli avevano preso la figliuola, e solo non poteva starci.
La sora Antonietta, abbaiando come un cane da caccia, venne a scoprire che il vecchio «impostore» gira e rigira era andato a cascare nella Olga, a Porta Renza, e gli costava un occhio del capo all'avaraccio: appartamento, donna di servizio, e mobili di mogano. Il vecchio adesso voleva sposarla per fare economia, e mettersi in grazia di Dio. La Olga che non era più una ragazzina, pensava all'avvenire, e si lasciava sposare.
Sandrino, al sentire che gli portavano in casa quella poco di buono, montò sulle furie, e voleva anche piantar la moglie; tanto, colla figlia unica o senza, gli toccava sempre tirar lo spago, nella bottega del calzolaio. Sua madre più giudiziosa lo calmò dicendogli che era meglio aver la suocera sott'occhio, per poterla sorvegliare. – «Il peggio è se gli appioppa qualche figliuolo!» – osservava lei che se ne intendeva. – E se il vecchio non c'era cascato sino a quel giorno, non voleva dire; che il sacramento del matrimonio fa dei miracoli peggio di quello.
La Olga, credendo diventar signora, fece il suo malanno col mettersi in grazia di Dio, e gli toccò subirsi il marito, il quale intendeva fare economia dei denari spesi prima, e per giunta la sora Antonietta, tornata in pace, che non la lasciava un momento solo, onde dimostrarle che non aveva fiele in corpo.
– Tutti quei dissapori devono aver fine – diceva alla Olga ed al Sandro. – Adesso siete quasi come madre e figlio.
La Olga dalla noia di non veder altri in casa sua, si era riconciliata col Sandrino. Gli pareva di tornare a quei bei tempi, quando non era così grassa; e anche lui si scordava della Marietta che s'era messa sulle spalle proprio per nulla. L'altra negli occhi ci aveva sempre quella guardatura che a lui gli metteva le pulci nel sangue, e quando la baciò per far la pace, gli parve come quando l'accompagnava ogni sera in via della Vetra. – Bei tempi, eh? sora Olga? – Ella raccontava che la Irma s'era fatta sposare dal banchiere, e la Carlotta era andata a cercar fortuna in America.
– Io sola non ho sorte!
– Bada a quel che fai! – predicava la sora Antonietta; – se affibbia un figliolo al vecchio, dell'eredità vi leccherete i baffi.
La Marietta, lì presente, approvava del capo.
– Siete matte? – rispondeva Sandro. – La roba di mia moglie! O per chi mi pigliate?
Egli corteggiava la madrigna allo scopo di tenerla d'occhio, né più né meno, come faceva la sora Antonietta. L'accompagnava in via della Vetra, ché la Olga non aveva ombra di superbia, e gli piaceva stare nella bottega come quand'era ragazza. L'ortolana diceva ai due ragazzi: – Vedete! chi l'avrebbe detto? Eppure ci siete tornati! Ma la sua mamma è pure una gran linguaccia, sor Sandrino! – Lasci stare, lasci stare! – ripeteva lui. E nell'andarsene, la sera Olga gli pigliava il gomito, come a dire: – Si ricorda?
Era là, in quella stessa stradicciuola scura e tortuosa. Una volta che non passava gente, egli la strinse fra le braccia. D'allora non ebbero più pace; il sangue bolliva nelle vene a tutti e due, e si correvano dietro come due gatti in febbraio. La sora Antonietta predicava: – Bada a quel che fai! Bada veh! – Lui turbato, coi capelli arruffati e gli occhi fuori del capo, rispondeva sempre:
– No! No! siete matta? Quello no. State tranquilla!
Il vecchio era geloso delle visite alla mamma e della gente che ci aveva sempre fra i piedi. Lagnavasi che gli avevano fatto la chiave falsa, e l'ortolana si pappava i suoi denari; la levatrice s'era tirata anche in casa la figliuola, quella di San Pietro all'Orto, e mangiavano tutti alle sue spalle, diceva. Quei dispiaceri gli accorciarono la vita. La Olga stava chiacchierando con Sandrino allato alla tromba, colla secchia in mano, poiché arrivavano anche a quei pretesti per vedersi, e non sapevano più stare alle mosse. Egli voleva toglierle la secchia dalle mani, tutto tremante. – No! No! rispondeva lei, a capo chino, col petto ansante, perché era gelosa della Marietta. E Sandro balbettava che la Marietta era un'altra cosa. Lo giurava anche. Volergli bene sì, ma...
In questo momento dalla finestra gridarono che al marito della sora Olga era venuto un accidente. Sandrino scappò a chiamare la moglie e la suocera. E tutti si piantarono dinanzi al letto, col viso arcigno. Appena il vecchio poté dar segno di vita, prima che venisse il prete, mandarono pel notaio. Il moribondo nel punto di comparire al giudizio di Dio, biascicò: – La roba a chi tocca. – E se ne andò in santa pace.
Quanto all'Olga la cacciarono fuori a pedate, e Sandrino giurò che voleva tenerle gli occhi addosso anche se si mutava di camicia, per impedirle di portar via la roba della sua Mariettina. Lei, sulle scale, gridava che il vecchio ladro gli aveva rubata la gioventù, e voleva litigare e dir tutte le porcherie di quella casa. Ma Sandrino, trattenendo la moglie per le sottane l'accarezzava e le diceva: – Non dar retta! Lasciala sgolare! Sai che donnaccia! Non ti guastare il sangue per colei! Ora vogliamo stare allegri.
# Semplice storia
Balestra era arrivato da poco al reggimento, insaccato nel cappotto; Femia stava bambinaia in via Cusani: così incontravasi spesso in piazza Castello, davanti alla banda, Femia leticando coi bambini della padrona, lui perso nella baraonda di Milano, e pensando al suo paese, colla mano sulla daga. Un bel giorno finirono col mettersi a sedere, sotto i castagni d'India in fiore, e scambiarono qualche parola intorno alla folla che vi era quella domenica, ai bambini della Femia i quali le davano di quelle paure col tramvai lì vicino. Carletto l'altro giorno s'era ammaccato il naso cadendo lungo disteso. – Ella baciava il fanciullo che non voleva saperne, e strillava. – Quando si è soli al mondo ci si attacca anche alle pietre. – Tale e quale come lui! Al reggimento non aveva né amici né parenti.
Da principio non si capivano; perché Balestra era di quelle parti là del mezzogiorno, dove parlano che Dio sa come facciano ad intendersi. Alle volte, dopo aver chiacchierato e chiacchierato, conchiudevano col guardarsi in faccia, grulli, e si mettevano a ridere.
Ma ci avevano preso gusto lo stesso a stare insieme. Ogni giorno, mentre Balestra aspettava la ritirata sul sedile, colle gambe ciondoloni, Femia arrivava col suo grembiale bianco, correndo dietro i marmocchi, e si davano la buona sera. Egli, chiaccherone, a poco a poco le narrò ogni cosa dei fatti suoi; che era di Tiriolo, vicino a Catanzaro, e ci aveva casa e parenti laggiù, all'estremità del paese, dove cominciavano i prati, come quel pezzetto di verde che si vedeva verso l'Arco del Sempione, – quattro fratelli, e il padre carrettiere; l'avrebbero voluto in cavalleria per questo motivo, se non era il deputato che aveva da fare con suo padre – un ricco signore. Ma Balestra non vedeva l'ora di tornarsene a casa, quando piaceva a Dio, perché ci aveva l'innamorata, Anna Maria della Pinta, che gli aveva promesso d'aspettarlo, se tornava vivo. – E tirava fuori dal cappotto anche le lettere sudicie e logore di Anna Maria – sapeva di lettere – un pezzo di ragazza così. Femia, che non aveva avuto mai un cane intorno, s'inteneriva, gli guardava commossa gli occhietti lustri di quelle memorie, e il naso a trombetta che sembrava parlare anch'esso, tanto aveva il cuore pieno, e acconsentiva del capo. Anche lei ci aveva in testa un cristiano delle sue parti là del Bergamasco, il quale era andato fuori regno a cercare fortuna. Erano vicini di casa e lo vedeva andare e venire ogni giorno; null'altro. Prima di partire egli l'aveva pregata di tenergli d'occhio la casa, mentr'era via. Quando non se ne ha, bisogna ingegnarsi. Ella si era messa a servire per raggranellare un po' di corredo. Ora aveva il bisognevole e ogni cosa meglio di prima; ma pensava sempre al suo paese, quantunque non ci avesse più nessuno.
Un giorno il caporale si alzò colle lune a rovescio, e appioppò otto giorni di consegna a Balestra, per un bottone che mancava alla stringa del cappotto. – E al superiore non si risponde nemmeno che non si possono avere gli occhi di dietro. – Femia, inquieta, si avventurò sino alla porta del castello, in mezzo alle carrette degli aranci, e ai soldati di cavalleria che strascinavano le sciabole. Allorché lo rivide finalmente la domenica, coi guanti di bucato, fu una vera festa.
– O come?
– Ma già! – rispose lui. – Questo vuol dire militare!
Alle volte le dava del tu, all'uso del suo paese. Ma ella si faceva rossa dalla contentezza, come se fosse per un altro motivo. Allora si lagnò che stesse zitto, se aveva bisogno che gli attaccassero un bottone, o altro, quasi gli amici non ci fossero per nulla.
Balestra grato la regalò di sorbetti, lei ed i bambini, schierati dinanzi alla carretta, che ficcavano le mani nella sorbetteria; e Femia leccava il cucchiarino, adagio adagio, guardandolo negli occhi. Lui pagava da principe, coi guanti di cotone, e la treccia al chepì. Come suonava la banda, lì in piazza, si sentiva dentro il petto quelle trombe e quei colpi di gran cassa. Poi la ritirata si mise a squillare con una gran malinconia, davanti al castello tutto nero, in fondo alla piazza formicolante di lumi. Egli non sapeva risolversi a lasciare la mano di Femia, che gli stringeva le dita di tanto in tanto, anch'essa senza parlare. I bambini che si seccavano strillavano per andare alla giostra.
Femia non aveva soldi, e la mamma era tirchia. La prima volta che sgridarono Carletto perché s'era fatto uno strappo ai calzoncini, il ragazzo accusò Femia che si faceva regalare il sorbetto dal militare col quale andava a spasso.
– Cos'è questa storia del militare? – chiese la padrona. – Mi avevi assicurato d'essere una ragazza onesta. – Il padrone invece scoppiò a ridere. – La Femia, con quella faccia lì?!
La poveraccia si mise a piangere. Eppure del male non ne facevano. Ma adesso, quando Balestra voleva condurla verso l'Arco del Sempione, ella diceva di no, che non stava bene. Per acchetare i bambini, che non volevano allontanarsi dalla banda, gli toccava spendere; e non ostante, a ogni pretesto, la minacciavano di dir tutto alla mamma.
– Così piccoli! – diceva la Femia. – E hanno già la malizia come i grandi!
A quei discorsi, la malizia spuntava anche nel Balestra, il quale cercava sempre i posti all'ombra sotto gli alberi, e voleva menarla alla Cagnola nel tramvai, e inventava dei pretesti per levarsi d'attorno i bimbi, che sgranavano gli occhi, neri così. Di soppiatto le stringeva la mano, dietro la schiena; o faceva finta di nulla, lasciandosi andare sulla spalla di lei, mentre camminavano passo passo, guardando in terra, e spingendo i ciottoli col piede, sentendo un gran piacere a quella spalla che toccava l'altra. Una volta arrivò a darle una strappata alla gonnella, di nascosto, colla faccia rossa e gli occhi che fingevano di guardare altrove, ma gli schizzavano dalla visiera del chepì. Infine spiattellò: – Mi vuoi bene, neh? – E non sapeva come l'amore fosse venuto.
Femia gli voleva bene. Ma terminata la ferma egli se ne sarebbe andato via, e perciò era meglio lasciar stare. Balestra pensava che quando sarebbe tornato a casa, avrebbe trovato l'Anna Maria che l'aspettava, se Dio vuole. – Non importa. Intanto c'era tempo. Piuttosto lei, che pensava ancora a quell'altro, di là fuori regno. Gli faceva delle scene di gelosia per quel cosaccio. Femia giurava che non ci pensava più, davanti a Dio!
– Così farete anche voi, quando ve ne andrete via di qua.
– Intanto abbiamo tempo, – rispondeva lui. – Ho ancora trenta mesi da star soldato.
Gli pareva che da soldato dovesse sempre stare a Milano. Però un giorno arrivò dalla Femia tutto sossopra, coll'annunzio che partiva per Monza tutto il battaglione. Ella non voleva crederci, lì sull'uscio della portinaia, la quale fingeva di non veder nulla. Poi osservò che almeno Monza non era lontana; ma al risalir le scale sentì al tremore delle gambe la gran disgrazia che l'era piombata addosso. La padrona, non si sa come, venne a sapere del militare che bazzicava in portineria, e le diede gli otto giorni per cercarsi un'altra casa. Femia sbalordita com'era dall'angustia, non sentì nemmeno il colpo. Il domani, a qualunque costo, volle andare a salutare Balestra alla stazione.
Erano tutti sul piazzale, coi sacchi in fila per terra, pigiandosi attorno alle carrette dei fruttivendoli. Balestra le corse incontro, coi suoi arnesi da viaggio a tracolla, e il chepì foderato di bianco. Che crepacuore, al vederlo così! Andavano su e giù pel viale, col cuore stretto; e quando fu il momento di partire, egli la tirò in disparte e la baciò.
Per fortuna Monza non era lontana. Ella gli aveva promesso di andarlo subito a trovare. Ma quegli otto giorni in piazza Castello pareva che non ci fosse più nessuno, e ogni soldato che passava i bambini, poveri innocenti, chiedevano: – Balestra perché non viene? – Infine i padroni la mandarono via tutta contenta, col suo fardelletto di roba e quel gruzzolo di salario che aveva raggranellato. Gli rincresceva solo pei ragazzi, che avevano fatto il male senza saperlo. Arrivò a Monza il sabato sera; ma lui non poté vederlo, perché era di guardia. Allora si sentì sconfortata, in quella città dove non conosceva nessuno.
Per Balestra il rivederla fu una festa. Desinarono insieme, e la condusse a vedere il Parco, che ognuno poteva andarci. Là gli pareva di essere nei campi del suo paese, coll'Anna Maria, e Femia si lasciava baciare come voleva lui, tutta contenta che gli volesse bene. – Peccato che non si possa star soli insieme! – diceva Balestra. Ella non rispondeva nulla.
La sera, in caserma, i camerati che l'avevano visto con quella marmotta si burlavano di lui, e gli dicevano: – Che ti pareva non ce ne fossero di meglio a Monza? – Ma egli era un ragazzo costante. Piuttosto gli rincresceva che Femia ci avesse a patire negli interessi, per star dove era lui. Ei non voleva far del male ad alcuno; no davvero! Femia invece era contenta di lavorare alla filanda, lì vicino. Che gliene importava di un boccone di più o di meno? – Già non ho altri al mondo, ve l'ho detto! – Almeno si vedevano ogni domenica, perché lei esciva dal filatoio quando era già suonata la ritirata, e ci entrava appena giorno.
Balestra progettava di affittare una stanza, dove potessero vedersi in santa pace, giacché in caserma non poteva condurla, e non era un bel divertimento star sempre a passeggiare nel Parco. Ella non disse di no; ma lo guardava timorosa, con quell'innocenza che l'era rimasta perché non aveva trovato mai un cane che la volesse. Nel frattempo le capitò la disgrazia d'ammalarsi. Fu un pezzo più di là che di qua, e la portarono all'ospedale di Milano. Balestra scrisse due volte. Poi seppe che aveva il vaiuolo.
Dopo circa due mesi Femia guarì, ma col viso tutto butterato; talché si vergognava a farsi vedere da Balestra in quello stato. Passarono giorni e settimane prima che si decidesse a tornare al filatoio. A poco a poco il gruzzolo di denari se n'era andato, ed era proprio necessario! Però in cuor suo era contenta che fosse necessario, perché voleva vedere cosa ne dicesse lui. Andò a Monza un sabato, come l'altra volta, per aspettare la domenica all'albergo. Il cuore le batteva, mentre vedeva i soldati che escivano dalla caserma a schiere di quattro o cinque. Balestra era dei primi, e quasi non la riconosceva. Poi disse: – Oh, poveretta, come siete ridotta!
Andarono insieme al Parco, come al solito, discorrendo dei casi loro. Egli stava per terminare la ferma, e aspettava il congedo. – Ora, disse, me ne vado al mio paese.
Femia domandava se avesse notizie dell'Anna Maria. – No, da un gran pezzo – lo sapete il proverbio: lontan dagli occhi lontan dal cuore. – Non importa, conchiuse. Sono contento ad ogni modo di tornarmene a casa.
Da che non s'erano più visti, egli si era trovata un'altra amante, lì nelle vicinanze. Femia lo vide insieme a lei qualche giorno dopo, che camminavano a braccetto pel viale.
Balestra era stato zitto. Quando Femia gliene parlò la prima volta, gli venne un risolino furbo, fra pelle e pelle, sotto il naso a trombetta.
– Ah, la Giulia? Come lo sapete?
Ella glielo disse. Balestra voleva sapere pure che gliene sembrava. – E così, conchiuse Femia, se partite, lasciate anche lei?
– Già, non posso mica tirarmi dietro tutti quelli che vorrei. A questo mondo, si sa!... Ma ancora non le ho detto nulla.
Femia andava a cercarlo, ogni volta che poteva, timidamente, per chiedergli se gli occorresse qualche cosa. Lui, grazie, non gli occorreva nulla. Quando si vedevano parlavano anche della Giulia e del congedo che non arrivava, e del poco lavoro che ci era al filatoio. Poi Balestra scappava per correre dall'altra, la quale era gelosa. Guai se sapesse! Questa era la sola carezza che toccasse a Femia: – guai se Giulia sapesse!
Infine venne il giorno della partenza. Femia almeno desiderava accompagnarlo alla stazione, se si poteva... – Perché no? disse Balestra. – Ormai, quell'altra... me ne vado via! – Del resto se pure la vedeva, si capiva che erano butteri venuti dopo, come può capitare a tutti, ed egli non l'aveva presa con quella faccia. Discorrevano sotto la tettoia, aspettando il treno, Balestra guardando di qua e di là se spuntava la Giulia. – Ma si sa, a questo mondo!... Specie ora che la Giulia era certa di non vederlo più. – Inoltre si erano un po' guastati perché lei aspettava che Balestra le lasciasse un regaluccio. Femia ci pensava, e non osava dirgli che gli aveva comperato apposta un anellino colla pietra. Balestra intanto accennava che Anna Maria, dopo tanto tempo, chissà?... Femia domandava da che parte fosse il suo paese, e quando contava d'arrivare.
In questa sopraggiunse il treno, sbuffando. Balestra raccattò in fretta le sue robe, zaino, sacco, cappotto. – Doveva tenerli di conto pel debito di massa. – Intanto ella facendosi rossa gli aveva cacciato in mano l'anello messo nella carta. Egli non ebbe il tempo di domandare cosa fosse, né perché avesse gli occhi pieni di lagrime. – Partenza! partenza! gridava il conduttore.
# L'osteria dei «Buoni Amici»
La prima volta che agguantarono Tonino in questura, un sabato grasso, fu per via di quelle donne di San Vittorello, che l'Orbo l'aveva strascinato a far baldoria coi denari della settimana. Per fortuna non gli trovarono addosso la grossa chiave colla quale aveva mezzo accoppato il Magnocchi, merciaio.
Erano stati a mangiare e a bere all'osteria dei _Buoni Amici_ , lì in San Calimero, e l'Orbo aveva raccattato pure il Basletta e Marco il Nano – pagava Tonino.
Dopo, pettoruto per la spesa che aveva fatto, disse: – S'ha da andare al Carcano? – che c'era veglione quella sera. Ma subito rientrato in sé si pentì della scappata, e contava nella tasca adagio adagio i soldi che gli restavano.
Gli altri lo sbeffeggiavano. – Hai paura della mamma, neh? o della Barberina che ti tratta a sculacciate, come un bambino? – Già se loro andavano al veglione il biglietto lo pagavano a spintoni, tutti e tre ragazzi che gli bastava l'animo di passare sotto il naso delle guardie col mozzicone in bocca. E lì in teatro brancicamenti e pizzicotti alle mascherine, che non cercavano altro, tanto che il Nano e Basletta escirono a cazzotti, nel tempo che Tonino aveva condotto a bere una Selvaggia, la quale leticava coi _cappelloni_ ogni volta, a motivo di quel gonnellino di piume che sventolava come una bandiera. Al caffè, coi gomiti sul tavolino, si erano dette delle sciocchezze, e la Selvaggia ci rideva su, col petto che gli saltava fuori, dall'allegria. Tonino gli avrebbe pagata mezza la bottega, sinché ne aveva in tasca, tanto erano ladri quegli occhi tinti col carbone, e quel fiore di pezza nei capelli, che gli avevano fatto come un'imbriacatura. E gli proponeva questo, e gli proponeva quell'altro, come uno che se ne intendeva ed era del mestiere, tavoleggiante al caffè della Rosa, lì a San Celso. L'Orbo, accorso all'odor del trattamento, andava dicendo che Tonino era figlio della prima erbaiuola del Verziere, e poteva spendere. Ma la ragazza voleva tornare a ballare, to'! Era venuta pel veglione. Poi non aveva più sete; grazie tante; un'altra volta. Tonino più s'accendeva: – Ancora un valzer, bellezza! – E ci si metteva tutto, col suo bel garbo di giovane di caffè, pettinato a ricciolini, dimenando il busto, le gambe che s'intrecciavano a quelle di lei, e sotto il naso quel petto che gli infarinava il vestito. – Mi lasci andare, caro lei, in parola d'onore. Ci ho lì il mio ballerino che mi ha pagato il costume, quel turco che fa gli occhiacci. Se vuol venire a trovarmi sa dove sto di casa, a San Vittorello; cerchi dell'Assunta.
Tonino, rosso come un gallo, gli avrebbe mangiato il naso a quel turco, anima sacchetta! L'Orbo, che gli stava alle costole non avendo altro da fare, lo calmava così:
– Finiscila, e andiamo a bere.
Là fuori aspettavano Marco il Nano e Basletta, masticando un mozzicone di sigaro, e colle mani in tasca. Per scaldarsi andarono insieme dal _Gaina._ Tonino, che gli bruciava il sangue dal bere e dalla gelosia, ed anche di quel che gli dicevano che stesse sotto le gonnelle di sua sorella, sbraitava che voleva fare un sproposito, porca l'oca! Voleva andare ad aspettare l'Assunta in barba al turco, proprio sulla sua porta, a San Vittorello! E gli altri, Marco il Nano e Basletta, a ridergli sul naso.
Lui, per mostrare che era in sensi, non l'avrebbero tenuto in quattro. – Lascia andare, via! A quest'ora non ci aprono più ti dico. Piuttosto andiamo dal Malacarne che ha il valpolicella buono! – Tonino, buon figliuolo, da un momento all'altro, dimenticava ogni cosa e si lasciava condurre dove volevano, allegro come un pesce, sgolandosi a cantare la _Mariettina_ , e come incontravano delle maschere gli gridava dietro delle porcherie.
Il Nano che aveva il vino donnaiuolo, tornò al discorso dell'Assunta, un bel tocco di ragazza, per bacco, con quel vestito da selvaggia! E allora Tonino s'infuriava coi compagni che non lo lasciavano andare dove gli pareva e piaceva, e lo tenevano davvero per un ragazzo! Così leticando, e colla lingua grossa, avevano fatto senza accorgersene il corso di San Celso e via Maddalena, che Tonino alla cantonata si mise a correre per via San Vittorello, e voleva che gli aprissero a ogni costo, giacché di sopra c'era ancora il lume. Le donne al sentire i sassi alle finestre e i calci con cui picchiavano alla porta, si misero a gridare come se venissero ad accopparle, e non per altro.
Magnocchi il quale era ancora di sopra coi compagni, scese in istrada. – Cosa venivano a cercare? Voleano un salasso pel vino che avevano in corpo? – Te lo darò io il salasso, barabba!
Nel parapiglia si udì gridare: – Ahi! m'ammazzano! – E l'Orbo fu appena in tempo a buttar via la chiave con cui Tonino aveva rotto il capo a quell'altro, che il ragazzo, pallido come un morto, non sapeva da che parte scappare, e già si udivano gli stivali delle guardie.
Ai parenti andarono a dirglielo il giorno dopo, mentre la sora Gnesa disfaceva il banco, e la Barberina, fuori la baracca, guardava inquieta di qua e di là se spuntasse il fratello, perché il padrone del caffè l'aveva mandato a cercare. Fu l'Adele, la ragazza del barbiere che era venuta a vedere se ci avessero ancora due soldi di ravanelli rossi, per dopo tavola, e l'aveva sentita in bottega. – Hanno ammazzato quel che vende i nastri in via San Vittorello, e Tonino era nella rissa. – Per fortuna il Magnocchi non era morto; ma le donne, madre e figlia, si misero a strillare che Tonino li aveva precipitati. In un momento tutto il Verziere fu in rivoluzione. Barberina afferrò in mano le sottane, e via a chiamare il babbo, che solennizzava la domenica grassa dall'Ambrogio, il primogenito, il quale teneva pizzicheria in via della Signora. – Hanno arrestato Tonino in via San Vittorello! – Il sor Mattia, ancora male in gambe, prese il cappello per correre a San Fedele, e Ambrogio anche lui, scongiurando la sorella di chetarsi, per non rovinargli il negozio. In Questura li accolsero come cani, padre e figlio. Li lasciavano lì, sulla panchetta, senza che nessuno gli badasse, a far perder tempo al pizzicagnolo, quella giornata, col cappello fra le mani. Il maresciallo che lo conosceva, gli disse burbero: – Torni domattina. Ha un bell'arnese di fratello, sa!
Poi Tonino escì a libertà, col cappelluccio sulle ventitré. Alla sora Gnesa che piagnucolava e brontolava, rimbeccò:
– Orsù! finitela, mamma! Che son stufo, veh!
E accese la pipetta. La Barberina invece non voleva finirla. Gli strillava che era un boia, e loro marcivano sotto la tenda in Verziere per mantener il signorino in prigione e pagargli i vizii. Tanto che il fratello voleva darle due ceffoni, e fregarle quella sua faccia di pettegola colla sua stessa insalata, fregarle! In quella arrivò il babbo, e si rimise la pipa in tasca, mogio mogio.
– Brigante! cominciò il sor Mattia. Cattivo arnese! non vedi come si lavora noi, tua mamma, tua sorella e Ambrogio? Ti pare che abbiamo a mantenere i tuoi vizii? Prima che ti accoppino gli sbirri voglio strozzarti colle mie mani piuttosto! Voglio romperti le ossa!
– Ohé! sclamava Tonino pallido come un cencio, e schermendosi coi gomiti. – Ohé! non giocate colle mani, babbo! non giocate!
La sora Gnesa strillava peggio di un'oca, e la Barberina faceva accorrere tutto il Verziere. Il babbo diceva le sue ragioni a tutti. Per dargli uno stato aveva messo Tonino cameriere al caffè della Rosa, uno dei primi, e il padrone era suo amico. Quando si fosse impratichito si poteva aprir bottega anche loro; Ambrogio pizzicagnolo, le donne erbaiuole, lui al banco, tutta un'architettura che faceva rovinare quello scapestrato! Il sor Mattia soffocava dalla bile. Per non lasciarsi andare a qualche sproposito se ne tornò in via della Signora.
Ambrogio corse a trovare il padrone del Caffè, pregandolo di ripigliare Tonino, che era pentito e prometteva di far giudizio.
– Caro lei, è impossibile. Nel mio mestiere è un affare serio. Ora che in questura hanno preso gusto a vostro fratello, non mi piace di vedermi quelle faccie tutto il giorno in bottega, che vengono a cercarmelo in cucina e dietro il banco. Ci va del mio negozio. Voi lo pigliereste?
Ambrogio non voleva che suo fratello bazzicasse neppure nella sua bottega, dacché un questurino gli aveva battuto sulla spalla come a un vecchio amico.
Le donne, il babbo e tutti si sfogavano allora sul malcapitato, buono a nulla, che restava di peso alla famiglia, e nessuno lo voleva. – Ero buono soltanto quando portavo a casa i denari delle mance! – Brontolava il ragazzone, che gli facevano mancare quel che si dice il bisognevole, e lo tenevano in casa come un pitocco.
Un giorno che Basletta lo incontrò a girandolare fra i banchi del mercato esclamò:
– To'! Sei qui? È un pezzo che non ti si vede. Mi paghi da bere?
Tonino rispose che non aveva soldi. I suoi di casa gli avevano fatte delle scene per quella storia di San Vittorello. Basletta, come passavano vicino alla baracca della sora Gnesa, adocchiò la Barberina che ammazzolava delle rape, colle belle braccia rosse, nude sino al gomito.
– Finiscila! borbottò Tonino. Non mi piacciono gli scherzi a mia sorella!
– Guarda! adesso che sei stato in tribunale ti sei fatto permaloso! Non te la mangio mica tua sorella! Bel modo di accogliere la gente!
Voleva condurlo a salutar gli amici, cent'anni che non lo vedevano. Tonino nicchiava. – Bestia! pel conto che fanno di te i tuoi parenti! Piantali, via.
Ai _Buoni Amici_ trovarono l'Orbo, che voleva salutar Tonino anche lui, e giuocava a briscola in un cantuccio con dei carrettieri. Al Verziere non ci veniva più, perché la sora Gnesa lo accusava di guastargli il figliuolo, e Barberina gli faceva delle partacce. – Un gendarme, quella ragazza! – Poi dissero che volevano andare a cercare il Nano, il quale aveva disertato dai _Buoni Amici_ dacché l'oste non gli faceva più credito.
Prima di scovare dove avesse dato fondo il Nano, dovettero girare una mezza dozzina d'osterie. Marco adesso era come un uccello sul ramo, dacché aveva piantato i _Buoni Amici_. L'Orbo, che aveva vinto a briscola, pagò due volte da bere. Poi col Nano si abbracciarono e baciarono come se uscissero tutti di prigione; e stavolta pagò il Nano.
– Voi altri, – conchiuse, – vi fate ancora rubare i quattrini da quel dei _Buoni Amici._ – Belli, quegli amici! Tutte guardie travestite, la sera!
Sicché, per farla corta, escirono in istrada ch'era acceso il gas, e Basletta doveva ancora andare a fare la mezza giornata del lunedì col principale, che l'aspettava in via dei Bigli, – c'era da mettere dei tappeti, prima di sera, che arrivano i padroni! – Orbè! rispose il Nano. – Arriveranno senza tappeti, e il principale aspetterà. Io ho piantato il mio, e piglio lavoro in casa, quando capita, da ebanista. È che ci vogliono capitali. Ma intendo lavorare a modo mio.
L'Orbo non gliene importava, perché s'era guadagnata la giornata a briscola. Egli non aveva mestiere fisso. Faceva di tutto, facchino, tosatore di cani, stalliere, sensale. Guadagnava dippiù, ed era libero come l'aria. – Viva la libertà! esclamò Basletta. Quando verrà la repubblica non ci saranno più né giovani né principali.
E tutti e quattro andavano ciondolando sul bastione, cantando a squarciagola, e giuocando a spintoni verso il fossato.
Prima d'arrivare a Porta Romana videro luccicare nel buio le placche dei carabinieri. Risposero che tornavano dal lavoro. Tonino allora salutò la compagnia.
– Torna a casa, va', ragazzo! Se no la Barberina ti dà le sculacciate! gli gridavano dietro.
– Dacché è stato a San Fedele quel ragazzo è diventato un pulcino bagnato, disse l'Orbo. Ma ei non dava retta. All'Orbo, che lo stuzzicava più davvicino, gli diede una gomitata che quasi lo faceva ruzzolare nel fossato.
In casa aiutava al negozio delle donne. Si alzava di notte, per scaricare i carri degli ortolani, rizzava il banco, accendeva il caldaro per le bruciate. Più tardi scambiava delle barzellette coi banchi vicini, giuocava di mano colle servotte, pispolava alle ragazze che passavano. Poi sbadigliava e si stirava le braccia. Ogni giorno leticava colla sorella che gli lesinava il soldo per la pipa.
– Gli serve per quelle donnacce di via Pantano, che gli fanno pissi pissi dietro le persiane! – borbottava la Barberina. Ella non avrebbe dato un cavolo a credenza neppure al sor Domenico, il vinaio lì sulla cantonata, che era un uomo stagionato e facoltoso, e doveva sposarla. Tutta intenta al suo negozio, quella ragazza! Il sor Domenico stesso, alle volte, si muoveva a compassione del ragazzaccio, e gli dava il soldo ridendo. Tonino, rosso come un pomodoro, lo prendeva perché dovevano essere cognati; ma gli cuoceva dentro, perbacco!
– Lavora! gli rinfacciava il sor Mattia. Fa' quello che facciamo noi, poltronaccio! – E non si sarebbe mosso per cento lire dal suo posto, accanto al banco del pizzicagnolo, colle mani in croce sul bastone.
Gli amici, ogni volta che incontravano Tonino, gli dicevano:
– O scioccone! non vedi che ti tengono peggio di un cane? Fossi in te li pianterei, loro e il pane che ti fanno sudare.
L'Orbo aggiungeva che lui non voleva mischiarcisi, perché la Barberina minacciava di cavargli gli occhi, se lo vedeva a bazzicare con suo fratello.
Un accidente, quella ragazza! – Ora lui cercava di vivere in pace e avere il suo pane assicurato. S'era messo a fare il facchino in una drogheria. Un buon impiego, niente da fare, e qualcosa spesso da mettersi in tasca. Tonino giurava che a lui gli bastava l'animo di pestargli il muso come i gatti, a sua sorella. Volevano vedere?
Ai _Buoni Amici_ era una vergogna dovere accettare sempre le gentilezze degli altri; o se facevano un litro alla mora, e gli toccava pagarlo, esser costretto a segnarlo sul muro, col carbone. Gli davano a credenza perché sapevano di chi era figlio, e che in fin dei conti avrebbe pagato. Inoltre s'ingegnava con le carte da giuoco, a briscola o a zecchinetta, talché alle volte andava a finire a pugni e a calci, e l'oste li cacciava tutti fuori, per non compromettere l'osteria. Già i questurini la tenevano d'occhio, a motivo di quelle facce che vi bazzicavano, e ogni volta che c'era da fare una retata per primo mettevano le mani ai _Buoni Amici._
Aveva ragione il Nano di dire che quel posto era peggio del bosco della Merlata. Non si era mai sicuri d'andare a dormire nel suo letto, quando si passava la sera in quella bettola. Ma egli stesso vi era tornato per la malinconia di non poterne fare a meno. Là si radunavano l'Orbo, Basletta, ed altri amici dello stesso fare, che alle volte conducevano pure delle donne, e si stava allegri, mondo birbone!
A trovare il Basletta veniva spesso Lippa, una bruna alta appena così, ma col diavolo in corpo, e dicevano che doveva sposarla _in estremis._ Basletta brontolava quando lo chiappava a cena; ma ella gli ficcava le mani nel piatto senza domandare il permesso, e come non bastasse, alle volte, si tirava dietro anche la Bionda, magra e allampanata, che ci volevano gli spintoni per risolverla ad entrare, e si mangiava i piatti cogli occhi. Tonino stesso, per compassione, una volta l'aveva invitata, e così s'era fatta la conoscenza. Dopo venivano fuori a passeggiare all'aria aperta sul bastione.
– Mia sorella non vuol capirla che alla mia età ho bisogno di denari anch'io! – brontolava fra di sé. – Gli par che tutti non abbiano altro in mente fuori del negozio, come il suo vinaio.
– E tu ingégnati! – gli rispose l'Orbo. Marco il Nano in quei giorni aveva fatto un negozio, che arrivava sempre colle tasche piene, e gli altri ne parlavano sottovoce fra di loro. Le guardie di questura quando venivano a fiutare il vento, e vedevano che cambiavano discorso, o tacevano subito, battevano sulla spalla di Tonino, e gli ripetevano – Bada bene, che ci torni a San Fedele!
La Bionda, se leticavano sul bastione, perché Tonino era geloso, gli diceva colla faccia pallida; – Hai ragione, to'! ma io sono una povera ragazza, e bisogna che m'aiuti! – Lui si struggeva sentendosela spiattellare in faccia, con quella voce calma, e quegli occhi grigi che lo guardavano tranquillamente sotto il lampione. Spesso erano insieme, lui, l'Orbo e Marco il Nano colla Bionda, briachi tutti e quattro, che ogni volta allungavano le manaccie Tonino avrebbe fatto un omicidio. E poi da solo ruminava ciò che gli rinfacciava la Barberina, che bisognava prima d'ogni altro ingegnarsi.
E s'ingegnò davvero. La Barberina non sapeva che dovesse ingegnarsi appunto col suo cassetto, una notte che tutti dormivano in bottega, e che si era messo a lavorare attorno al banco con un chiodo storto in punta. Fatto il tiro spalancò l'uscio, e si mise a gridare al ladro, come se la Barberina fosse una donna da lasciarsi infinocchiare. Ma essa lo abbrancò pel collo, in camicia com'era, e voleva mandarlo in galera senza dar retta a lui che giurava e spergiurava, colle mani in croce, di non saper nulla. Accorsero la mamma, Ambrogio e il sor Mattia, a fargli vomitare il morto, e così lo cacciarono via nudo e crudo, che la Bionda, quando lo vide arrivare con quella faccia, non ebbe il coraggio di chiudergli l'uscio sul naso.
L'Orbo, che era diventato amico di casa, gli predicava:
– Se vuoi vivere alle spalle di quella povera ragazza, sei un maiale ve'!
Lei pure gli seccava d'averlo sempre attaccato alle sottane, che non gli lasciava mezz'ora di libertà colla sua gelosia; e lo mandava a lavorare. Egli sospettava che fosse per godersela insieme all'Orbo.
– Ti giuro che voglio bene soltanto a te! – rispondeva lei. – Ma che vuoi farci? Non son mica una signora!
E lui se ne andava, col cuore stretto in un pugno.
Un bel giorno arrestarono il Nano e Basletta, per un furto di certi pacchi di candele nella drogheria dov'era l'Orbo, e Tonino pure, col pretesto che l'avevano trovato sul canto di via Armorati a far la guardia. Lui e il suo avvocato giuravano che era a far tutt'altro, e ci si trovava per una sua occorrenza. Ma fu inutile: lo condannarono alla prigione. Nel carcere però correva voce che la Bionda s'era messa coll'Orbo, e aveva fatto la spia per levarsi Tonino di fra i piedi, e papparsi le tre lire della denuncia.
Tonino non voleva crederci; eppure il babbo, la mamma, suo fratello Ambrogio, persino la Barberina, erano venuti a visitarlo in carcere, rinfacciandogli che glielo avevano predetto. – Ma tant'è, erano venuti! E lui piangeva e si sentiva alleggerire il cuore. – Ma la Bionda no!
Dicevano che avevano visto l'Orbo coi panni di Tonino, una giacchetta a scacchi, che era ancora nel cassettone della Bionda, quando l'avevano arrestato.
# Gelosia
Il Bobbia disse fra di sé: – Voglio vedere se è vero, o no! – E si mise in agguato sul canto di San Damiano. Crescioni stava là di faccia: c'era il lume alla finestra. Verso le nove, come gli avevano detto, eccoti la Carlotta che passava il ponte, colle sottane in mano, e infilava la porta di Crescioni. Vi andava proprio in gala, quella sfacciata! Allora – sangue di Diana!... In quattro salti la raggiunse in cima al pianerottolo, ché lei volava su per la scala; e Crescioni se li vide capitar dentro in mazzo, Carlotta e il suo uomo, acciuffati pei capelli.
Successe un terremoto! Lui a scansar le botte; il Bobbia, colla schiuma alla bocca, che aveva tirato fuori di tasca qualche accidente; la Carlotta poi strillava per tutti e tre. Crescioni, svelto, ti agguanta la coperta del letto, già bello e preparato, e te l'insacca sul Bobbia, che se no, guai! Il sor Gostino, un pezzo d'uomo che avrebbe potuto fare il portinaio in un palazzo, menava giù nel mucchio, col manico della scopa, per chetarli.
Accorsero le guardie e li condussero in questura. Là, colle ossa peste, cominciarono a ragionare. Carlotta sbraitava che non era vero niente, in coscienza sua! Ma con quell'omaccio non voleva più starci, ora che l'aveva sospettata! Tanto non erano marito e moglie.
– Se non siete marito e moglie... – disse il Delegato.
– Dopo cinque mesi che si stava insieme come se lo fossimo! – rinfacciava il Bobbia. – Cosa gli è mancato in cinque mesi, dica, sor Delegato? E vestiti, e stivaletti, e scampagnate, le feste e le domeniche! Allora avrei dovuto aprire gli occhi, quando si perdeva nei boschetti a Gorla, con questo e con quello, sotto pretesto di cogliere i pamporcini. E lasciavo fare come fossimo marito e moglie!
– Io non ne sapevo nulla! borbottò Crescioni, asciugandosi il sangue dal naso.
– Giacché non ne sapeva nulla, stia tranquillo che non pretendo restare a carico suo, se non mi vuole! – strillò Carlotta, inviperita nel passare in rassegna gli strappi del vestito nuovo.
Il sor Gostino, testimonio, metteva buone parole. – Via, non è nulla! Dev'essere un malinteso. – Ma il Bobbia s'era cacciato per forza in casa altrui, a fare il prepotente; e fu miracolo a cavarsela con un po' di carcere. – Tanto, non era vostra moglie! – profferì il Delegato. E il Bobbia rispose:
– Per me gliela lascio volentieri, quella gioia! Oramai ne sono stufo.
L'amante si grattava il capo. Però Carlotta gli buttò le braccia al collo, dinanzi al sor Delegato, e gli giurò che d'ora innanzi voleva esser sua o di nessun altro.
Il sor Gostino l'aiutò a portar la roba dal Crescioni; ma intanto andava predicando che bisognava far la pace col Bobbia, appena usciva di prigione; se no, un giorno o l'altro, andava a finir male.
– Col Crescioni? – gridò poi il Bobbia. – Con quel traditore che mi faceva l'amico?...
– Be'! ora che s'è presa la Carlotta! Faccia conto che siano marito e moglie, e il torto glielo abbia fatto lei pel primo.
Con questi discorsi non la finivano più, passo passo, dall'osteria di San Damiano alla porta del sor Gostino, sino a dopo mezzanotte, ciangottando colla lingua grossa. Una sera incontrarono la Carlotta a braccetto del Crescioni, e leticavano nel buio. Un'altra volta il Bobbia la vide che comprava della verdura dinanzi alla porta, e frugava nel carro dell'ortolano, colle braccia nude e spettinata. Talché pareva che gli fosse rimasto attaccato il cuore da quelle parti. Quando incontrava il Crescioni, aggobbito, colla barba di otto giorni che gli faceva il viso d'ammalato, si fregava le mani.
– Ci vuol altro che quel biondino per la Carlotta, ci vuole!
– Ogni giorno e' sono liti e botte da orbi, – narrava il sor Gostino. – Ieri ancora la è scappata nel mio casotto seminuda, ché il Crescioni voleva accopparla. Dice che lo fa per levarsela dattorno.
La vigilia di Natale, come Dio volle, riescì a farli bere insieme. – Volete incominciare l'anno nuovo colla ruggine in corpo? – La Carlotta stava sulla sua, in fronzoli, e arricciando il naso a ogni bicchiere, perché c'era il Bobbia presente. Carina, con quella frangia di capelli sul naso! Ma Crescioni aveva il vino cattivo, stava ingrugnato, colle spalle al muro, e tossiva di malumore. – Gli avete portato via l'amante, al Bobbia! O cosa volete d'altro? – gli susurrò all'orecchio il sor Gostino. Il Bobbia, invece, si sentiva tutto rammollire, e pagava una bottiglia dopo l'altra, senza batter ciglio.
– Mi rammento – disse alla Carlotta nell'orecchio, mi rammento quando siamo andati insieme a casa mia, la prima volta. – E Crescioni, con tanto d'occhiacci, cavò fuori il mento dalla ciarpa. Poi la comitiva andò via insieme. Crescioni avanti, colle mani in tasca e annuvolato. Aprì lo sportello e fece passare prima la Carlotta, borbottando:
– Sta' a vedere che mi vuoi fare col Bobbia quel servizio che gli ho fatto io!
Il sor Gostino sogghignava pensando: – Questa notte la mi capita in camicia di certo.
Al Bobbia raccontava in confidenza come la Carlotta gli piacesse anche a lui, per quel suo fare allegro. – Senza ombra di malizia, veh! – Fortuna che sua moglie stava sempre al primo piano, dal padrone, il quale non gliela lasciava un minuto solo. Se no, gelosa com'era, guai! – Il sor Gostino aveva una paura maledetta della sora Bettina, che l'aveva sposato e innalzato a portinaio perché da quarant'anni lei era tutta una cosa col padrone. Tanto che costui, quando leticavano fra marito e moglie, e si udivano nella corte gli improperii e le parolacce della sora Bettina, si affacciava al balcone, in pantofole, e strillava colla voce catarrosa: – _Ohé, Gostino! Cosa l'è sta storia?_
Ma torniamo agli altri due. Crescioni voleva sposare la Carlotta sul serio, perché essa gli andava dicendo che stavolta era proprio necessario. – Almeno, pensava lui, sarò certo che il bambino è roba mia!
Il sor Gostino strizzava l'occhio furbo: – E se cercate un padrino, ve l'ho già bello e trovato!
– Che discorsi! – gridava la sora Carlotta tentando di arrossire.
Il Bobbia era arrabbiato come un cane. Da un pezzo non la vedeva; e la Gigia, tabaccaia, dopo averlo menato pel naso una settimana o due, gli aveva risposto picche, sulla guancia. – Ah! di lui non voleva più saperne, la sora Carlotta, onde farsi sposare dal Crescioni? – Si sentiva la febbre addosso ogni volta che la vedeva, dal bugigattolo del sor Gostino, a menar la tromba, dimenando i fianchi, o a portar su l'acqua, colla pancia in fuori. – Mi lasci andare ad aiutarla, sor Gostino. No, non ho più sete. Il resto lo beva lei per amor mio. – Ma la Carlotta scappava via appena lo vedeva.
– Andatevene! C'è lui in casa. Poi, tutto è finito fra di noi. – Avrebbe voluto batterla e afferrarla per quella collottola grassa che gli faceva bollire il sangue. – Ah! tu c'ingrassi con quel tisico! Tu vuoi farmi morir tisico come lui! Che son fatto di stucco, ti pare?...
– Dovevate pensarci prima. To', questa vi calmerà i bollori.
E Bobbia se ne andava scuotendosi l'acqua dal vestito e bestemmiando.
Si fece il matrimonio. Nacque un bambino, due mesi prima del solito, e fu una femmina. Crescioni era sulle furie, perché almeno avrebbe voluto un maschio, e non dover pensare alla dote e a tante altre seccature. – Quanto a ciò non si dia pena per sua figlia – lo confortava il sor Gostino – la farà come sua madre.
Sua madre aveva fatto quello che sapevano tutti. S'era lasciata prendere dalle belle parole di un signorino, e dopo era scappata via di casa, per nascondere il marrone, accorgendosi che la mamma le ficcava gli occhi addosso senza dir nulla, e si sentiva salire le fiamme al viso. Fu un sabato grasso; giusto la Luisina era andata a impegnare roba per fare il carnevale, e disse alla figliuola: – Cos'hai che non mangi? – con cert'occhi! Il giorno dopo trovarono l'uscio aperto; e il babbo, poveraccio, s'era dato al bere dal crepacuore. Che colpa ne aveva lei? Da fanciulletta era andata attorno per le strade e nei caffè, vendendo paralumi. – Come chi dicesse andare a scuola per apprendere il mestiere. – Poi la miseria, l'uggia di tornare a casa colla mercanzia tale e quale, via della Commenda, ch'era tutta una pozzanghera, la tentazione delle vetrine, i discorsi dei monelli, le paroline degli avventori che contrattavano soltanto... Insomma, era destinata! Allorché il suo amante l'aveva piantata in via San Vincenzino, con quattro cenci nel baule e diciassette lire in tasca, era stata costretta a mettersi col Bobbia, il quale la teneva allegra, quando ne aveva da spendere, e la picchiava dopo, per via della bolletta. Crescioni, invece, non beveva, non bestemmiava, ed era sempre malinconico pensando alla sua poca salute. Ella era andata da lui a sfogarsi dei cattivi trattamenti, e poi c'era rimasta pel piacer suo. Quel giovanotto era preciso come lo voleva lei. Egli predicava: – Vieni di sera. – Vieni di nascosto. – Bada che lui non se ne accorga! – Tale e quale un ragazzo pauroso dell'ombra sua. Sicché quando il Bobbia capitò a fare quel baccano, Carlotta non gliela perdonò mai più. Infine, cos'era stato? Suo padre stesso, quand'era scappata via di casa, non aveva fatto tanto chiasso. Eppure il danno era più grosso! – Per quel Crescioni, poi, ch'era quasi un ragazzo! – Sentite! finiva lo sfogo col sor Gostino. – Fosse stato geloso di voi, o di qualche altro pezzo d'uomo, pazienza! Ma del Crescioni?... Veh! Tutta una birbonata del Bobbia per avere il pretesto di piantarmi.
Il sor Gostino si fregava le mani. Non che ci avesse pel capo certe idee!... Poi con quell'accidente di sua moglie sempre sulla testa, alla finestra del padrone!... Perciò aveva preso l'abitudine di spazzar la scala sino in cima, allo scopo di non dar nell'occhio. – O che non leticate più con vostro marito? È un pezzetto che non vi vedo arrivare in sottanina.
Appoggiava la scopa contro l'uscio, e si fregava le mani un'altra volta.
– No! Stia cheto colle mani! Adesso è finito il tempo delle sciocchezze!
– Non sono sciocchezze, sora Carlotta! Sembro un Sansone, direte. Ma non è vero! Pel cuore sono un ragazzo. E sempre disgraziato, veh! Perfino mia moglie, è otto giorni che non la vedo, dacché il padrone è a letto. Anche lei, povera sora Carlotta, le si vede in faccia; suo marito la lascia per correre chissà dove! O pensa tuttora al Bobbia?
– A me non me ne importa. E poi non è vero niente.
Il sor Gostino stava a guardare mentre ella aveva la bambina al petto, grattandosi la barba.
– Non gliene importa?... Dica un po'... E quella bambina che lui dice che è figlia sua?
Carlotta faceva una spallucciata. Il sor Gostino si metteva a ridere anche lui, e ripigliava la scopa, ciondolando per un pezzo prima di decidersi ad andare; oppure si chinava a fare il discorsetto alla bimba, accarezzandola sul seno della mamma colle manacce sudice. – In coscienza, non somiglia a nessuno di loro due.
Crescioni era geloso della bambina, che veniva su bionda e color di rosa. – Se ti vedo ancora dattorno il Bobbia – le diceva – ti fo come la donna tagliata a pezzi!
E si faceva brutto che non pareva vero, con quella faccia dabbene di tisico. Non che fosse geloso della Carlotta, – ormai l'aveva sempre là, davanti agli occhi, sciatta, spettinata, colla figlia al petto. Per altro non gliene importava più dell'amore. Era malato, e aveva altro per il capo. Ma tant'è, poiché era stato lui a sposarla! E ci aveva sciupati i denari e la salute. Il principale gli riduceva il salario di un terzo, adesso che non era più in gamba come prima. E se non era in gamba e non aveva denari, lo sapeva di che cosa era capace la Carlotta! Perfino di viziargli la figliuola, a suo tempo. La malattia gli aveva sconvolta la testa, e gli sembrava di veder la ragazza, già grandicella, lasciarsi baciare da questo e da quello, come sua madre. Perciò arrivava a leticare colla moglie se accarezzava la bambina quasi fosse cosa sua. Anche il sor Gostino con quell'aria di minchione... Insomma, non ce lo voleva più a bazzicare in casa sua! – Oh Dio! quel povero diavolo! – esclamava la Carlotta. Ma lui, testardo, non si muoveva di casa la domenica a far la guardia, se udiva la scopa per le scale, seduto accanto alla finestra, torvo, col naso nella ciarpa e le mani in tasca, senza dir nulla. Poi, ogni volta che tossiva, saettava delle occhiatacce sulla moglie, e se la bambina strillava, era un casa del diavolo.
– Non toccare mia figlia, o per la Madonna!... Lascia stare d'insegnarle le tue moine piuttosto!
I dispiaceri gli minavano la salute, diceva. A poco a poco anche il principale si stancò, e Crescioni non si mosse più dal letto. Sua moglie, in quei quaranta giorni, impegnò sino le lenzuola. Egli brontolava che si era ridotto in quello stato per causa sua. All'ospedale però non voleva andarci, perché quando sarebbe stato via, chissà cosa succedeva!
Sino all'ultimo! Se ella usciva un momento a far qualche compera, se scendeva ad attinger l'acqua: – D'onde vieni così scalmanata? T'ho detto che mia figlia non devi condurla attorno! – La tosse lo soffocava sotto le coperte. Allorché lo portarono all'ospedale infine, accusò la moglie di averlo tradito – come Giuda fece a Cristo – per scialarla in libertà. – Non vedi come son ridotta? si scolpava lei. – Non vedi che non ho più neppur latte per la bambina?
– Almeno verrai a trovarmi colla piccina!
Ci andava spesso di fatti. Ma erano altri bocconi amari. La bimba aveva paura di suo padre, al vederlo con quel berrettino in mezzo a tanti visi nuovi. Lui si sfogava a brontolare tutti i guai della settimana.
– Una vitaccia da cani! lamentavasi la Carlotta col sor Gostino. – Affaticarsi da mattina a sera, e la festa poi quel divertimento! – Il sor Gostino l'accompagnava, per bontà sua, e le comprava qualche regaluccio da portare al malato. – Che volete farci? Bisogna aver pazienza finché campa. – Il poveretto aveva il cuoio duro, e non finiva più di penare. La Carlotta si stancò prima di lui d'andare e venire, e di trovarlo sempre lo stesso, con quel berrettino bianco ritto sul guanciale. Si fermava appena due minuti, il tempo di vedere a che punto era, e di portargli qualche cosuccia, senza dire che gliela aveva regalata il portinaio. Ma ei glielo leggeva in faccia, e le guardava le mani, sospettoso, tirandosi la coperta sino al naso, senza dir nulla, e le ficcava in faccia gli occhi neri di febbre, e domandava:
– Hai visto il Bobbia? – T'ha detto nulla il portinaio?
Si capiva che ne aveva tante nello stomaco; ma non parlava perché era confinato in quel letto, e se Carlotta non veniva più restava solo come un cane. Sovente almanaccava dei progetti per quando sarebbe guarito. – Faremo questo. Faremo quest'altro. – Ma ella rimaneva zitta e guardava altrove. Allora disse lui: – Se guarisco, voglio ammazzar qualcuno, dammi retta! – E la bambina si aggrappava al collo della madre, strillando di paura.
Glielo diceva il cuore, al poveraccio. Il sor Gostino era tutto il giorno su e giù per la scala colla granata in mano. Davvero, pel cuore era un ragazzo! Si divertiva a far quattro chiacchiere con lei, o ad accendere il fuoco nel fornello, e farle andar la macchina – gira, gira, gira; – nello stesso tempo dalla finestra, dietro la tendina, teneva d'occhio la porta, e quando cominciava a farsi scuro, che gli vedeva quella testa china sulla macchina, si sentiva dentro lo stesso rimenìo. Gli bastava che dicesse: – Grazie, sor Gostino.
– Non lo faccio per questo, sora Carlotta. Sono un galantuomo e non fo le cose per secondo fine. – Chi era andato a cercarle del cucito? Chi gli faceva prestar la macchina al bisogno? Chi andava a parlare col padron di casa se tardava la mesata?
La sora Bettina infuriava per queste condiscendenze. Un altro po' la casa diventava un luogo pubblico! E se la pigliava anche col padrone che faceva il comodino per sbarazzarsi del marito. Tutto a riguardo suo!
Il sor Gostino non si dava pace. – O dunque cosa gliene importa a lei? – La Carlotta invece si lagnava: – Signore Iddio! Com'è cattivo il mondo, a pensare il male che non facciamo né voi né io!
Il sor Gostino allora non sapeva che dire, e ruminava cosa dovesse fare onde non sembrare un minchione, o prendeva il partito di posarsi la mano aperta sul costato: – Sono un galantuomo, ve l'ho detto. Vi voglio bene, ma sono un galantuomo!
Però non voleva che il Bobbia tornasse a fare il moscone da quelle parti. Glielo aveva predicato: – Adesso quella poveraccia è come se fosse vedova.
Appunto! Bobbia ci aveva diritto lui perché era l'amore antico! Il portinaio faceva come il cane dell'ortolano per invidia e per gelosia. Ma se adesso l'aveva lui, voleva averla anche Bobbia, ch'era stato il primo. Si vedeva chiaro: il sor Gostino la teneva sempre in casa pel comodo suo. Il Bobbia dovette aspettarla dieci volte prima di vederla uscire un momento:
– Senti! Se non vieni con me oggi stesso, vi ammazzo tutti, te e il tuo amante.
La poveretta s'era sentito un tuffo nel sangue al vederlo, e affrettava il passo, smorta come un cencio. Egli la raggiunse in via Ciossetto, furibondo, e l'afferrò pel braccio. – Per carità! Non mi fate male! Che amante? Ti giuro! Non ne ho! – Tanto meglio. Allora se non ne hai, perché non vieni?
E ci andò per la paura. Dopo il Bobbia, appena se ne accorse, montò in furia: – Tu vuoi sempre bene a tuo marito, di'! – Oh, quel poveretto!... – Allora hai per amante il sor Gostino! – No, non è il mio amante. – Ma gli vuoi bene, di'! – Ella tremava e supplicava: – Non son venuta qui? Non ho fatto quel che tu dicevi? Cosa vuoi ancora?
Voleva... voleva... E prima voleva mandarla via di casa a calci, voleva! Poi col sor Gostino avrebbe fatto i conti a tu per tu, e non per gelosia della Carlotta veh... ormai era carne vecchia! – Ma il sor Gostino era un ragazzo soltanto colle donne. Al primo pugno l'accecò mezzo, e se lo mise sotto, giusto nella corte, da pestarlo come l'uva. La sora Bettina, di sopra, buttava acqua, porcherie e male parole, e il padrone, dietro, a strillare: – Ohé, Gostino! Gostino!
Carlotta fu licenziata su due piedi, e dovette sgomberare in otto giorni. La sora Bettina, il padrone, lo stesso sor Gostino, volevano un po' di pace alfine.
Il Bobbia, col muso pesto, andava dicendo: – Non me ne importa di colei. Ma mosche sul naso non me ne lascio posare!
La Carlotta finalmente andò a vedere cosa n'era di suo marito che non moriva mai. Lo trovò sempre nello stesso letto, cogli occhi spalancati, più sfatto, non si lamentava più, e stava immobile colla faccia color di terra. Quegli occhi di fantasima le si ficcavano addosso come chiodi; e pareva che la sua voce uscisse dalla sepoltura: – Dove sei stata tutto questo tempo? – Di', cosa hai fatto?
# Camerati
– Malerba? – Presente! – Qui ci manca un bottone, dov'è? – Io non so, caporale. – Consegnato! – Sempre così: il cappotto come un sacco, i guanti che gli davano noia, e non sapere più cosa farsi delle mani, la testa più dura di un sasso all'istruzione e in piazza d'armi. Selvatico poi! Di tutte le belle città dove si trovava di guarnigione, non andava a vedere né le strade, né i palazzi, né le fiere, nemmeno i baracconi o le giostre di legno. L'ora di sortita se la passava vagabondo per le vie fuori porta, colle braccia ciondoloni, o stava a guardare le donne che strappavano l'erba, accoccolate per terra in piazza Castello; oppure si piantava davanti il carrettino delle castagne, e senza spendere mai un soldo. I camerati si divertivano alle sue spalle. Gallorini gli faceva il ritratto sul muro col carbone, e il nome sotto. Egli lasciava fare. Ma quando gli rubavano per ischerzo i mozziconi che teneva nascosti nella canna del fucile, imbestialiva, e una volta andò in prigione per un pugno che accecò mezzo il Lucchese – si vedeva ancora il segno nero – e lui cocciuto come un mulo a ripetere: – Non è vero. – O allora, chi gli ha dato il pugno al Lucchese? – Non so. – Poi stava seduto sul tavolaccio, col mento fra le mani. – Quando torno al mio paese! – Non diceva altro.
– Infine, conta su. Ci hai l'amante al tuo paese? – domandava Gallorini. Egli lo fissava, sospettoso, e dimenava il capo. Né sì né no. Poscia si metteva a guardare lontano. Ogni giorno con un pezzetto di lapis faceva un segno su di un piccolo almanacco che aveva in tasca.
Gallorini invece ci aveva l'amante. Un donnone coi baffi che gli avevano visto insieme al caffè una domenica, seduti con un bicchier di birra davanti, e aveva voluto pagar lei. Il Lucchese se ne accorse ronzando lì intorno colla Gegia, la quale non gli costava mai nulla. Egli trovava delle Gegie dappertutto, colla sua parlantina graziosa, e perché non si avessero a male d'esser messe tutte in fascio sin pel nome, diceva che quello era l'uso del suo paese, quando una si vuol bene, si chiami Teresa, Assunta o Bersabea.
In quel tempo cominciò a correre la voce che s'aveva a far la guerra coi Tedeschi. Va e vieni di soldati, folla per le strade, e gente che veniva a vedere l'esercizio in Piazza d'Armi. Quando il reggimento sfilava fra le bande e i battimani, il Lucchese marciava baldanzoso come se la festa fosse fatta a lui, e Gallorini non la finiva più di salutare amici e conoscenti, col braccio sempre in aria, che voleva tornar morto o ufficiale, diceva.
– Tu non ci vai contento alla guerra? – domandò a Malerba quando fecero i fasci d'armi alla stazione.
Malerba si strinse nelle spalle, e seguitò a guardar la gente che vociava e gridava: Evviva!
Il Lucchese vide pur la Gegia, curiosa, la quale stava a vedere da lontano, in mezzo alla folla, tenendosi alle costole un ragazzaccio in camiciotto che fumava la pipa. – Questo si chiama mettere le mani avanti! – borbottava il Lucchese, che non poteva allontanarsi dalle file, e a Gallorini domandava se la sua s'era arruolata nei granatieri, per non lasciarlo.
Era come una festa dappertutto dove arrivavano. Bandiere, luminarie, e i contadini che correvano sull'argine della strada ferrata, a veder passare il treno zeppo di chepì e di fucili. Ma alle volte poi la sera, nell'ora in cui le trombe suonavano il silenzio, si sentivano prendere dalla melanconia della Gegia, degli amici, di tutte le cose lontane. Appena arrivava la posta al campo correvano in folla a stendere le mani. Malerba solo se ne stava in disparte grullo, come uno che non aspettava nulla. Egli faceva sempre il segno nell'almanacco, giorno per giorno. Poi stava a sentire la banda, da lontano, e pensava a chi sa cosa.
Una sera finalmente successe un gran movimento nel campo. Ufficiali che andavano e venivano, carriaggi che sfilavano verso il fiume. La sveglia suonò due ore dopo mezzanotte; nondimeno distribuivano già il rancio e levavano le tende. Poscia il reggimento si mise in marcia.
La giornata voleva esser calda. Malerba, il quale era pratico, lo sentiva alle buffate di vento che sollevavano il polverone. Poi era piovuto a goccioloni radi. Appena cessava l'acquata, di tratto in tratto, e lo stormire del granoturco, i grilli si mettevano a cantare forte, nei campi, di qua e di là dello stradale. Il Lucchese che marciava dietro a Malerba si divertiva alle sue spalle: – Su le zampe, camerata! Cos'hai che non dici nulla? Pensi forse al testamento?
Malerba con una spallata s'assestò lo zaino sulle spalle, e borbottò: – Cammina! – Lascialo stare, – prese a dire Gallorini. – Sta pensando all'innamorata, che se l'ammazzano i Tedeschi ne piglia un altro.
– Cammina tu pure! – rispose Malerba.
All'improvviso nella notte passò il trotto di un cavallo, e il tintinnìo di una sciabola, fra le due file del reggimento che marciavano dai due lati della strada.
– Buon viaggio! – disse poi il Lucchese, che era il buffo della compagnia. – E tanti saluti ai Tedeschi, se li incontra.
A destra, in una gran macchia scura, biancheggiava un caseggiato. E il cane di guardia latrava furibondo, correndo lungo la siepe.
– Quello è cane tedesco, – osservò Gallorini, che voleva dire la barzelletta come il Lucchese. – Non lo senti all'abbaiare?
La notte era ancora profonda. A sinistra come sopra un nugolone nero, che doveva essere collina, spuntava una stella lucente.
– O che ora sarà mai? – domandò Gallorini. Malerba levò il naso in aria, e rispose tosto:
– Ci vorrà almeno un'ora a spuntare il sole!
– Che sugo! – brontolò il Lucchese. – Farci far la levataccia per un bel nulla!
– Alt! – ordinò una voce breve.
Il reggimento scalpicciava ancora, come una mandra di pecore che si aggruppi. – O che s'aspetta? – borbottò il Lucchese dopo un pezzetto. Passò di nuovo un gruppo di cavalieri. Stavolta nell'alba che cominciava a rompere si videro sventolare le banderuole dei lancieri, e avanti un generale, col berretto gallonato sino in cima, e le mani ficcate nelle tasche dello spenser. Lo stradale cominciava a biancheggiare, diritto, in mezzo ai campi ancora oscuri. Le colline sembravano spuntare ad una ad una nel crepuscolo incerto; e in fondo si vedeva un fuoco acceso, forse di qualche boscaiuolo, o di contadini che erano scappati dinanzi a quella piena di soldati. Gli uccelletti, al mormorìo, si svegliavano a cinguettare sui rami dei gelsi che si stampavano nell'alba.
Poco dopo, a misura che il giorno andavasi schiarendo, si udì un brontolìo cupo verso la sinistra, dove l'orizzonte s'allargava in un chiarore color d'oro e color di rosa, come se tuonasse, e faceva senso in quel cielo senza nuvole. Poteva essere il mormorìo del fiume o il rumore dell'artiglieria in marcia. Ad un tratto corse una voce: – Il cannone! – E tutti si voltavano a guardare verso l'orizzonte color d'oro.
– Io sono stanco! brontolò Gallorini. – Ormai dovrebbero far l'alto! appoggiò il Lucchese.
Le chiacchiere andavano morendo a misura che i soldati si avanzavano nella giornata calda, fra le strisce di terra bruna, di seminati verdi, le vigne che fiorivano sulle colline, i filari di gelsi diritti sin dove arrivava la vista. Qua e là si vedevano dei casolari e delle cascine abbandonate. Accostandosi ad un pozzo, per bere un sorso d'acqua, videro degli arnesi a terra, accanto all'uscio di un cascinale, e un gatto che affacciava il muso fra i battenti sconquassati, miagolando.
– Guarda! fece osservare Malerba. – Ci hanno il grano in spiga, povera gente!
– Vuoi scommettere che non ne mangi di quel pane? – disse il Lucchese.
– Sta' zitto, jettatore! – rispose Malerba. – Io ci ho l'abitino della Madonna. – E fece le corna colle dita.
In quella si udì tuonare anche a sinistra, verso il piano. Da principio, dei colpi rari, che echeggiavano dal monte. Poscia un crepitìo come di razzi, quasi il villaggio fosse in festa. Al di sopra del verde che coronava la vetta si vedeva il campanile tranquillo, nel cielo azzurro.
– No, non è il fiume – disse Gallorini.
– E neppure dei carri che passano.
– Senti! senti! – esclamò Gallorini. – Laggiù la festa è cominciata.
– Alt! ordinarono ancora. Il Lucchese ascoltava, colle ciglia in arco, e non diceva più nulla. Malerba aveva vicino un paracarro, e ci s'era messo a sedere, col fucile fra le gambe.
Il cannoneggiamento doveva essere in pianura. Si vedeva il fumo di ogni colpo, come nuvolette dense, che si levavano appena al di sopra dei filari di gelsi, e si squarciavano lentamente. I prati scendevano quieti verso la pianura, con il canto delle quaglie fra le zolle.
Il colonnello, a cavallo, parlava con un gruppo d'ufficiali, fermi sul ciglione della strada, guardando di tratto in tratto verso la pianura col cannocchiale. Appena si mosse al trotto, le trombe del reggimento squillarono tutte insieme: – Avanti!
A destra e a sinistra si vedevano dei campi nudi. Poi qualche pezza di granoturco ancora. Poi delle vigne, poi delle gore d'acqua, infine degli alberetti nani. Spuntavano le prime case di un villaggio; la strada era ingombra di carriaggi e di vetture. Un vocìo, un tramestìo da sbalordire.
Sopraggiunse di galoppo un cavalleggiero, bianco di polvere. Il suo cavallo, un morello tozzo e tutto crini, aveva le narici rosse e fumanti. Indi passò un ufficiale di stato maggiore, gridando come un ossesso di sgombrare la strada, picchiando colla sciabola a diritta e a manca su quei poveri muli borghesi. Attraverso gli olmi del ciglione si videro sfilare correndo dei bersaglieri neri, colle piume al vento.
Ora si erano messi per una stradicciuola che piegava a diritta. I soldati rompevano in mezzo al seminato, talché a Malerba gli piangeva il cuore. Sulla china di un monticello, videro un gruppo d'ufficiali a cavallo, con la scorta di lancieri dietro, e i cappelli a punta di carabinieri. Tre o quattro passi innanzi, a cavallo e col pugno sull'anca, c'era un pezzo grosso, a cui i generali rispondevano colla mano alla visiera, e gli ufficiali passandogli dinanzi, salutavano colla sciabola.
– O chi è colui? chiese Malerba.
– Vittorio, rispose il Lucchese. Che non l'hai mai visto nei soldi, sciocco!
I soldati si voltavano a guardare, finché potevano. Poscia Malerba osservò fra sé: – Quello è il Re!
Più in là c'era un torrentello asciutto. L'altra riva coperta di macchie saliva verso il monte, sparso di olmi scapitozzati. Il cannoneggiamento non si udiva più. Un merlo a quella pace s'era messo a fischiare nella mattinata chiara.
Tutt'a un tratto scoppiò come un uragano. La vetta, il campanile, ogni cosa fu avvolta nel fumo. Dei rami d'albero che scricchiolavano, della polvere che si levava qua e là nella terra, ad ogni palla di cannone. Una granata spazzò via un gruppo di soldati. In cima della collina si udivano di tratto in tratto delle grida immense, come degli urrà. – Madonna santa! – balbettò il Lucchese. I sergenti andavano ordinando di mettere a terra i zaini. Malerba obbedì a malincuore perché ci aveva due camicie nuove e tutta la sua roba.
– Lesti! lesti! – andavano dicendo i sergenti. Da una stradicciuola sassosa arrivarono di galoppo alcuni pezzi d'artiglieria, con un fragore di terremoto; gli ufficiali avanti, i soldati curvi sulla criniera irta dei cavalli fumanti, frustando a tutto andare, i cannonieri aggrappati ai mozzi e alle ruote, che spingevano su per l'erta.
In mezzo al rumore furioso delle cannonate si vide rovinare fuggendo per la china un cavallo ferito, colle tirelle pendenti, nitrendo, scavezzando viti, sparando calci disperati. Più giù, a frotte, soldati laceri, sanguinosi, senza chepì, che agitavano le braccia. Infine dei drappelli interi che rinculavano passo passo, fermandosi a far fuoco alla spicciolata, in mezzo agli alberi. Trombe e tamburi suonarono la carica. Il reggimento si slanciò alla corsa su per l'erta, come un torrente d'uomini.
Al Lucchese gli parlava il cuore – che furia per quel che ci aspetta lassù! – Gallorini gridava: – Savoia! – E a Malerba che aveva il passo pesante: – Su le zampe camerata! – Cammina! ripeteva Malerba.
Appena sulla vetta, in un praticello sassoso, si trovarono di faccia ai Tedeschi che si avanzavano fitti in fila. Corse un lungo lampo su quelle masse che formicolavano; la fucilata crepitò da un capo all'altro. Un giovanetto ufficiale, escito allora dalla scuola, cadde in quel momento, colla sciabola in pugno. Il Lucchese annaspò alquanto, colle braccia aperte, come se inciampasse, e cadde egli pure. Ma dopo non si vide più nulla. Gli uomini si azzuffavano petto a petto, col sangue agli occhi.
– Savoia! Savoia!
Infine i Tedeschi ne ebbero abbastanza, e cominciarono a dare indietro passo passo. I cappotti grigi li inseguivano a stormi. Malerba, nella furia del correre, pigliò come una sassata che lo fece zoppicare. Poi si accorse che gli colava il sangue pei pantaloni. Allora infuriato come un bue si slanciò a testa bassa, menando baionette. Vide un gran diavolo biondo che gli veniva addosso con la sciabola sul capo, e Gallorini che gli appuntava alla schiena la bocca del fucile.
Le trombe suonavano a raccolta. Ora tutto quello che restava del reggimento, a stormi, a gruppi, correva verso il villaggio, che rideva al sole, in mezzo al verde. Però alle prime case si vide la carneficina che ci era stata. Cannoni, cavalli, bersaglieri feriti, tutto sottosopra. Gli usci sfondati, le imposte delle finestre che pendevano come cenci al sole. In fondo a una corte c'era un mucchio di feriti per terra, e un carro colle stanghe in aria, ancora carico di legna.
– E il Lucchese? – domandò Gallorini senza fiato.
Malerba l'aveva visto cadere. Nondimeno si voltò indietro per istinto verso il monte che formicolava di uomini e di cavalli. Le armi luccicavano al sole. Si vedevano, in mezzo alla spianata, degli ufficiali a piedi, i quali guardavano lontano col cannocchiale. Le compagnie calavano ad una ad una per la china, con dei lampi che correvano lungo le file.
Potevano essere le 10 – le 10 del mese di giugno, al sole. Un ufficiale s'era buttato come arso sull'acqua dove lavavano gli scopoli dei cannoni. Gallorini stava disteso bocconi contro il muro del cimitero, colla faccia sull'erba; là almeno, dalle fosse, nell'erba folta, veniva un po' di frescura. Malerba, seduto per terra, s'ingegnava a legarsi come poteva la gamba col fazzoletto. Pensava al Lucchese, poveretto, che era rimasto per via, a pancia in aria.
– Tornano! tornano! – si udì gridare. La tromba chiamava all'armi. Ah! stavolta era proprio stufo Gallorini! Nemmeno un momento di riposo! Si alzò come una bestia feroce, tutto lacero, e afferrò il fucile. La compagnia si schierava in fretta, alle prime case del paesetto, dietro i muri, alle finestre. Due pezzi di cannone allungavano la gola nera in mezzo alla strada. Si vedevano venire i Tedeschi in file serrate, un battaglione dopo l'altro, che non finivano mai.
Là fu colpito Gallorini. Una palla gli ruppe il braccio. Malerba lo voleva aiutare. – Che cos'hai? – Nulla, lasciami stare. – Il tenente faceva anche lui alle fucilate come un semplice soldato, e bisognò correre a dargli una mano, Malerba dicendo ad ogni colpo: – Lasciate fare a me che è il mio mestiere! – I Tedeschi scomparvero di nuovo. Poi fu ordinata la ritirata. Il reggimento non ne poteva più. Fortunati Gallorini e il Lucchese che riposavano. Gallorini s'era seduto a terra, contro il muro, e non si voleva più muovere. Erano circa le 4, più di otto ore che stavano in quella caldura colla bocca arsa di polvere. Però Malerba ci aveva preso gusto e domandava: – Ora che si fa? – Ma nessuno gli dava retta. Scendevano verso il torrentello, accompagnati sempre dalla musica che facevano le cannonate sul monte. Poscia da lontano videro il villaggio formicolare di uniformi di tela. Non si capiva nulla, né dove andavano, né cosa succedeva. Alla svolta di un ciglione s'imbatterono nella siepe dietro la quale il Lucchese era caduto. E neppure Gallorini non c'era più. Tornavano indietro alla rinfusa, visi nuovi che non si conoscevano, granatieri e fanteria di linea, dietro agli ufficiali che zoppicavano, laceri, strascinando i passi, col fucile pesante sulle spalle.
Calava la sera tranquilla, in un gran silenzio, dappertutto.
A ogni tratto si incontravano carri, cannoni, soldati che andavano al buio, senza trombe e senza tamburi. Quando furono di là del fiume, seppero che avevano persa la battaglia.
– O come? – diceva Malerba. – O come? – E non sapeva capacitarsi.
Poi, terminata la ferma, tornò al suo paese, e trovò la Marta che s'era già maritata, stanca d'aspettarlo. Anche lui non aveva tempo da perdere, e prese una vedova, con del ben di Dio. Qualche tempo dopo, lavorante alla ferrovia lì vicino, arrivò Gallorini, con moglie e figli anche lui.
– To' Malerba! O cosa fai tu qui? Io faccio dei lavori a cottimo. Ho imparato il fatto mio all'estero, in Ungheria, quando m'hanno fatto prigioniero, ti rammenti? Mia moglie m'ha portato un capitaletto... Mondo ladro, eh? Credevi fossi arricchito? Eppure il nostro dovere l'abbiamo fatto. Ma chi va in carrozza, non siamo noi. Bisogna dare una buona sterrata, e tornare a far conto da capo. – Coi suoi operai ripeteva pure le stesse prediche, la domenica, all'osteria. Essi, poveretti, ascoltavano, e dicevano di sì col capo, sorseggiando il vinetto agro, ristorandosi la schiena al sole, come bruti, al pari di Malerba, il quale non sapeva far altro che seminare, raccogliere e far figliuoli. Egli dimenava il capo per politica, quando parlava il suo camerata, ma non apriva bocca. Gallorini invece aveva girato il mondo, sapeva il fatto suo in ogni cosa, il diritto e il torto; sopra tutto il torto che gli facevano, costringendolo a sbattezzarsi e lavorare di qua e di là pel mondo, con una covata di figliuoli e la moglie addosso, mentre tanti andavano in carrozza.
– Tu non ne sai nulla del come va il mondo! Tu, se fanno una dimostrazione, e gridano viva questo o morte a quell'altro non sai cosa dire. Tu non capisci nulla di quel che ci vuole!
E Malerba rispondeva sempre col capo di sì. – Adesso ci voleva l'acqua pei seminati. Quest'altro inverno ci voleva il tetto nuovo nella stalla.
# Via Crucis
Matilde cercò cogli occhi la Santina, entrando nella bottega della sarta. Indi le si mise accanto, e disse piano:
– Sai? Poldo piglia moglie.
Santina avvampò in viso; poi si fece smorta, e chinò la testa sul lavoro. Non disse nulla; non ci credeva; ma il cuore le si gonfiava di certi presentimenti che adesso le tornavano dinanzi agli occhi. Solo le tremava il labbro nel frenare le lagrime.
Appena poté inventare un pretesto per uscire corse al Municipio, e lesse coi suoi occhi: «Leopoldo Bettoni con Ernestina Mirelli, agiata». Tornando in bottega, cogli occhi gonfi, si buscò una buona lavata di capo.
La sera volle parlargli ad ogni costo. Da un pezzo egli le diceva: – Faccio tardi all'officina. C'è un lavoro da terminare. – Il Renna, che lavorava da indoratore insieme con lui, s'era messo a ridere. – Non dia retta, sora Santina. Le son storie da contare ai morti. – La mamma, al vedere che tornava ad uscire, stralunata, l'afferrava per le vesti. – Dove corri? A quest'ora... – Ella non diceva altro: – Lasciatemi andare. Lasciatemi andare... – cogli occhi fissi. Chi la incontrava così tardi, al vederla correre sul marciapiede con quella faccia, si fermava a sbirciarla sotto il naso; oppure le buttava dietro un pissi pissi. Ma ella non vedeva e non udiva. Finalmente scoprì Poldo in fondo al caffè delle Cinque Vie, seduto in un crocchio, che guardava pensieroso il bicchiere. Quando uscì sulla strada seguitava a guardarsi attorno come un ladro. Pareva che il cuore glielo dicesse. Ella lo afferrò pel gomito, allo svolto della cantonata. – È vero che prendi moglie? – Poldo giurava di no, colle braccia in croce. Infine disse: – Senti, io non ho nulla. Tu neppure non hai nulla. Si farebbe un bel marrone tutti e due.
Cotesto non glielo aveva detto prima, quando le stava attorno innamorato, e le sussurrava quelle parole traditrici che le facevano squagliare il cuore dentro il petto. Con tali parole s'era lasciata prendere in quella stanza dell'osteria di Gorla, col ritratto del Re e di Garibaldi che le si erano stampati in mente. Ora egli se ne andava passo passo per la sua strada, col dorso curvo.
Da principio sembrava che il cuore le morisse dentro il petto. Poscia a poco a poco si rassegnò. Matilde le diceva: – Sciocca, ne troverai cento altri, non dubitare. – Le compagne cianciavano e ridevano tutto il giorno, e il sabato facevano dei progetti per la festa. Dalla finestra si vedeva il sole di primavera, sui tetti rossi, nei terrazzini pieni di fiori. Allora tornavano a gonfiarlesi in cuore piene di lagrime le parole dolci di Poldo. La domenica per lei spuntava triste, in quella malinconia di via Armorari, e pensava, pensava, coi gomiti appoggiati al davanzale, guardando le botteghe tutte chiuse.
Il Renna, di sopra, stava alla finestra per vedere la Santina affacciata a capo chino, che scopriva la nuca bianca. Non usciva neppur lui. Poscia le buttava dei sassolini. Ella si voltava, col viso in su, e rideva. Era l'unico suo sorriso. Una sera di luna piena, mentre arrivava sin là la canzone della strada, il Renna scese al pian disotto, e Santina uscì sul pianerottolo ad attinger l'acqua. Il giovanotto le prese tutte e due le mani che reggevan la secchia, ed ella gliele lasciò chinando il capo, nella luna piena che allagava il balcone.
Pure non voleva, no; perché a poco a poco aveva preso a volergli bene come a quell'altro, e temeva del poi. Ma il Renna sapeva che ella aveva avuto Poldo per amante, e glielo rinfacciava a ogni momento. Allora Santina dovette piegare il capo anche a costui, per provargli che gli voleva bene. Stavolta fu all'Isola Bella, dopo un desinare che si sentiva la testa pesa come il piombo. Poscia guardava tutta sconfortata gli orti e i prati che impallidivano al tramonto, mentre il Renna fumava alla finestra, in maniche di camicia.
E le disse pure: – Abbiamo fatto un bel marrone! – Sapeva che Beppe, il fratello della ragazza, era un giovanotto schizzinoso, di quelli che non amano far ridere alle proprie spalle. Motivo per cui a poco a poco andava raffreddandosi coll'amante. – Tu sei troppo imprudente, cara mia! Fai le cose in modo da aprire gli occhi a un cieco. – Santina taceva e si struggeva in silenzio. Poi il Renna la esaminava dalla testa ai piedi con un'occhiata. – Cos'hai? Hai un certo viso! Il marrone?... – Allora scoprì pure che egli sgomberava adagio adagio dalla stanza di sopra. Lo sorprese per la scala con un baule sulle spalle. – Te ne vai? Mi pianti? – Anch'egli negava, colle braccia in croce, come quell'altro. Infine gli scappò la pazienza. – Ebbene, cosa vuoi? Già sai che non sono stato il primo... – Ella voleva buttarsi dalla finestra, se non fosse stata la paura. La maestra arricciava il naso appena la vedeva entrare in bottega, accasciata, col viso gonfio e disfatto, con tanto di pesche agli occhi. La spogliava dalla testa ai piedi al pari del Renna, con certe occhiate che le leggevano in faccia la vergogna. Infine, quando fu certa di non ingannarsi, le diede il fatto suo, un sabato sera, dietro il banco – cinque lire e ottanta centesimi. – A Santina le pareva di morire. Ma la padrona con un risolino agro ripeteva: – È inutile piangere adesso. Dovevi pensarci prima! – La mamma cacciandosi le mani nei capelli, balbettava: – Cosa hai fatto? Cosa hai fatto? disgraziata! Se lo sapesse tuo fratello!...
Costui appena venne in chiaro della cosa andò a prendere il Renna per il collo, in via Camminadella. – Ti voglio mangiare il fegato, traditore! – Dopo lo portarono a casa colla testa rotta. – Non è nulla, diceva. Ma voglio lavarmi il disonore col sangue di quella sciagurata! Se non va via di casa voglio ammazzare anche lei! – La poveretta scappò come si trovava, la vigilia di Natale. Quel giorno Beppe, contento e all'oscuro di tutto, aveva portato un panettone. La mamma di nascosto le mandò qualche soldo nel fagottino della roba. Le sue compagne non ne seppero più nulla. Dopo tre mesi all'improvviso Matilde se la vide capitare in casa pelle e ossa, in cerca di lavoro. – Del lavoro?... è difficile, sai; la maestra... – No! No lei! – Ma allora... Non saprei... Poverina, come sei ridotta! Ora che farai? – Non so. – E lui, Poldo? – Non so. – Fàtti animo. Tornerai bella come prima, vedrai! – Santina non aveva altro da dire, e se ne andava a capo chino. Matilde la richiamò sull'andito. – Dove andrai? – Non so. – Senti, se pigli un altro amante, apri bene gli occhi stavolta, che non sia uno spiantato.
Invece prese un bel giovanotto, ricco come un principe, e buono come il Signore Iddio; tanto che alla poveretta non le pareva vero, e non voleva crederci ogni volta che egli l'aspettava sotto il portico di piazza Mercanti, mentre essa andava a riportare il lavoro di cucito in via Broletto, e le si attaccava alla cintola. – Angelo! Biondina d'oro! – No! Signore Iddio! Mi lasci andare pei fatti miei! – Una sera egli la seguì per la scaletta di casa sua, in via del Pesce, innamorato sino agli occhi. Voleva che lo mettesse alla prova se le voleva bene. Spese per lei dei gran denari; le fece abbandonare la camiciaia di via Broletto; le prese in affitto un bel quartierino in via Manara. Spesso la conduceva al Fossati, e in campagna. Le belle passeggiate nel Parco di Monza, tutto di verde e d'azzurro, colle folte ombrìe dei grandi alberi dove dormivano le viole e i pan porcini, e le stelle che filavano silenziose sul loro capo al ritorno, mentre egli le posava la testa fine sulle ginocchia, cullati dalla carrozza! Le pareva di sognare. Cercava di leggergli negli occhi cosa dovesse fare per meritarsi quel paradiso. Anch'esso da qualche tempo sembrava che sognasse. La fissava pensieroso. Rispondeva: – Nulla, non ci badare; ho delle seccature. – Un giorno le disse ridendo che suo padre era furibondo contro di lei. Aveva il sorriso pallido. In seguito perse anche quel sorriso. Sovente veniva tardi, di cattivo umore. L'abbracciava in un certo modo per dirle: – Ti voglio tanto bene, sai! – In un momento d'abbandono le confidò che era soprapensiero per certe cambiali; i creditori non volevano aspettare più. Suo padre in collera protestava che non gli avrebbe dato un soldo se non mutava via. Santina chinava il capo tristamente, col martello di perdere il suo amore; giacché non le passava neppure pel capo che potesse sposar lei. Egli dovette andare a Genova, per due o tre giorni onde aggiustare i suoi affari. Al momento di partire, sotto la tettoia della stazione, le aveva detto: – Non dubitare, non dubitare! – colla voce ancora innamorata. Le aveva promesso di scriverle ogni giorno. Ogni giorno Santina andava alla posta a prendere le sue lettere, per tre mesi. Infine ne arrivò un'ultima in cui egli scriveva: «Che posso farci? Mio padre vuole che pigli moglie ad ogni costo». E le mandava un vaglia di mille lire. Un signore che passava dovette afferrarla per il braccio onde non cadesse sotto l'omnibus di Porta Romana.
Ora ella portava i cappelloni a piume, e gli stivalini col tacco alto come la Matilde. La videro in brum chiuso con un ufficiale di cavalleria. Al veglione del Dal Verme prese un premio; e una volta di nascosto mandò cinquanta lire alla mamma. Il giorno dello Statuto in piazza del Duomo le passò a lato Poldo, e la sbirciò dicendo qualche cosa all'orecchio della moglie, una grassona la quale si mise a ridere scotendo il ventre.
Però ebbe giorni di fortuna. Un signore forestiero le pagò un mese di allegra vita e di vetture di rimessa. Poscia fece le sue valigie anche lui, e le lasciò qualche migliaio di lire, tutte in ori e fronzoli, che le mangiò un commesso viaggiatore. Un maestro di musica, malato di petto, che moriva di fame e credeva d'attaccarsi alla vita buttandole le braccia al collo, le promise di sposarla. Ella, quantunque non ci credesse più, fece una vita da santa tutto il tempo che rimase con lui, in una soffitta, a cavarsi gli occhi per comprargli le medicine. Stettero anche quarantotto ore senza mangiare né lei né il suo amante, rannicchiati su uno strapunto sotto l'abbaino. Infine l'accompagnò al cimitero di Porta Magenta, lei sola, col cuore stretto da quella giornata trista di febbraio tutta bianca di neve. La sera andò in una scuola di ballo per cercar da cena.
Poi scese giù nella strada; fece la dolorosa _via crucis_ della Galleria e di via Santa Margherita, nell'ora triste della caccia al pranzo, tremante di freddo sotto il mantello di seta, col viso pallido di cipria, sorridendo a tutti colle labbra affamate, scutrettolando coi piedi gonfi rasente agli uomini che la salutavano con un'occhiata sprezzante; senza ripugnanze, senza simpatie, senza stanchezza, senza sonno, senza lagrime, senza un briciolo della sua sciagurata bellezza che le appartenesse più. Una notte di carnevale, in un'orgia, Poldo volle comprare da lei un bacio coi denari della moglie, ed essa glielo diede, sulla bocca avvinazzata.
La stagione era ancora rigida. Lassù nella sua cameruccia sotto i tetti l'acqua gelava nel catino. Se entrava in un caffè per riscaldarsi, il cameriere, in cravatta bianca, le sussurrava qualche parola all'orecchio, ed ella tornava ad alzarsi, a capo chino. Di fuori, alla luce appannata delle grandi invetriate, passavano delle ombre impellicciate come lei, sotto un cappellone piumato. Dietro, i questurini, passo passo. Gli uomini camminavano frettolosi, col bavero rialzato e il sigaro in bocca. Ella sorrideva, colle labbra riarse.
Piazza del Duomo tutta bianca di neve, Santa Margherita colle vetrine scintillanti del Bocconi; lì delle lunghe stazioni all'alito dei sotterranei riscaldati che veniva dalle finestre a livello del marciapiede. La gente passava sogghignando. Indi piazza della Scala, come un camposanto, il teatro sfavillante di lumi, i caffè nella nebbia calda del gas, e di nuovo la Galleria, alta, sonora, coll'arco immenso spalancato sull'altra piazza bianca di neve; e dietro sempre il passo sonoro dei questurini che la scacciavano avanti, sempre avanti. Un vecchietto curvo la sbirciò arricciandosi i baffi tinti. La poveretta sorrideva sempre inutilmente, colle labbra pallide. Infine s'avvicinò a una di quelle ombre che al par di lei passeggiavano eternamente sotto il cappellone piumato, e le disse qualche parola sottovoce. L'altra si strinse nelle spalle. Un signore passava senza darle retta. Poscia tornò indietro e le mise qualcosa nella mano. Allora, chiusa nel suo mantello di seta, colle piume del cappellone sul viso infarinato, andò a comprare del pane. E il garzone le sghignazzava dietro, tornando a sedere dietro il banco accanto alla ragazza che leggeva il _Secolo_ , mentre l'altra si allontanava col pane sotto il mantello di seta, come una regina.
# Conforti
La donna dell'uovo glielo aveva predetto alla sora Arlìa: «Sarai contenta, ma prima passerai dei guai».
Chi l'avrebbe immaginato quando sposò il Manica colla sua bella bottega di barbiere in via dei Fabbri, lei pettinatora anch'essa, giovani e sani tutti e due! Solo don Calogero, suo zio, non aveva voluto benedire quel matrimonio – per lavarsene le mani come Pilato – diceva. Sapeva come fossero tutti tisici di padre in figlio a casa sua, ed era riescito a mettere un po' di pancia collo scegliere la vita quieta del prevosto.
– Il mondo è pieno di guai, – predicava don Calogero. – Ed è meglio starsene alla larga.
I guai infatti erano venuti a poco a poco. Arlìa, sempre incinta da un anno all'altro, che le clienti stesse disertavano per la malinconia di vederla arrivare col fiato ai denti, e quel castigo di Dio della pancia grossa. Poi le mancava il tempo di stare in giorno colla moda. Suo marito aveva sognato una gran bottega da parrucchiere nel Corso, colle profumerie nella vetrina; ma aveva un bel radere barbe a tre soldi l'una. I figliuoli si facevano tisici uno dopo l'altro, e prima d'andarsene al camposanto si mangiavano colla propria carne il poco guadagno dell'annata.
Angiolino, che non voleva morire così giovane, si lamentava nella febbre: – Mamma, perché m'avete messo al mondo? Tale e quale come gli altri suoi fratelli morti prima. La mamma, allampanata, non sapeva che rispondere, dinanzi al lettuccio. Avevano fatto l'impossibile; s'erano mangiato il cotto e il crudo: brodi, medicine, pillole piccine come capocchie di spilli. Arlìa aveva speso tre lire per una messa, ed era andata ad ascoltarla ginocchioni in San Lorenzo, picchiandosi il petto pei suoi peccati. La Vergine nel quadro sembrava che le ammiccasse di sì cogli occhi. Ma il Manica, più giudizioso, si metteva a ridere colla bocca storta, grattandosi la barba. Infine la povera madre afferrò il velo come una pazza, e corse dalla donna dell'uovo. Una contessa che voleva tagliarsi i capelli dalla disperazione dell'amante ci aveva trovata la consolazione.
«Sarai contenta, ma prima passerai dei guai», le rispose quella dell'uovo.
Lo zio prete aveva un bel dire: – Tutte imposture di Satanasso! – Bisogna provare cosa sia avere il cuore nero d'amarezza, mentre s'aspetta la sentenza, e quella vecchia vi legge il vostro destino tutto in un bianco d'uovo! Dopo le pareva di trovare a casa il figliuolo alzato, che le dicesse allegro: – Mamma, sono guarito.
Invece il ragazzo se ne andava a oncia a oncia, stecchito nel lettuccio, e quegli occhi che se lo mangiavano. Don Calogero, che di morti se ne intendeva, come veniva a vedere il nipote, si chiamava poi in disparte la mamma, e le diceva: – Pei funerali me ne incarico io. Non ci pensate.
Però la sventurata sperava sempre, accanto al capezzale. Alle volte, quando saliva anche Manica a sentire del figliuolo, colla barba lunga di otto giorni e il dorso curvo, provava compassione di lui che non ci credeva. Come doveva patirci il poveretto! Ella almeno aveva in cuore le parole della donna dell'uovo, come un lume acceso, sino al momento in cui lo zio prete s'assise ai piedi del letto colla stola. Poi, quando si portarono via la sua speranza nella bara del figliuolo, le parve che si facesse un gran buio dentro il suo petto. E balbettava dinanzi a quel lettuccio vuoto: «O dunque cosa m'aveva promesso quella dell'uovo?» Suo marito dal crepacuore aveva preso il vizio del bere. Infine, adagio adagio, si fece una gran calma nel suo cuore. Tale e quale come prima. Ora che i guai l'erano caduti tutti sulle spalle sarebbe venuta la contentezza. Ai poveretti accade spesso così.
Fortunata, l'ultima che le restasse di tanti figli, si alzava la mattina pallida e colle pesche color di madreperla agli occhi, a somiglianza dei fratelli che eran morti tisici. Le clienti stesse la lasciavano ad una ad una, i debiti crescevano, la bottega si vuotava. Manica, suo marito, aspettava gli avventori tutto il giorno, col naso contro la vetrina appannata. Lei chiedeva alla figliuola: – Ti dice di sì il cuore per quello che ci ha promesso la sorte?
Fortunata non diceva nulla, cogli occhi accerchiati di nero come i suoi fratelli, fissi in un punto che vedeva lei. Un giorno sua madre la sorprese per le scale con un giovanotto che sgattajolò in fretta al veder gente, e lasciò la ragazza tutta rossa.
– Oh, poveretta me!... Che fai tu qui?
Fortunata chinò il capo.
– Chi era quel giovanotto? Che voleva?
– Niente.
– Confidati con tua madre, col sangue tuo. Se tuo padre sapesse!...
Per tutta risposta la ragazza alzò la fronte e le fissò in faccia gli occhi azzurri.
– Mamma, io non voglio morire come gli altri!
Il maggio fioriva, ma la fanciulla s'era mutata in viso, ed era divenuta inquieta sotto gli occhi ansiosi della madre. I vicini le cantavano: – Badi alla sua ragazza, sora Arlìa. – Il marito istesso, colla cera lunga, un giorno l'aveva presa a quattr'occhi nella botteguccia nera, per ripeterle:
– Bada a tua figlia, intendi? Che almeno il sangue nostro sia onorato!
La poveretta non osava interrogare la figliuola al vederla tanto stralunata. Le fissava soltanto addosso certi occhi che passavano il cuore. Una sera, dinanzi alla finestra aperta, mentre dalla strada saliva la canzone di primavera, la ragazza le mise il viso in seno, e confessò ogni cosa piangendo a calde lagrime.
La povera madre cadde su di una seggiola, come se le avessero stroncate le gambe. E tornava a balbettare, colle labbra smorte: «Ah! Ora come faremo?». Le pareva di vedere Manica nell'impeto del vino, col cuore indurito dalle disgrazie. Ma il peggio erano gli occhi con i quali la ragazza rispondeva:
– Vedete questa finestra, mamma?... la vedete com'è alta?...
Il giovane, un galantuomo, aveva mandato dallo zio prete a tastare il terreno per sapere che pesci pigliare. – Don Calogero s'era fatto prete apposta onde non sentir parlare dei guai del mondo. Il Manica si sapeva che non era ricco. L'altro capì l'antifona e fece sentire che gli dispiaceva tanto di non esser ricco lui per fare a meno della dote.
Allora la Fortunata si allettò davvero, e cominciò a tossire come i suoi fratelli. Parlava spesso all'orecchio della mamma, col viso rosso, tenendola abbracciata, e ripeteva:
– Vedete com'è alta quella finestra?...
E la mamma doveva correre di qua e di là a pettinare le signore pel teatro, sempre con lo spavento di quella finestra dinanzi agli occhi se non trovava la dote per la figlia, o se il marito s'accorgeva del marrone.
Di tanto in tanto le tornavano in mente le parole di quella dell'uovo, come uno spiraglio di luce. Una sera che tornava a casa stanca e scoraggiata, passando dinanzi alla vetrina di una lotteria, le caddero sotto gli occhi i numeri stampati, e per la prima volta le venne l'ispirazione di giuocare. Allora con quel fogliolino giallo in tasca le pareva d'avere la salute della figliuola, la ricchezza del marito, e la pace della casa. Pensava anche come una dolcezza all'Angelino e agli altri figliuoli da un pezzo sotterra nel cimitero di Porta Magenta. Era un venerdì, il giorno degli afflitti, nel sereno crepuscolo di primavera.
Così ogni settimana. Si levava di bocca i pochi soldi della giocata per vivere colla speranza di quella grande gioia che doveva capitarle all'improvviso. L'anime sante dei suoi figliuoli ci avrebbero pensato di lassù. Manica, un giorno che i fogliolini gialli saltarono fuori dal cassetto, mentre cercava di nascosto qualche lira da passar mattana all'osteria, montò in una collera maledetta.
– In tal modo se ne andavano dunque i denari?... – Sua moglie non sapeva che rispondere, tutta tremante.
– Però, senti, se il Signore mandasse i numeri?... Bisogna lasciare l'uscio aperto alla fortuna.
E in cuor suo pensava alle parole di quella dell'uovo.
– Se non hai altra speranza, – brontolò Manica con sorriso agro.
– E tu che speranza hai?
– Dammi due lire! – rispose lui bruscamente.
– Due lire! O Madonna!... cosa vuoi farne?
– Dammi una lira sola! – ribatté Manica stravolto.
Era una giornata buia, la neve dappertutto e l'umidità che bagnava le ossa. La sera Manica tornò a casa col viso lustro d'allegria. Fortunata diceva invece:
– Per me sola non c'è conforto.
Alle volte ella avrebbe voluto essere come i suoi fratelli, sotto l'erba del camposanto. Almeno quelli non tribolavano più, ed anche i genitori ci avevano fatto il callo, poveretti.
– Oh! il Signore non ci abbandonerà del tutto. – balbettava Arlìa. – Quella dell'uovo me l'ha detto. Ho qui un'ispirazione.
Il giorno di Natale apparecchiarono la tavola coi fiori e la tovaglia di bucato, e quest'anno invitarono lo zio prete ch'era la sola provvidenza che restasse. Il Manica si fregava le mani e diceva:
– Oggi si ha a stare allegri. – Pure il lume appeso al soffitto ciondolava malinconico.
Ci fu il manzo, il tacchino arrosto, ed anche un panettone col Duomo di Milano. Alle frutta il povero zio, vedendoli piangere, siffatta giornata, con un buon bicchiere in mano di barbera anche lui, non seppe tener duro e dovette promettere la dote alla ragazza. L'amante tornò a galla, Silvio Liotti, commesso di negozio con buone informazioni, pronto a riparare il mal fatto. Manica col bicchiere in mano diceva a don Calogero:
– Vedete, vossignoria; questo qui ne aggiusta tante.
Ma era destino che dove era l'Arlìa la contentezza non durasse. Il genero, ragazzo d'oro, si mangiò la dote della moglie, e dopo sei mesi Fortunata tornava a casa dei genitori a narrar guai e a mostrar le lividure, affamata e colle busse. Ogni anno un figliuolo anche lei come sua madre, e tutti sani come lasche che se la mangiavan viva. Alla nonna sembrava che tornasse a far figliuoli, ché ognuno era un altro guaio, senza morir tisico. Divenuta vecchia, doveva correre sino a Borgo degli Ortolani, e in fondo a Porta Garibaldi, per buscarsi dalle bottegaie qualche mesata da quattro lire. Suo marito anch'esso, che gli tremavano le mani, faceva appena dieci lire al sabato, tutti tagli e tele di ragno per stagnare il sangue. Il resto della settimana poi o dietro la vetrina sudicia ingrugnato, o all'osteria col cappello a sghimbescio sull'orecchio. Anch'essa ora i denari del terno li spendeva in tanta acquavite, di nascosto, sotto il grembiale, e il suo conforto era di sentirsene il cuor caldo, senza pensare a nulla, seduta di faccia alla finestra, guardando di fuori i tetti umidi che sgocciolavano.
# L'ultima giornata
I viaggiatori che erano nelle prime carrozze del treno per Como, poco dopo Sesto, sentirono una scossa, e una vecchia marchesa, capitata per sua disgrazia fra un giovanotto e una damigella di quelle col cappellaccio grande, sgranò gli occhi e arricciò il naso.
Il signorino aveva una magnifica pelliccia, e per galanteria voleva dividerla colla sua vicina più giovane, sebbene fosse primavera avanzata. Fra il sì e il no, stavano appunto aggiustando la partita, nel momento in cui il treno sobbalzò. Per fortuna la marchesa era conosciuta alla stazione di Monza, e si fece dare un posto di cupè.
I giornali della sera raccontavano:
«Oggi, nelle vicinanze di Sesto, fu trovato il cadavere di uno sconosciuto fra le rotaie della ferrovia. L'autorità informa.»
I giornali non sapevano altro. Una frotta di contadini che tornavano dalla festa di Gorla si erano trovati tutt'a un tratto quel cadavere fra i piedi, sull'argine della strada ferrata, e avevano fatto crocchio intorno curiosi per vedere com'era. Uno della brigata disse che incontrare un morto la festa porta disgrazia; ma i più ne levano i numeri del lotto.
Il cantoniere, onde sbarazzare le rotaie, aveva adagiato il cadavere nel prato, fra le macchie, e gli aveva messa una manciata d'erbacce sulla faccia, ch'era tutta sfracellata, e faceva un brutto vedere, per chi passava. Fra un treno e l'altro corsero il pretore, le guardie, i vicini, e com'era la festa dell'Ascensione, nei campi verdi si vedevano i pennacchi rossi dei carabinieri e i vestiti nuovi dei curiosi.
Il morto aveva i calzoni tutti stracciati, una giacchetta di fustagno logora, le scarpe tenute insieme collo spago, e una polizza del lotto in tasca. Cogli occhi spalancati nella faccia livida, guardava il cielo azzurro.
La giustizia cercava se era il caso di un assassinio per furto, o per altro motivo. E fecero il verbale in regola, né più né meno che se in quelle tasche ci fossero state centomila lire. Poi volevano sapere chi fosse, e d'onde venisse; nome, patria, paternità e professione. D'indizi non rimanevano che la barba rossa, lunga di otto giorni, e le mani sudicie e patite: delle mani che non avevano fatto nulla, e avevano avuto fame da un gran pezzo.
Alcuni l'avevano riconosciuto a quei contrassegni. Fra gli altri una brigata allegra che faceva baldoria a Loreto. Le ragazze che ballavano, scalmanate e colle sottane al vento, avevano detto:
– Quello là non ha voglia di ballare!
Egli andava diritto per la sua strada, colle braccia ciondoloni, le gambe fiacche, e aveva un bel da fare a strascinare quelle ciabatte, che non stavano insieme. Un momento s'era fermato a sentir suonare l'organetto, quasi avesse voglia di ballar davvero, e guardava senza dir nulla. Poi seguitò ad allontanarsi per il viale che si stendeva largo e polveroso sin dove arrivava l'occhio. Camminava sulla diritta, sotto gli alberi, a capo chino. Il tramvai era stato a un pelo di schiacciarlo, tanto che il cocchiere gli aveva buttato dietro un'imprecazione e una frustata. Egli aveva fatto un salto disperato per scansare il pericolo.
Più tardi lo videro sul limite di un podere, seduto per terra, in attitudine sospetta. Pareva che strologasse la pezza di granoturco, o che contasse i sassi del canale. Il garzone della cascina accorse col randello, e gli si accostò quatto quatto. Voleva vedere cosa stesse macchinando là quel vagabondo, mentre le pannocchie del granoturco ci voleva del tempo ad esser mature, e in tutto il campo, a farlo apposta, non vi sarebbe stato da rubare un quattrino. Allorché gli fu addosso vide che si era cavate le scarpe, e teneva il mento fra le palme. Il garzone, col randello dietro la schiena, gli domandò cosa stesse a far lì, nella roba altrui; e gli guardava le mani sospettoso. L'altro balbettava senza saper rispondere, e si rimetteva le scarpe mogio mogio. Poi si allontanò di nuovo, col dorso curvo, come un malfattore.
Andava lungo l'argine del canale, sotto i gelsi che mettevano le prime foglie. I prati, a diritta e a sinistra, erano tutti verdi. L'acqua, nell'ombra, scorreva nera, e di tanto in tanto luccicava al sole, un bel sole di primavera, che faceva cinguettare gli uccelli.
Il garzone aggiunse ch'era rimasto più di un'ora in agguato per vedere se tornasse quel vagabondo; e non avrebbe mai creduto che facesse tante storie per andar a finire sotto una locomotiva. L'aveva riconosciuto a quelle scarpe che non si reggevano neppure collo spago, e gli erano saltate fuori dai piedi, di qua e di là dalle rotaie.
– Gli è che al momento in cui le ruote vi son passate sopra quei piedi hanno dovuto sgambettare! – osservò il cameriere dell'osteria, corso sin là all'odore del morto come un corvo, in giubba nera e col tovagliuolo al braccio. Egli aveva visto passare quello sconosciuto dall'osteria verso mezzogiorno: una di quelle faccie affamate che vi rubano cogli occhi la minestra che bolle in pentola, quando passano. Perfino i cani l'avevano odorato, e gli abbaiavano dietro quelle scarpacce che si slabbravano nella polvere.
Come il sole tramontava l'ombra del cadavere si allungava, dai piedi senza scarpe, a guisa di spaventapassere, e gli uccelli volavano via silenziosi. Dalle osterie vicine giungevano allegri il suono delle voci e la canzone del Barbapedana. In fondo al cortile, dietro le pianticelle magre in fila si vedevano saltare e ballare le ragazze scapigliate. E quando il carro che portava i resti del suicida passò sotto le finestre illuminate, queste si oscurarono subito dalla folla dei curiosi che s'affacciavano per vedere. Dentro, l'organetto continuava a suonare il valzer di _Madama Angôt._
Più tardi se ne seppe qualche cosa. La affittaletti di Porta Tenaglia aveva visto arrivare quell'uomo dalla barba rossa una sera che pioveva, era un mese, stanco morto, e con un fardelletto sotto il braccio che non doveva dargli gran noia. Ed essa glielo aveva pesato cogli occhi per vedere se ci erano dentro i due soldi pel letto prima di dirgli sì. Egli aveva domandato prima quanto si spendeva per dormire al coperto. Poi ogni giorno che Dio mandava in terra aspettava che gli arrivasse una lettera, e si metteva in viaggio all'alba, per andar a cercare quella risposta, colle scarpe rotte, la schiena curva, stanco di già prima di muoversi. Finalmente la lettera era venuta, col bollino da cinque. Diceva che nell'officina non c'era posto. La donna l'aveva trovata sul materasso, perché lui quel giorno era rimasto sino a tardi col foglio in mano, seduto sul letto, colle gambe ciondoloni.
Nessuno ne sapeva altro. Era venuto da lontano. Gli avevano detto: – A Milano, che è città grande, troverete. – Egli non ci credeva più; ma s'era messo a cercare finché gli restava qualche soldo.
Aveva fatto un po' di tutti i mestieri: scalpellino, fornaciaio, e infine manovale. Dacché si era rotto un braccio non era più quello; e i capomastri se lo rimandavano dall'uno all'altro, per levarselo di fra' piedi. Poi quando fu stanco di cercare il pane si coricò sulle rotaie della ferrovia. A che cosa pensava, mentre aspettava, supino, guardando il cielo limpido e le cime degli alberi verdi? Il giorno innanzi, mentre tornava a casa colle gambe rotte, aveva detto: – Domani!
Era la sera del sabato; tutte le osterie del Foro Bonaparte piene di gente fin sull'uscio, al lume chiaro del gas, dinanzi alle baracche dei saltimbanchi, affollata alle banchette dei venditori ambulanti, perdendosi nell'ombra dei viali, con un bisbiglio di voci sommesse e carezzevoli. Una ragazza in maglia color carne suonava il tamburo sotto un cartellone dipinto. Più in là una coppia di giovani seduti colle spalle al viale si abbracciavano. Un venditore di mele cotte tentava lo stomaco colla sua mercanzia.
Passò dinanzi una bottega socchiusa; c'era in fondo una donna che allattava un bimbo, e un uomo, in maniche di camicia, fumava sulla porta. Egli camminando guardava ogni cosa, ma non osava fermarsi; gli sembrava che lo scacciassero via, via, sempre via. I cristiani pareva che sentissero già l'odor del morto, e lo evitavano. Solo una povera donna, che andava a Sesto curva sotto una gran gerla e brontolando, si mise a sedere sul ciglio della strada accanto a lui per riposarsi; e cominciò a chiacchierare e a lamentarsi, come fanno i vecchi, ciarlando dei suoi poveri guai: che aveva una figlia all'ospedale, e il genero la faceva lavorare come una bestia; che gli toccava andare fino a Monza con quella gerla lì, e aveva un dolore fisso nella schiena che gliela mangiavano i cani. Poi anch'essa se ne andò per la sua strada, a far cuocere la polenta del genero che l'aspettava. Al villaggio suonava mezzogiorno, e tutte le campane si misero in festa per l'Ascensione. Quando esse tacevano una gran pace si faceva tutto a un colpo all'intorno per la campagna. A un tratto si udì il sibilo acuto e minaccioso del treno che passava come un lampo.
Il sole era alto e caldo. Di là della strada, verso la ferrovia, le praterie si perdevano a tiro d'occhio sotto i filari ombrosi di gelsi, intersecate dal canale che luccicava fra i pioppi.
– Andiamo, via! è tempo di finirla! Ma non si muoveva, col capo fra le mani. Passò un cagnaccio randagio e affamato, il solo che non gli abbaiasse, e si fermò a guardarlo fra esitante e pauroso; poi cominciò a dimenar la coda. Infine, vedendo che non gli davano nulla, se ne andò anch'esso; e nel silenzio si udì per un pezzetto lo scalpiccìo della povera bestia che vagabondava col ventre magro e la coda penzoloni.
Gli organetti continuarono a suonare, e la baldoria durò sino a tarda sera, nelle osterie. Poi, quando le voci si affiocarono e le ragazze furono stanche di ballare, ricominciarono a parlare del suicidio della giornata. Una raccontò della sua amica, bella come un angelo, che si era asfissiata per amore, e l'avevano trovata col ritratto del suo amante sulle labbra, un traditore che l'aveva piantata per andare a sposare una mercantessa. Ella sapeva la storia con ogni particolare; erano state due anni a cucire allo stesso tavolo. Le compagne ascoltavano mezze sdraiate sul canapè, facendosi vento, ancora rosse e scalmanate. Un giovanotto disse che egli, se avesse avuto motivo di esser geloso, avrebbe fatta la festa a tutti e due, prima lei e poi lui, con quel trincetto che portava indosso, anche quando non era a bottega – non si sa mai! – E si posava colle mani in tasca davanti alle ragazze, che lo ascoltavano intente, bel giovane com'era, coi capelli inanellati che gli scappavano di sotto a un cappelluccio piccino piccino. Il cameriere portò delle altre bottiglie, e tutti, coi gomiti allungati sulla tovaglia, parlavano di cose tenere, cogli occhi lustri, stringendosi le mani. – In questo mondo cane non c'è che l'amicizia e un po' di volersi bene. Viva l'allegria! Una bottiglia scaccia una settimana di malinconia. Alcuni si misero in mezzo a rappattumare due pezzi di giovanotti che volevano accopparsi per gli occhi della morettina che andavano dall'uno all'altro senza vergogna. – È il vino! è il vino! si gridava. Viva l'allegria! – I pacieri furono a un pelo di accapigliarsi coll'oste per alcune bottiglie che vedevano di troppo sul conto. Poi tutti uscirono all'aria fresca, nella notte ch'era già alta. L'oste stette un pezzetto sprangando tutte le porte e le finestre, facendo i conti sul libraccio unto. Poi andò a raggiungere la moglie che sonnecchiava dinanzi al banco, col bimbo in grembo. Le voci si perdevano in lontananza per la strada, con scoppi rari e improvvisi di allegria. Tutto intorno, sotto il cielo stellato, si faceva un gran silenzio, e il grillo canterino si mise a stridere sul ciglio della ferrovia.
# VAGABONDAGGIO
# Vagabondaggio
Nanni Lasca, da ragazzo, non si rammentava altro: suo padre, compare Cosimo, che tirava la fune della chiatta, sul Simeto, con Mangialerba, Ventura e l'Orbo; e lui a stendere la mano per riscuotere il pedaggio. Passavano carri, passavano vetturali, passava gente a piedi e a cavallo d'ogni paese, e se ne andavano pel mondo, di qua e di là del fiume.
Prima compare Cosimo aveva fatto il lettighiere. E Nanni aveva accompagnato il babbo nei suoi viaggi, per strade e sentieri, sempre coll'allegro scampanellìo delle mule negli orecchi. Ma una volta, la vigilia di Natale – giorno segnalato – tornando a Licodia colla lettiga vuota, compare Cosimo trovò al Biviere la notizia che sua moglie stava per partorire. – Comare Menica stavolta vi fa una bella bambina, – gli dicevano tutti all'osteria. E lui, contento come una Pasqua, si affrettava ad attaccare i muli per arrivare a casa prima di sera. Il baio, birbante, che lo guardava di mal'occhio, per certe perticate che se l'era legate al dito, come lo vide spensierato, che si chinava ad affibbiargli il sottopancia canterellando, affilò le orecchie a tradimento – jjj! – e gli assestò un calcio secco.
Nanni era rimasto nella stalla, a scopare quel po' d'orzo rimasto in fondo alla mangiatoia. Al vedere il babbo lungo disteso nell'aia, che si teneva il ginocchio colle due mani, e aveva la faccia bianca come un morto, volle mettersi a strillare. Ma compare Cosimo balbettava: – Va' a pigliare dell'acqua fresca, piuttosto. Va' a chiamare lo zio Carmine, che mi aiuti. – Accorse il ragazzo dell'osteria col fiato ai denti.
– O ch'è stato, compare Cosimo? – Niente, Misciu. Ho paura di aver la gamba rotta. Va' a chiamare il tuo padrone piuttosto, che mi aiuti.
Lo zio Carmine andava in bestia ogni volta che lo chiamavano: – Che c'è? Cos'è successo? Non vi lasciano stare un momento, santo diavolone! – Finalmente comparve sulla porta, sbadigliando, col cappuccio sino agli occhi. – Cos'è stato? Ora che volete? Lasciate fare a me, compare Cosimo.
Il poveraccio lasciava fare, colla gamba ciondoloni, come se non fosse stata più roba sua. – Questa è roba della Gagliana, – conchiuse lo zio Carmine, posandolo di nuovo in terra adagio adagio. Allora compare Cosimo sbigottì, e si abbandonò sul ciglione, stralunato.
– Sta' zitto, malannaggia! che gli fai la jettatura, a tuo padre! – esclamò lo zio Carmine, seccato dal piagnucolare che faceva Nanni, seduto sulle calcagna.
Cadeva la sera, smorta, in un gran silenzio. Poi si udirono lontano le chiese di Francofonte, che scampanavano.
– La bella vigilia di Natale che mi mandò Domeneddio! – balbettò compare Cosimo, colla lingua grossa dallo spasimo.
– Sentite, amico mio, – disse infine lo zio Carmine, che sentiva l'umidità del Biviere penetrargli nelle ossa. – Qui non possiamo farvi nulla. Per farvi muovere come siete adesso, ci vorrebbe un paio di buoi.
– Che mi lasciate così, in mezzo alla strada? – si mise a lamentarsi compare Cosimo.
– No, no, siamo cristiani, compare Cosimo. Bisogna aspettare lo zio Mommu per darci una mano. Intanto vi manderò un fascio di fieno, e anche la coperta della mula, se volete. Il fresco della sera è traditore, qui nel lago, amico mio. Tredici anni che compro medicine!
– Ha la malaria nella testa il padrone, – disse poi Misciu, il ragazzo della stalla, tornando col fieno e la coperta. – Non fa altro che dormire, tutto il giorno.
Intanto sopra i monti spuntava la prima stella; poi un'altra, poi un'altra. Compare Cosimo, sudando freddo, col naso in aria, le contava ad una ad una, e tornava a lamentarsi:
– Che non giunge mai compare Mommu? Che mi lasciate qui stanotte, come un cane?
– Tornerà, tornerà, non dubitate. – Rispondeva Misciu accoccolato su di un sasso, col mento nelle mani.
– È andato a caccia nel Biviere. Alle volte passano mesi e settimane senza che lo veda anima viva. Ma ora ch'è Natale deve venire per prendere la sua roba.
E il ragazzo, mentre ciaramellava, s'andava appisolando anche lui, col mento sulle mani, raggomitolato nei suoi cenci.
– Viene di notte, viene di giorno, secondo va la caccia. Quando si mette alla posta delle anatre, lo zio Carmine gli lascia la chiave sotto l'uscio. Poi dorme di giorno, o va a vendere la selvaggina di qua e di là; ma la sua roba l'ha sempre qui, nella stalla, appesa al capezzale: il cavicchio pel fucile, il cavicchio per la carniera, un cavicchio per ogni cosa. Tanti anni che sta qui. Lo zio Carmine dice ch'era ancora giovane...
Quando compare Cosimo tornava a lamentarsi, il ragazzo trasaliva, quasi lo svegliassero, e poi tornava a borbottare, come in sogno. Nanni, stanco di singhiozzare, sbarrava gli occhi nel buio. Tutt'a un tratto scappò una gallinella, schiamazzando.
– O zio Mommu! – si mise a chiamare Nanni ad alta voce. Dopo si spandeva un gran silenzio, nella notte.
– So io! – disse infine Misciu. – Non risponde per non spaventar le anatre. Poi ci ha fatta l'abitudine, a quella vita, e non parla mai.
Però si udiva già il fruscìo dei giunchi secchi, e il tonfo degli scarponi dello zio Mommu, che sfangava nel greto.
– Qua, zio Mommu! C'è compare Cosimo che gli è successo un accidente.
Lo zio Mommu stava a guardare, al barlume che faceva la lanterna di compare Carmine, tutto intirizzito e battendo le palpebre, con quel naso a becco di jettatore. Poi sollevarono il lettighiere al modo che diceva lo zio Carmine, uno sotto le ascelle e l'altro pei piedi.
– Cristo! come vi pesano le ossa, compare Cosimo! – sbuffava l'oste, per fargli animo con una barzelletta. E lo zio Mommu, mingherlino, barellava davvero come un ubbriaco, sotto quel peso.
– Ah, che vigilia di Natale mi ha mandato Domeneddio! – tornava a dire compare Cosimo, steso alfine nello strapunto come un morto.
– Non ci pensate, compare Cosimo, che ora la Gagliana vi guarisce in un batter d'occhio. Bisogna andare a chiamarla, compare Mommu, nel tempo stesso che andate a Lentini per vendere la vostra roba.
Il vecchietto acconsentì con un cenno del capo, e mentre si preparava a partire, legandosi in testa il fazzoletto, e assettandosi la bisaccia in spalla, l'oste continuava:
– È meglio di un cerusico la Gagliana! Vedrete che vi guarirà in meno di dire un'avemaria. State allegro, compare Cosimo; e se non avete bisogno d'altro, vado a far la vigilia di Natale anch'io con quei quattro maccheroni.
– E tu che non vuoi mangiare un boccone? – chiese il lettighiere, voltandosi al suo ragazzo che non si moveva di lì, smorto, colle mani in tasca, il viso sudicio dal piangere che aveva fatto.
– No, – rispose Nanni. – No, non ho più fame.
– Povero figlio mio! che vigilia di Natale è venuta anche per te!
La Gagliana venne a giorno fatto, che lo zio Cosimo aveva il viso acceso, e la gamba gonfia come un otre, talché bisognò tagliargli le brache per cavargliele, mentre la Gagliana, per modestia, si voltava dall'altra parte, cogli occhi bassi, preparando intanto ogni cosa lesta lesta: bende, stecche, empiastri, con certe erbe miracolose che sapeva lei. Poi si mise a tirare la gamba come un boia. Da principio compare Cosimo non diceva nulla, sudando a grosse gocce, e ansimando quasi facesse una gran fatica. Ma poi, tutt'a un tratto, gli scappò un grande urlo, che fece drizzare a tutti i capelli in testa.
– Lasciatelo gridare, che gli fa bene!
Compare Cosimo faceva proprio come una bestia quando le si dà il fuoco. Talché lo zio Carmine s'era alzato per vedere anche lui coi suoi occhioni assonnati. E Nanni strillava che pareva l'ammazzassero.
– Sembrate un ragazzo, compare Cosimo, – gli diceva l'oste. – Non vi hanno detto di star tranquillo? Foste in mano di qualche cerusico, pazienza!
– Stava fresco, Dio liberi! – saltò su la vecchia, come se l'avessero punta. – Per lo meno gli avrebbero tagliata la gamba a questo poveretto. Io non ho mai tagliato neppure un pelo in vita mia, grazie a Dio! Tutta grazia che mi dà il Signore! Ora state tranquillo, compare Cosimo, che non avete più bisogno di nulla.
Ella sputava sul ginocchio enfiato l'empiastro che andava masticando; metteva le stecche e stringeva forte le bende, senza badare agli – ohi! – ciarlando sempre come una gazza. E quand'ebbe terminato si nettò le mani nella criniera ispida e grigia, che le faceva come una cuffia sporca sulla testa.
– Sembra un diavolo quella strega! – ammiccava l'oste allo zio Mommu, il quale stava a guardare col naso malinconico, seduto sullo strapunto, le gambe penzoloni, e sgretolando a poco a poco il suo pane nero.
Lo zio Cosimo s'era lasciato andare di nuovo supino, col viso stralunato e lucente di sudore, accarezzando colla mano il suo ragazzo, e balbettando che non era nulla.
– Ora chi mi paga? – domandò infine la Gagliana.
– Non dubitate, che sarete pagata, – rispose il poveraccio più morto che vivo. – Venderò il mulo, se così vorrà Dio, e vi pagherò, sorella mia!
Com'era un bel giorno di Natale, col sole che veniva fin dentro la stalla, e le galline pure, a beccare qualche briciola di pane, la gente che era stata a sentir messa a Primosole si fermava a bere un sorso a metà strada, e vedendo compare Cosimo sul pagliericcio dello stallatico, volevano sapere il come ed il perché. Poi davano un'occhiata ai muli in fondo alla stalla. L'oste li faceva vedere fiutando la senseria:
– Belle e buone bestie! Quiete come il pane! Un affare d'oro per chi li compra, se compare Cosimo, Dio liberi, rimane storpio.
Il baio voltava indietro il capo come se capisse, colla sua boccata di fieno in aria.
– No, no, ancora non sono in questo stato! – lagnavasi compare Cosimo dal fondo del suo giaciglio.
– Diciamo così per dire, compare Cosimo, state tranquillo. Nessuno vi vuol toccare la roba vostra, se non volete voi. Qui c'è paglia e fieno pei vostri muli, e potete tenerceli cent'anni.
Lo sventurato pensava a quello che si sarebbero mangiato i muli, di fieno e di stallaggio, e lamentavasi:
– Stavolta non gliela faccio più la dote per la mia bambina che mi è nata adesso!
– Ora gli si manda la notizia a vostra moglie. La prima volta che lo zio Mommu andrà a Licodia per vendere la sua roba.
Così lo zio Mommu portò la brutta notizia alla moglie di compare Cosimo, masticando le parole, e dondolandosi ora su di una gamba e ora sull'altra, che alla prima non si capiva nulla, nella casa piena di vicine, mentre si aspettava il marito pel battesimo. Comare Menica, poveretta, nella prima furia voleva balzare dal letto, in camicia com'era, e correre al Biviere, se non era il medico, che si mise a sgridarla:
– Come le bestie, voialtri villani! Non sapete cosa vuol dire una febbre puerperale!
– Signore don Battista! Come posso fare a lasciare quel poveretto fuorivia, in mano altrui, ora ch'è in quello stato?...
– E voi non vi movete! – appoggiava comare Stefana. – Vostro marito andrete a trovarlo poi. Temete che scappi?
– Date retta al medico, – aggiunse la Cilona. – Compare Cosimo è in mano di cristiani. Lo vedete qui, questo poveretto, che è venuto apposta?
E lo zio Mommu accennava di sì col capo, ritto dinanzi al letto, battendo gli occhi, non sapendo come fare per voltare le spalle ed andarsene per le sue faccende.
Indi la convalescenza, il baliatico, il bisogno dei figliuoli, e il tempo era passato. Compare Cosimo, quando infine la Gagliana gli aveva detto di alzarsi, era rimasto su di una sedia, alla porta dello stallatico, con una gamba più corta dell'altra.
– Così com'è non ve la lasciavano neppure, se eravate in mano del cerusico! – gli disse la Gagliana per consolarlo.
I muli stessi se li mangiò metà lei e metà la stalla. Quando il povero zoppo, dalla porta dell'osteria, vide Nunzio della Rossa che si portava via la sua lettiga, si mise a sospirare: – Queste campanelle non le udrò più!
E lo zio Carmine anche lui gli disse:
– Che diavolo rimpiangete! Quel baio birbante che vi acconciò in quel modo?
Intanto bisognava pensare a buscarsi da vivere, lui e il suo ragazzo; e adesso ch'era conciato a quel modo per le feste, voleva essere un mestiere facile, di quelli poco pane e poca fatica. «Se hai un guaio dillo a tutti.» Lo zio Carmine, ch'era un buon diavolaccio, ne parlava con questo e con quello, e come seppe che uno di quelli della chiatta, lì vicino, era morto di malaria, disse subito a compare Cosimo:
– Questo è quello che fa per voi.
E tanto disse e tanto fece, per mezzo anche dello zio Antonio, l'oste di Primosole, lì accanto al Simeto, che il capoccia della chiatta chinò il capo e disse di sì anche lui. D'allora in poi compare Cosimo rimase a tirar la fune, su e giù pel fiume; e con ogni conoscente che passava, mandava sempre a dire a sua moglie che sarebbe andato a vederla, un giorno o l'altro, e la bambina pure. – Verrò a Pasqua. Verrò a Natale. – Mandava sempre a dire la stessa cosa; tanto che comare Menica ormai non ci credeva più; e Nanni, ogni volta, guardava il babbo negli occhi, per vedere se dicesse davvero.
Ma succedeva che a Pasqua e a Natale s'aveva sempre una gran folla da tragittare; talché quando il fiume era grosso c'erano più di cinquanta vetture che aspettavano all'osteria di Primosole. Il capoccia della chiatta bestemmiava contro lo scirocco e levante che gli toglieva il pan di bocca, e la sua gente si riposava: Mangialerba, bocconi, dormendo sulle braccia in croce; Ventura, all'osteria; e l'Orbo cantava tutto il giorno, ritto sull'uscio della capanna, a veder piovere, guardando il cielo cogli occhi bianchi.
Comare Menica avrebbe voluto andarvi lei a Primosole, almeno per vedere suo marito e portargli la bambina, ché il padre non la conosceva neppure, quasi non l'avesse fatta lui.
– Andrò appena avrò presi i denari del filato, – diceva essa pure. – Andrò dopo la raccolta delle ulive, se mi avanza qualche soldo.
Così passava il tempo. Intanto comare Menica fece una malattia mortale, di quelle che don Battista, il medico, se ne lavava le mani come Pilato.
– Vostra moglie è malata, malatissima, – venivano a dirgli, lo zio Cheli, compare Lanzara, tutti quelli che arrivavano da Licodia; e compare Cosimo stavolta voleva correre davvero, a piedi, come poteva.
– Prestatemi due lire per la spesa del viaggio, padron Mariano.
– Aspettate prima se vi portano una buona notizia. Alle volte, intanto che voi siete per via, vostra moglie guarisce, e voi ci perdete la spesa del viaggio. – L'Orbo invece consigliava di far dire una messa alla Madonna di Primosole, ch'è miracolosa. Finché giunse la notizia che da comare Menica c'era il prete.
– Vedete se avevo ragione! – esclamò padron Mariano. – Cosa andavate a fare, se non c'era più aiuto?
La bambina se l'era tolta in casa comare Stefana, per carità; e compare Cosimo era rimasto a Primosole col suo ragazzo. Tanto l'Orbo gli diceva che, coll'aiuto di Dio, poteva vivere e morire alla chiatta al pari di lui, che vi mangiava pane da cinquant'anni. E ne aveva vista passare tanta della gente! Passavano conoscenti, passavano viandanti che nessuno sapeva donde venissero, a piedi, a cavallo, d'ogni nazione, e se ne andavano pel mondo, di qua e di là del fiume. Come l'acqua del fiume stesso che se ne andava al mare, ma lì pareva sempre la medesima, fra le due ripe sgretolate: a destra le collinette nude di Valsavoia, a sinistra il tetto rosso di Primosole; e allorché pioveva, per giorni e settimane, non si vedeva altro che quel tetto tristo nella nebbia. Poi tornava il bel tempo, e spuntava del verde qua e là, fra le rocce di Valsavoia, sul ciglio delle viottole, nella pianura, fin dove arrivava l'occhio. Infine veniva l'estate, e si mangiava ogni cosa, il verde dei seminati, i fiori dei campi, l'acque del fiume, gli oleandri che intristivano sulle rive, coperti di polvere.
La domenica cambiava. Lo zio Antonio, che teneva l'osteria di Primosole, faceva venire il prete per la messa, e mandava Filomena, la sua figliuola, a scopare la chiesetta, e a raccattare i soldi che i devoti vi buttavano dal finestrino per le anime del Purgatorio. Accorrevano dai dintorni, a piedi, a cavallo, e l'osteria si riempiva di gente. Alle volte arrivava anche il Zanno, che guariva di ogni male, colle sue scarabattole; o don Tinu, il merciaiuolo, con un grande ombrellone rosso, e schierava la sua mercanzia sugli scalini della chiesa, forbici, temperini, nastri e refe d'ogni colore. Nanni si affollava insieme agli altri ragazzi per vedere. Ma suo padre gli diceva sempre: – No, figliuolo mio, questa è roba per chi ha denari da spendere.
Gli altri invece comperavano: bottoni, tabacchiere di legno, pettini di osso, e Filomena frugava dappertutto colle mani sudice, senza che nessuno le dicesse nulla, perché era la figliuola dell'oste. Anzi un giorno don Tinu le regalò un bel fazzoletto giallo e rosso, che passò di mano in mano! – Sfacciata! – dicevano le comari. – Fa l'occhio a questo e a quello per amor dei regali! – Un giorno Nanni li vide tutti e due dietro il pollaio, che si tenevano abbracciati. Filomena, che stava all'erta per timore del babbo, si accorse subito di quegli occhietti che si ficcavano nella siepe, e gli saltò addosso colla ciabatta in mano. – Cosa vieni a fare qui, spione? se vai a raccontare quel che hai visto, guai a te, veh! – Ma don Tinu la calmava con belle maniere: – Non lo strapazzate quel ragazzo, comare Mena, ché gli fate pensare al male.
Però Nanni non poteva levarsi dagli occhi il viso rosso di Filomena, e le manacce di don Tinu che brancicavano. Quando lo mandavano a comperare il vino all'osteria, si piantava dinanzi al banco della ragazza, che glielo mesceva colla faccia tosta, e lo sgridava: – Guardate qua, cristiani! Non gli spuntano ancora peli al mento, quel moccioso, e ha già negli occhi la malizia!
Nanni voleva far lo stesso colla Grazia, la servetta dell'osteria, quando andavano insieme a raccoglier l'erbe per la minestra, lungo il fiume. Ma la fanciullina rispondeva:
– No. Tu non mi dai mai niente.
Essa invece gli portava, nascoste in seno, delle croste di formaggio, che gli avventori avevano lasciato cadere sotto la tavola, o un pezzetto di pane duro rubato alle galline. Accendevano un focherello fra due sassi, e giocavano a far la merenda. Ma Nanni finiva sempre il giuoco col buttar le mani sulla roba, e darsela a gambe. La ragazzetta allora rimaneva a bocca aperta, grattandosi il capo. E alla sera si buscava pure gli scapaccioni di Filomena, che la vedeva tornare spesso colle mani vuote. Nanni, per risparmiarsi la fatica, le arraffava anche la sua parte di cicoria o di finocchi selvatici.
Poi, il giorno dopo, giurava colle mani in croce che non l'avrebbe fatto più. E la poverina ci tornava sempre, appena lo vedeva da lontano, coi capelli rossi in mezzo alle stoppie gialle; si accostava quatta quatta, e gli si metteva alle calcagna come un cane. Quand'essa arrivava piagnucolando ancora per le busse che s'era buscate, Nanni per consolarla le diceva:
– E tu perché non scappi, e te ne vai a casa tua?
Egli raccontava che aveva la sua casa anche lui, laggiù, al paese, e i parenti e ogni cosa; di là di quelle montagne turchine; ci voleva una giornata buona di cammino, e un giorno o l'altro ci sarebbe andato.
– Pianta i tuoi padroni e l'osteria, e te ne scappi a casa tua.
La ragazzetta ascoltava a bocca aperta, colle gambe penzoloni sul greto asciutto, guardando attonita là dove Nanni le faceva vedere tante belle cose, oltre i monti turchini. Infine si grattava il capo, e rispondeva:
– Non so. Io non ci ho nessuno.
Egli intanto si divertiva a tirar sassi nell'acqua; o cercava di far scivolare Grazia giù dalla sponda, facendole il solletico. Poi si mettevano a correre, ed egli la inseguiva a zollate. Andavano pure a scovare i grilli dalle tane, con uno sterpolino; o a caccia di lucertole. Nanni sapeva coglierle con un nodo scorsoio fatto in cima a un filo di giunco sottile; dentro al cerchietto che formava il nodo spuntava una bella campanella lucente, e le povere bestioline, assetate in quell'arsura, si lasciavano adescare.
In mezzo alla gran pianura riarsa il fiume s'insaccava come un burrone enorme, fra le rive slabbrate. – Mostrava le ossa, – brontolavano quelli della chiatta. Talché anche dei poveri diavoli ci si arrischiavano a guado, qualche miglio più in su. Tanti baiocchi levati di bocca a quegli altri poveri diavoli che stavano colla fune in mano tutto il giorno sotto il solleone. E litigavano fra di loro, a digiuno. Nanni allora per un nulla si buscava delle pedate anche da suo padre, sciancato com'era.
Di tanto in tanto passava una frotta di mietitori, che tornavano al mare, bianchi di polvere, e si calavano nel greto, uomini e donne, colle gambe nude, raccomandandosi ai loro santi, nel dialetto forestiero. Poi nell'afa della strada, diritta diritta, si vedeva venire da lontano il polverone che accompagnava qualche carro, o spuntava dall'altra parte la sonagliera mezzo addormentata di un mulattiere. L'Orbo, che non aveva nessuno al mondo, e se l'era girato tutto, diceva: – Quello lì viene da Catania, quest'altro da Siracusa. – E sempre cuor contento, lui, raccontava agli uomini stesi bocconi le meraviglie che aveva visto laggiù, lontano lontano. E Nanni ascoltava intento, come aveva fatto la Grazia ai racconti che faceva lui, con delle allucinazioni di vagabondaggio negli occhi stanchi di vedere eternamente l'osteria dello zio Antonio, che fumava tutta sola, nella tristezza del tramonto.
Ma chi gli mise davvero la pulce nell'orecchio fu il Zanno, una volta che lo chiamarono per lo zio Carmine al Biviere. Fin da Pasqua di Rose, i viandanti che venivano a passar la notte allo stallatico, e non lo vedevano come al solito a portar la paglia dal fienile o a riscuotere lo stallaggio, dicevano: – E compare Carmine? – Zio Mommu lo mostrava con un cenno del capo, lungo disteso nel pagliericcio, sotto un mucchio di bisacce; e Misciu, col cappuccio in capo, mangiato dalle febbri anche lui, soggiungeva: – Ha la terzana. – Alle volte, quando alla voce riconosceva un conoscente, lo zio Carmine rispondeva con un grugnito: – Son qua. Sono ancora qua.
Erano quasi sempre le stesse facce stanche che si vedevano passare dinanzi al lumicino moribondo appeso al travicello e tiravano fuori dalla bisaccia la scarsa merenda, accoccolati su di un basto, masticando adagio adagio. Lo zio Carmine non brontolava più, non si moveva più dalla sua cuccia, zitto e cheto. Soltanto quando udiva fermarsi alla porta una vettura, rizzava il capo come poteva, per amor del guadagno, e chiamava:
– O Misciu!
Però non potevano lasciarlo morire a quel modo, come un cane. Ventura, Mangialerba, e spesso anche compare Cosimo, tirandosi dietro la gamba storpia, venivano apposta da Primosole, e stavano a guardare compare Carmine lungo disteso, con la faccia color di terra, come un morto addirittura. Infine risolvettero di chiamargli la Gagliana, quella vecchietta che faceva miracoli, a venti miglia in giro.
– Vedrete che la Gagliana vi guarirà in un batter d'occhio, – andavano dicendo a lui pure. – È meglio di un dottore quel diavolo di donna. Cosa ne dite, compare Carmine?
Compare Carmine non diceva né sì né no, pensando al denaro che si sarebbe mangiato la Gagliana. Però nel forte della febbre tornava a piagnucolare:
– Chiamatemi pure la Gagliana, senza badare a spesa. Non mi lasciate morire senza aiuto, signori miei!
La Gagliana la battezzò febbre pericolosa, di quelle che è meglio mandare pel prete addirittura. Giusto era sabato, e passava gente che tornava al paese. Tutto ciò gli rimase fitto in mente a Nanni ch'era andato a vedere anche lui: i curiosi che dall'uscio allungavano il collo verso il moribondo; la Gagliana che cercava nelle tasche il rimedio fatto apposta, brontolando; e il malato che guardava tutti ad uno ad uno, cogli occhi spaventati. L'Orbo, a canzonare la Gagliana che non sapeva trovare il rimedio, le domandava:
– Cosa ci vuole per farmi tornare la vista?
Lo zio Carmine morì la notte istessa. Peccato! perché la domenica poi si trovò a passare il Zanno, il quale ci aveva il tocca e sana per ogni male nelle sue scarabattole. Lo menarono appunto a vedere il morto. Ei gli toccò il ventre, il polso, la lingua, e conchiuse: – Se c'ero io, lo zio Carmine non moriva!
Raccontava pure molte cose dei miracoli che aveva fatto tale e quale come la Gagliana, dei paesi che aveva visti, e come Nanni ascoltava a bocca aperta, gli piacque quel ragazzetto, e gli disse, accarezzandogli i capelli rossi:
– Vuoi venire con me? Mi porterai la balla e ti farai uomo.
– Egli ha tutt'altra balla da portare! – sospirò compare Cosimo; e pensava nel tempo stesso che se gli succedeva una disgrazia, come quella di compare Carmine, il suo ragazzo restava in mezzo a una strada.
C'era anche l'oste di Primosole, il quale maritava Filomena con Lanzise, uomo dabbene che non sapeva nulla, e tornavano tutti da Lentini pel contratto, gli sposi, compare Antonio ed altra gente. Lanzise era uno che ci aveva il fatto suo, terra, buoi, e un pezzo di vigna lì vicino alla Savona, dicevano.
Il matrimonio fece chiasso. Talché venne anche don Tinu a vender roba pel corredo. La sera mangiava all'osteria come al solito. Non si sa come, a motivo di un conto sbagliato, attaccarono lite collo zio Antonio; e don Tinu gli disse – becco! –
Compare Antonio era un omettino cieco d'un occhio, che al vederlo non l'avreste pagato un soldo. Però si diceva che avesse più di un omicidio sulla coscienza, e a venti miglia in giro gli portavano rispetto. Al sentirsi dire quella mala parola sul mostaccio da don Tinu, il quale aveva una faccia di minchione, andò a staccare lo schioppo dal capezzale, per spifferar le sue ragioni anche lui, mentre la moglie, che la malaria inchiodava in fondo a un letto da anni ed anni, rizzatasi a sedere in camicia, strillava:
– Aiuto che s'ammazzano, santi cristiani! – E Filomena, per dividerli, buttava piatti e bicchieri addosso a don Tinu, gridando:
– Birbante! ladro! scomunicato!
– Che vi pare azione d'uomo cotesta, compare Antonio? – rispose don Tinu più giallo del solito. – Io non ho altro addosso che questo po' di temperino.
– Avete ragione, – disse lo zio Antonio. – Vi risponderò colla stessa lingua che avete in bocca voi. – E andò a posare lo schioppo senza aggiunger altro.
Più tardi Nanni andava all'osteria per il vino, quando vide venirsi incontro don Tinu tutto stralunato, che si guardava attorno sospettoso.
– Te' due soldi, – gli disse, – e va' a dire a compare Antonio che l'aspetto qui, per quella faccenda che sa lui. Ma che nessuno ti veda, veh!
La sera trovarono compar Antonio lungo disteso dietro una macchia di fichidindia, col suo cane accanto che gli leccava la ferita. – Che è stato, compare Antonio? Chi vi ha dato la coltellata?
Compare Antonio non volle dirlo. – Portatemi sul mio letto per ora. Se poi campo ci penso io; se muoio ci pensa Dio.
– Questo fu don Tinu che me l'ammazzò! – strillava la moglie. – L'ha mandato a chiamare con Nanni dello zoppo!
E Filomena badava a ripetere:
– Birbante! ladro! scomunicato!
Compare Cosimo, che aveva una gran paura della giustizia, se la prese anche lui col suo ragazzo, il quale si ficcava in quegli imbrogli.
– Se ti metto le mani addosso voglio romperti le ossa! – andava gridando.
E Nanni perciò se ne stava alla larga, dall'altra parte del fiume, col ventre vuoto, come una bestia inselvatichita. Grazia lo vide da lontano, coi capelli rossi, dietro l'abbeveratoio a secco, e corse a raggiungerlo.
– Ora me ne vado col Zanno, – diceva lui, – e alla chiatta non ci torno più.
Poscia riassicurato a poco a poco, vedendo che dietro il muro non spuntava lo zio Cosimo col bastone, si mise a sgretolare la sponda dell'abbeveratoio, tutta fessa e scalcinata, un sasso dopo l'altro, e dopo li tirava lontano; mentre la ragazzetta stava a guardare. Tutt'a un tratto s'accorsero che il sole era tramontato, e la nebbia sorgeva tutt'intorno dal fiume e dalla pianura.
– Senti! – disse Grazia. – Lo zio Cosimo che chiama!
Nanni se la diede a gambe senza rispondere, e lei s'affannava a corrergli dietro, colla vesticciuola tutta sbrindellata che svolazzava sulle gambette nude. Camminarono un bel pezzo, e infine si trovarono soli, nella campagna buia, col cuore che batteva forte, lontano lontano dalla capanna delle chiatte, dove si udiva ancora cantare l'Orbo. Era una bella notte piena di stelle, e dappertutto i grilli facevano cri-cri nelle stoppie. Come Nanni si fermò vide Grazia che gli veniva dietro.
– E tu dove vai? – le disse.
Essa non rispose. E tornarono a udirsi i grilli tutt'intorno. Non si udiva altro. Solo il fruscìo del grano in spiga al loro passaggio; e appena si fermavano ad ascoltare cadeva un gran silenzio, quasi il buio si stringesse loro ai panni. Di tanto in tanto correva una folata di ponente caldo, come un'ombra, sull'onda del seminato. Allora Grazia si mise a piangere.
Passava un vetturale coi suoi muli, e la piccina a piagnucolare:
– Portateci al paese, vossignoria, per carità!
Il mulattiere, ciondoloni sul basto, borbottò qualche parola mezzo addormentato, e tirò di lungo. E i due fanciulli dietro. Arrivarono a uno stallatico, e si accoccolarono dietro il muro ad aspettare il giorno.
Quando Dio volle spuntò l'alba, e un gallo si mise a cantare d'allegria sul mucchio di concime. Da un sentiero fra due siepi sbucò un vecchietto, con una bisaccia piena in spalla. Aveva la faccia buona, e Grazia gli domandò:
– Per andare al paese, vossignoria, da che parte si va?
Lo zio Mommu accennò di sì col capo, e seguitò per la sua via, col naso a terra. Si misero dietro a lui che andava a vendere la sua roba al paese, e arrivarono sulla piazza che era giorno chiaro. C'era già una donnicciuola imbacuccata in una mantellina bianca, la quale vendeva verdura e fichidindia. Delle altre donne entravano in chiesa. Davanti lo stallatico salassavano un mulo; e dei contadini freddolosi stavano a guardare, col fazzoletto in testa e le mani in tasca. In alto, nel campanile già tutto pieno di sole, la campana sonava a messa.
Essi andarono a sedere tristamente sul marciapiede, accanto al vecchietto con cui erano venuti, e che s'era messo a vender anatre e gallinelle che nessuno comprava, aspettando il Zanno che non veniva neppur lui. Il tempo passava; e passava anche della gente che veniva a comprare la verdura della donnicciuola colla mantellina, pesandola colle mani. Da una stradicciuola spuntarono due signori, col cappello alto, passeggiando adagio adagio, e si fermarono a contrattare lungamente, toccando la roba colla punta del bastone, senza comprar nulla. Poi venne la serva della locanda a prendere una grembialata di pomodori. Sulla piazza facevano passeggiare innanzi e indietro il mulo salassato. Infine lo speziale chiuse la bottega mentre sonava mezzogiorno.
Allora lo zio Mommu tirò dalla bisaccia un pane nero, e si mise a mangiare adagio adagio con un pezzo di cipolla. Vedendo i due ragazzi che guardavano affamati, gliene tagliò una gran fetta per ciascuno, senza dir nulla. Infine raccolse la sua mercanzia, e se ne andò a capo chino, com'era venuto.
Ora rimanevano soli e sconsolati. Si presero per mano e arrivarono sino alla fontana ch'era in fondo al paesetto. Per la strada che scendeva a zig zag nella pianura arrivava gente a ogni momento. Donne che venivano ad attinger acqua; vetturali che abbeveravano i muli; e coppie di contadini che tornavano dai campi, chiacchierando a voce alta, colle bisacce vuote avvolte al manico della zappa. Poi una mandra di pecore in mezzo a un nuvolo di polvere. Un frate cappuccino che tornava dalla cerca saltò a terra da una bella mula baia, schiacciata sotto il carico, e si chinò a bere alla cannella, tutto rosso, sguazzando nell'acqua la barbona polverosa. Quando non passava alcuno venivano delle cutrettole a saltellare sui sassi in mezzo alla fanghiglia, battendo la coda. Lontano si udiva la cantilena dei trebbiatori nell'aia, perduta in mezzo alla pianura che non finiva mai, e cominciava a velarsi nelle caligini della sera. E in fondo, come un pezzetto di specchio appannato, il Biviere.
– Guarda com'è lontano! – disse Nanni col cuore stretto.
Il sole era già tramontato; ma non sapevano dove andare, e rimanevano aspettando, l'uno accanto all'altra, seduti sul muricciolo, nel buio. Infine si presero per mano e tornarono verso l'abitato. Nelle case luccicava ancora qualche finestra, ma i cani si mettevano a latrare, appena i due ragazzi si fermavano presso a un uscio, e il padrone minaccioso gridava: – Chi è là?
La fanciulletta scoraggiata buttò le braccia al collo di Nanni.
– No! no! – piagnucolava lui, – lasciami stare.
Trovarono una tettoia addossata a un casolare, e vi passarono la notte, tenendosi abbracciati per scaldarsi. Li svegliò lo scampanìo del paese in festa, che il sole era già alto. Mentre andavano per via, guardando la gente che usciva vestita in gala, scorsero in piazza don Tinu il merciaiuolo, colle sue scarabattole digià in mostra, sotto l'ombrellone rosso.
– Signore don Tinu, – gli disse Grazia tutta contenta. – Benvenuto a vossignoria!
Don Tinu si accigliò e rispose:
– O tu chi sei? Io non ti conosco.
La fanciulletta si allontanò mogia mogia. Ma don Tinu vide il ragazzetto, che guardava da lontano timoroso, e gli disse:
– Tu sei quello dell'osteria del Pantano. Ti conosco.
– Sissignore, don Tinu, – rispose Nanni col sorriso incerto.
E tutto il giorno gli ronzò intorno, affamato, sul marciapiede. Quando vide che don Tinu raccoglieva la sua mercanzia, e stava per andarsene, si fece animo, e gli disse:
– Se mi volete con voi, vossignoria, io vi porterò la roba.
– Va bene, – rispose don Tinu. – Ma la tua compagna lasciala stare pei fatti suoi, ché non ho pane per tutti e due.
Grazia scorata si allontanò passo passo, colle mani sotto il grembiule, e poi si mise a guardare tristamente dall'altra cantonata, mentre Nanni se ne andava dietro al merciaiuolo, curvo sotto il carico.
Un buon diavolaccio, quel don Tinu. Sempre allegro, anche quando gli lasciava andare una pedata o uno scapaccione. In viaggio gli raccontava delle barzellette per smaliziarlo e ingannare la noia della strada a piedi. Oppure gli insegnava a tirar di coltello, in qualche prato fuori mano. – Così ti farai uomo, – gli diceva.
Giravano pei villaggi, dappertutto dov'era la fiera. Schieravano in piazza la mercanzia, su di una panchetta, e vociavano nella folla. C'erano trecconi, bestiame, gente vestita da festa; e il Zanno che faceva vedere l'Ecceomo, e si sbracciava a vendere empiastri e medaglie benedette, a strappare denti, e a dire la buona ventura, ritto su di un trespolo, in un mare di sudore. I curiosi facevano ressa intorno, a bocca aperta, sotto il sole cocente. Poi veniva il santo colla banda, e lo portavano in processione. Dopo, tutta la giornata, le donne stavano sugli usci, cariche d'ori, sbadigliando. La sera accendevano la luminaria e facevano il passeggio.
Don Tinu ripeteva:
– Se restavi alla chiatta con tuo padre, le vedevi tutte queste cose, di'?
Capitarono anche una volta al paese di Nanni, il quale non ci si raccapezzava più, dopo tanto tempo, e passando davanti alla sua casa vide un ballatoio che non ci era prima, e della gente che non conosceva, e vi stava pei fatti suoi. Cercò anche dei parenti. Il fratello, Pierantonio, era lontano, camparo alle Madonie, laggiù verso la marina; e la sorella, Benedetta, s'era maritata, un buon partito che le aveva procurato comare Stefana, dotandola coi suoi denari, e facevano tutti una famiglia, in una bella casa nuova, col terrazzino e il letto col cortinaggio, che quasi non volevano lasciarvi entrare quel vagabondo. Pure donna Stefana, per politica, come seppe chi era e donde veniva, gli fece dar colazione, pane vino e companatico, in un angolo della tavola, che egli subito disse grazie, perché le due donne sembrava che gli contassero i bocconi, sua sorella ritta sull'uscio, colle mani sul ventre, e l'orecchio teso per sentire se capitava il marito, guardando di sottocchio donna Stefana come fosse sulle spine. – No e sì, sì e no. – Le parole cascavano di bocca, e il pane e il companatico pure. Toccarono appena del babbo e del fratello che erano lontani, uno di qua e l'altro di là, e tacquero subito perché poco avevano da dire, dopo tanto che non si erano visti. Benedetta anzi non aveva neppure conosciuto il babbo, come fosse figlia del peccato.
– Questa povera orfanella, – disse forte donna Stefana, – non ha avuto nessuno al mondo, né amici né parenti. Dillo tu stessa, figliuola mia. Se non ero io, come restavi al mondo?
Benedetta disse di sì, con un'occhiata riconoscente. Poi guardò il fratello, e chinò gli occhi. Infine gli chiese se contava di fermarsi molto in paese, dandogli del voi, sempre cogli occhi bassi. Donna Stefana invece gli ficcava addosso i suoi, quasi volesse frugarlo sotto i panni, con certe occhiate sospettose che covavano le posate. Appena fuori dell'uscio si sentì dar tanto di catenaccio dietro le spalle.
– Queste son cose che succedono, – disse poi don Tinu, quando seppe com'era andata la visita alla sorella. – Il mondo è grande, e ciascuno va pei fatti suoi.
Andavano pel mondo, di qua e di là, per fiere e per villaggi, sempre colla roba in collo, sicché infine una volta capitarono a Primosole, dopo tanto tempo. – Ora ti faccio vedere tuo padre, s'è ancora al mondo, – disse don Tinu. Nanni non voleva, fra la vergogna e la paura; ma il merciaio soggiunse:
– Lascia fare a me, che le cose le so fare.
E andò avanti a prevenire compare Cosimo ch'era sempre lì, alla chiatta, su di un piede come le gru. – Ecco vostro figlio Nanni, compar Cosimo, che è venuto apposta per baciarvi le mani.
Lo zio Cosimo aveva la terzana, e stava lì, al sole, appoggiato alla fune, col fazzoletto in testa, aspettando la febbre. – Che il Signore t'accompagni, figliol mio, e ti aiuti sempre!
Adesso ch'era stremo di forza, gli venivano i lucciconi agli occhi, vedendo che bel pezzo di ragazzo s'era fatto il suo Nanni. Costui narrava pure di Benedetta e del fratello, ch'era stato a cercarli; e il padre, tutto contento, scrollava, tentennava il capo, colla faccia sciocca. Una miseria, in quella chiatta. Ventura partito per cercar fortuna altrove; Mangialerba più che mai sotto i piedi della sua donnaccia, becco e bastonato, e l'Orbo sempre lo stesso, attaccato alla fune come un'ostrica e allegro come un uccello, che cantava nel silenzio della malaria, guardando il cielo cogli occhi bianchi.
– Con me vostro figlio girerà il mondo, e si farà uomo. – Ripeteva don Tinu. Anche lo zio Antonio, poveretto, non era più quello di prima, e stava lì, sull'uscio dell'osteria, inchiodato dalla paralisi sulla scranna, a salutar la gente che passava, colla faccia da minchione, per tirare gli avventori.
– Benedicite, vossignoria. Che non mi riconoscete più, zio Antonio? – gli disse il merciaiuolo fermandosi a salutarlo. Lo zio Antonio accennava di sì col capo, come pulcinella. Allora don Tinu trasse fuori un bel sigaro e glielo mise nelle mani che tremavano continuamente, posate sulle ginocchia.
Ma l'altro scosse il capo, accennando di no, che non poteva. Don Tinu, per cortesia, gli chiese infine di sua moglie, e di comare Filomena, che non si vedevano, nell'osteria deserta; e il vecchio, colle mani tremanti, accennò di qua e di là, lontano, verso il camposanto e verso la città. Per bere un sorso, dovettero sgolarsi a chiamare un ragazzaccio che compare Antonio s'era tirato in casa, onde fare andare l'osteria, e arrivò dall'orticello abbandonato, tutto sonnacchioso, fregandosi gli occhi, insaccato in un giubbone vecchio dello zio Antonio che gli arrivava alle calcagna.
– Abbiamo fatto un'opera di carità, – osservò don Tinu nel pagare il vino bevuto. – Statevi bene, compare Antonio.
Così era fatto don Tinu, colle mani sempre aperte, quando ne aveva, e il cuore più aperto ancora. Gli piaceva ridere e divertirsi, e aveva amici e conoscenti in ogni luogo. Spesso lasciava Nanni al negozio, diceva lui, e correva a godersi le feste di qua e di là colle comari (aveva comari da per tutto). Appena arrivava in un paese lo mandavano a chiamare di nascosto, e gli facevano trovare il desco apparecchiato dietro l'uscio, mentre i loro uomini erano alla processione, colla testa nel sacco. Finché una volta, per la festa del Cristo, a Spaccaforno, lo portarono a casa su di una scala, come un Ecceomo davvero.
Era stata Grazia che era venuta a chiamarlo: – Signore don Tinu, vi aspettano dove sapete vossignoria.
Don Tinu esitava, grattandosi la barba. Non che avesse paura, no. Ma quella ragazza allampanata gli portava la jettatura, c'era da scommettere. Lei intanto rimaneva sull'uscio della bottega, sorridendo timidamente, col viso nella mantellina rattoppata. Nanni che da un pezzo non la vedeva, le disse:
– O tu come sei qui?
– Son venuta a piedi, – rispose Grazia, tutta contenta che le avesse parlato. – Son venuta a piedi da Scordia e Carlentini, perché laggiù morivo di fame. Ora fo i servizi a chi mi chiama.
S'era fatta grande, tanto che la vesticciuola sbrindellata non arrivava a coprirle del tutto le gambe magre; colla faccia seria e pallida di donna fatta che ha provato la fame: e due pesche fonde e nere sotto gli occhi.
Nanni che stava leccando col pane il piatto di don Tinu le disse:
– Te'; ne vuoi? – Ma Grazia si vergognava a dir di sì.
– Io sto con don Tinu, e faccio il merciaiuolo, – aggiunse Nanni.
Ad un tratto egli si fece serio, guardandola fiso.
– Entra!
La ragazza esitava, intimidita da quegli occhi. Nanni ripeté:
– Entra, ti dico! sciocca!
E la tirò pel braccio chiudendo l'uscio. Ella obbediva tutta tremante. Poi gli buttò le braccia al collo.
– Tanto tempo che ti volevo bene!
E ricominciò a narrar la storia del suo misero vagabondaggio; la fame, il freddo, le notti senza ricovero, gli stenti e le brutalità che aveva sofferto; seduta sulla balla della mercanzia, colla schiena curva, le braccia abbandonate sulle ginocchia, ma gli occhi lucenti di contentezza adesso, e una gran gioia che le si spandeva infine sul viso sbattuto e scarno.
– Sai, tanto tempo che ti volevo bene! Ti rammenti? quando andavamo insieme per l'erbe della minestra a Primosole? e l'isolotto che lasciava il fiume quando era magro? e quella notte che abbiamo dormito insieme dietro un muro, sulla strada di Francofonte? Poi, quando tu te ne sei andato con don Tinu, e non sapevo che fare né dove andare... Quella donna che vendeva i fichidindia, vedendomi ogni giorno a frugare nel mondezzaio, fra le bucce e i torsi di lattuga, mi dava ora una crosta di pane ed ora qualche cucchiaio di minestra. Ma essa pure dovette andarsene, quando finì il tempo dei fichidindia, ed io partii con quello che faceva gente per la raccolta delle ulive, laggiù al Leone. Presi le febbri e mi mandarono all'ospedale. Dopo non mi vollero più perché dicevano che mi mangiavo il pane a tradimento. Sono stata anche a dissodare, dov'hanno fatto quella gran piantagione di vigne, al Boschitello; e ho lavorato allo stradone, e ci sarei tuttora a mangiar pane, se non fosse stato pel soprastante...
S'interruppe, facendosi rossa, e guardò Nanni timorosa. Ma a costui non gliene importava nulla. Le disse solo:
– Vattene ora, ché sta per tornare il mio padrone.
La poveretta si lasciava spingere verso l'uscio, col capo chino sotto la mantellina rattoppata, balbettando:
– Non ci ho colpa, ti giuro, per la Madonna Addolorata! Cosa potevo fare? Egli era il padrone. Tu non c'eri più!... Non sapevo dov'eri nemmeno...
– Sì, sì, va bene. Adesso vattene, ché sta per venire don Tinu, – ripeteva lui allungando il collo fuori dell'uscio, di qua e di là della straduccia, come un ladro. Infine la ragazza se ne andò adagio adagio, rasente al muro.
Poco dopo portarono a casa il merciaiuolo colle ossa rotte; ché lo zio Cheli per combinazione tornando prima del solito aveva trovato don Tinu che gli faceva il pulcinella in casa.
Il Zanno nel medicare il merciaiuolo andava predicando:
– Coi villani ci vuole prudenza, don Tinu caro! ché son peggio delle bestie. Vetturali poi, Dio liberi!...
Ogni volta, quando gli capitava male, don Tinu si sfogava dopo col ragazzo, a calci e scapaccioni; tanto che agli strilli accorrevano l'oste e i viandanti, e il Zanno gli diceva:
– Non gli dar retta, figliuol mio, perché il tuo padrone dev'essere ubriaco.
Il Zanno invece se voleva ubriacarsi si chiudeva nella sua stanzetta, faccia a faccia colla bottiglia. Non gridava, non picchiava nessuno, sempre con quel risolino di prete sulla faccia magra; e le donne venivano a cercarlo a casa sua di soppiatto, verso sera, imbacuccate sino al naso, e chiudeva a catenaccio. Tutto il giorno sempre allegro, a strappar denti senza dolore, vendere empiastri e intascar soldi. Nanni quando lo incontrava per le piazze, nelle bettole, andando di qua e di là per fiere e per paesi, gli ripeteva:
– Vi rammentate, vossignoria, quando mi diceste se volevo venire con voi a fare il Zanno, quella volta che morì lo zio Carmine, allo stallatico del Biviere?
Il Zanno fingeva di non capire, perché non voleva aver questioni con don Tinu; ma infine, messo alle strette, si lasciò scappare:
– Be', se il tuo padrone ti manda via, io non ci ho difficoltà a pigliarti con me.
Nanni se la legò al dito; e la prima volta che il merciaio si sciolse la cinghia per menargli la solfa addosso, gli disse brusco:
– Don Tinu, lasciatela stare la cinghia, vossignoria, ché se no stavolta finisce male.
– Ah, carogna! e rispondi anche! Ti farò vedere io come finisce!...
– Lasciate stare la cinghia, don Tinu, o finisce male, vi ho detto.
E mise la mano in tasca.
Don Tinu ch'era stato il suo maestro e gli vide la faccia pallida, mutò subito registro:
– Ah, così rispondi al tuo padrone? Ora ti lascio morir di fame. Pigliati la tua roba, e via di qua.
Nanni raccolse i quattro cenci nel fazzoletto e conchiuse:
– Benedicite a vossignoria.
E se ne andò a trovare il Zanno.
– Bada che qui si guarda e non si vede: si ode e non si sente: si ha bocca e non si parla; – gli disse il Zanno per prima cosa. – Se hai giudizio starai bene; se hai la lingua lunga andrai a darla ai cani, come quel re che aveva le orecchie lunghe e non poteva tenere una cosa sullo stomaco. Io non faccio chiacchiere né chiassi come Tinu, bada! Marcia, torna e sparisci! E bravo chi ti trova!
Menavano una vita allegra, ma sempre coll'orecchio teso e un piede in aria. Di notte, se picchiavano all'uscio, era un lungo tramestìo, un ciangottare dietro l'uscio, un andare e venire prima di tirare il catenaccio. Poi Nanni udiva il suo padrone che parlava con qualcuno sottovoce nell'altra stanza, e pestare nel mortaio; oppure erano strilli e pianti soffocati. Una notte, che non poteva chiudere occhio, vide dal buco della serratura il Zanno che intascava dei soldi, e una che gli parve Grazia, pallida come la cera vergine, la quale se ne andava barcollando.
Ma il Zanno, appena gli chiese se era davvero Grazia, montò in furia come una bestia.
– Tu sei troppo curioso, figliuol mio, e un giorno o l'altro ti finisce male.
E gli finì male davvero, per un altro motivo. Un giorno, per la festa dell'Immacolata, appena rizzarono il trespolo sulla piazza di Spaccaforno, vennero gli sbirri e li acciuffarono tutti e due, cogli unguenti e gli elisiri, e li portarono al Criminale, accusati d'infanticidio. Ma allorché il Zanno vide Grazia sullo scanno, accusata insieme a loro, si mise a giurare e spergiurare colle mani in croce che non l'aveva mai vista né conosciuta, com'è vero Iddio!
Ma c'erano testimoni che avevano visto quella ragazza con Nanni tempo fa, quando egli era passato un'altra volta da Spaccaforno con don Tinu, il merciaio, nella settimana santa, anzi egli aveva chiuso l'uscio. Grazia, più morta che viva, balbettava:
– Signor giudice, fatemi tagliare la testa, ché sono una scellerata! Prima feci il peccato e poi non seppi far la penitenza.
Era stato per la disperazione, dacché tutti la scacciavano come un cane malato... e per la vergogna anche... Sì, perché no? dopo che Nanni l'aveva mandata via, e cominciava a capire il male che aveva fatto... Fu una notte, nel casolare abbandonato dietro il ponticello, che prima serviva pei lavoranti della strada... Una notte che pioveva... e le pareva di morire, lì, sola e abbandonata... E non sapeva come fare, con quella creaturina abbandonata al par di lei... Poi, quando non l'udì più vagire, e la vide tutta bianca, si strascinò sino al burrone, là, nella cava delle pietre, e l'avvolse nel grembiule prima, povere carni tenere d'innocente!... Ma Nanni non sapeva nulla. Non s'erano più visti... Potevano andare loro stessi, a vedere, lì, nella cava delle pietre, vicino al casolare, giù dal ponticello...
Così Grazia andò in galera, ma loro se la cavarono colla sola paura della forca il Zanno e l'aiutante; però il primo fece voto a Dio e al Cristo di Spaccaforno che giovani non ne voleva più alla cintola, com'è vero Gesù Sacramentato!
Nanni girò ancora un po' di qua e di là, finché spinto dalla fame tornò a Primosole, dove almeno ci aveva qualcuno. Trovò che suo padre era sotto terra, e l'Orbo guidava lui la chiatta, asciutto come un osso.
Giusto c'era Filomena, che cominciava a farsi vecchia e nessuno la voleva per quella storia di don Tinu, e le altre che si erano scoperte dopo, la quale gli diceva ogni volta:
– Io ci ho la mia roba, grazie a Dio, e il marito che volessi prendere starebbe come un principe.
L'Orbo, che faceva da mezzano, per un bicchier di vino, aiutava:
– L'ho vista io con questi occhi.
– Per me, – rispose alfine Nanni, – se voi siete contenta, sono contento io pure.
E si fece il nido come un gufo. Di correre il mondo ne aveva abbastanza ora, e badava a mangiare e bere colla moglie e gli avventori, che tenevano allegra la casa e lasciavano dei soldi nel cassetto. Ogni tanto gli portavano la notizia:
– Sapete, zio Giovanni? vostro fratello gli è successo un accidente.
Oppure:
– Gnà Benedetta, vostra sorella, ha avuto un altro maschio.
Tale e quale come suo padre, che aveva messo radici a Primosole, dopo che era rimasto zoppo, e venivano a dirgli sin lì quel che succedeva al mondo di qua e di là. Un giorno, dopo anni ed anni, in mezzo a una torma di mietitori, vide passare anche una vecchia che neppure il diavolo l'avrebbe più riconosciuta, mangiata com'era dalla fame e dagli strapazzi, la quale gli disse:
– Che non mi riconoscete più, compare Nanni? Sono Grazia, vi rammentate?
Ma egli la mandò subito via, per paura di Filomena che ascoltava dal letto, come aveva fatto l'altra volta per paura del padrone che stava per venire. Ora voleva godersi tranquillamente la sua pace e la provvidenza che il Cielo mandava, insieme alla moglie che gli aveva dato Dio.
E se si trovavano a passare il Zanno oppure don Tinu, che ora gli portavano rispetto, e lasciavano anche loro bei soldi all'osteria, soleva dire con la moglie, o con chi c'era:
– Poveri diavoli! Costoro vanno ancora pel mondo a buscarsi il pane!
# Il maestro dei ragazzi
La mattina, prima delle sette, si vedeva passare il maestro dei ragazzi, mentre andava raccogliendo la scolaresca di casa in casa con la mazzettina in una mano, un bimbo restìo appeso all'altra, e dietro una nidiata di marmocchi, che ad ogni fermata si buttava sul marciapiede, come pecore stracche. Donna Mena, la merciaia, gli faceva trovare il suo _Aloardo_ , già bell'e ripulito a furia di scapaccioni, e il maestro, amorevole e paziente, si strascinava via il monello, che strillava e tirava calci. Più tardi, prima del desinare, tornava rimorchiando _Aloardino_ tutto inzaccherato, lo lasciava sull'uscio del negozio, e ripigliava per mano il bimbo con cui era venuto la mattina.
Così passava e ripassava quattro volte al giorno, prima e dopo il mezzodì, sempre con un ragazzetto svogliato per mano, gli altri sbandati dietro, d'ogni ceto, d'ogni colore, col vestitino attillato alla moda, oppure strascicando delle scarpacce sfondate; però tenendosi accosto invariabilmente lo scolare che stava più vicino di casa, sicché ogni mamma poteva credere che il suo figliuolo fosse il preferito.
Le mamme lo conoscevano tutte; dacché erano al mondo l'avevano visto passare mattina e sera, col cappelluccio stinto sull'orecchio, le scarpe sempre lucide, i baffetti come le scarpe, il sorriso paziente e inalterabile nel viso disfatto di libro vecchio; senza altro di stanco che il vestito mangiato dal sole e dalla spazzola, sulle spalle un po' curve.
Sapevano pure che era un gran cacciatore di donne; da circa quarant'anni, dacché andava su e giù per le strade mattina e sera, al pari di una chioccia coi suoi pulcini, era sempre col naso in aria, agitando la mazzettina a guisa di uno zimbello, come un vero uccellatore, in cerca di un'innamorata – senza ombra di male – una che lo guardasse ogni volta che passava, e tirasse fuori il fazzoletto quando egli si soffiava il naso; niente di più; gli sarebbe bastato di sapere che in qualche luogo, vicina o lontana, aveva un'anima sorella. Talché lungo la perenne _via crucis_ di tutti i giorni egli aveva delle immaginarie stazioni consolatrici, delle invetriate che soleva sbirciare dacché svoltava la cantonata, e che avevano senso e parole soltanto per lui; alle quali aveva visto invecchiare dei visi amati, o scomparirne per andare a maritarsi – egli solo sempre lo stesso, portando una instancabile giovinezza dentro di sé, dedicando alle figliuole il sentimento che aveva provato per le madri, mulinando avventure da Don Giovanni nella sua vita da anacoreta.
Era come la conseguenza della sua professione; l'incarnazione degli estri poetici che gli occupavano le ore d'ozio, la sera, dinanzi al lume a petrolio, coi piedi indolenziti nelle ciabatte di cimosa, ben coperto dal pastrano, mentre sua sorella Carolina rattoppava le calze, dall'altro lato del tavolinetto, anch'essa con un libro aperto dinanzi agli occhi. Faceva il maestro di scuola per vivere, ma il suo vero stato erano le lettere, sonetti, odi, anacreontiche, acrostici soprattutto, con tutte le sante del calendario a capoverso. Portava sotto il paletò spelato da un capo all'altro della città, strascinandosi dietro la scolaresca, la sacra fiamma dei versi, quella che fa cantare le giovinette al chiaro di luna sul veroncello, e doveva farle pensare a lui. Sapeva già, come se gliela avessero confidata, tutta la curiosità che doveva suscitare la sua persona, i palpiti che destava una sua occhiata, le fantasie che si lasciava dietro il suo passaggio. Troppo scrupoloso però per abusarne.
Un giorno, lo rammentava sempre con una dolce confusione interna, una giovinetta alla quale andava a dare lezioni di bello scrivere a domicilio, volle regalargli per la sua festa un bel fiore ch'era in un vasetto sulla scrivania, rosa o garofano, non si rammentava pel turbamento che gli aveva fatto velo alla vista. Glielo presentava con un atto gentile, e gli diceva, al vederlo timido e imbarazzato:
– L'ho tenuto lì per lei, signor maestro.
– No... la prego... Mi risparmi...
– Come? non lo vuole?
– Seguitiamo la lezione, di grazia!... Queste non son cose...
– Ma perché? Che c'è di male...
– Tradire la fiducia dei suoi parenti... sotto la veste di istitutore...
Allora la ragazza era scoppiata in una risata così matta, così impertinente, che gli squillava ancora nelle orecchie al ripensarci, e ancora, dopo tanto tempo, gli metteva in capo un dubbio, uno di quei lampi di luce che fanno cacciare il capo sotto il guanciale, per non vederli, la notte. Ah, quelle benedette ragazze, chi arrivava a capirle, per quanto gli anni passassero! Esse gli ridevano dietro le spalle. – Poi, dopo molto tempo, quand'egli passava a prendere i loro bimbi, tirando in su i baffetti ostinatamente neri, si sentivano intenerire da una certa commozione ripensando al passato, alle rosee fantasie della prima giovinezza, che evocava la figura melanconica di quell'eterno cercatore di amore.
– Entrate, don Peppino, il ragazzo sta vestendosi.
– No, grazie, non importa.
– Volete aspettare al sole, vossignoria?
– Ho qui i ragazzi. Non posso lasciarli.
– Quanti ne avete, santa pazienza! Ce ne vorrà, da mattina a sera, tanto tempo che fate quel mestiere!
– Sì, un pezzo che ci conosciamo, di vista almeno. Quando lei stava in via del Carmine; il terrazzino col basilico. Si rammenta?
– Si diventa vecchi, don Peppino! Ora abbiamo i capelli bianchi. Parlo per me, che ho già una figliuola da marito.
– Giusto, avevo portato qui una cosuccia per donna Lucietta. Oggi è la sua festa, mi pare.
– Cos'è, l'immagine di santa Lucia? No, una poesia! Lucia, Lucia, vien qui, guarda cosa t'ha portato il signor maestro.
– Piccolezze, donna Lucietta, scuserà l'ardire.
– Bello, bello, grazie tante. Guarda che bel foglio, mamma. Sembra un merletto.
– Son cose leggiere. Proprio un ricamino in versi, come ci vogliono per una bella ragazza qual è lei. Piccolezze, sa!
– Grazie, grazie. Ecco Bartolino. È mezz'ora che il signor maestro t'aspetta, male educato!
– Guarda, mamma: ritagliando il bordo della carta tutto in giro se ne può cavare un bel portamazzi, se oggi mi vengono dei fiori.
La scuola era un grande stanzone imbiancato a calce, chiuso in fondo da un tramezzo che arrivava a metà dell'altezza, e al di sopra lasciava un gran vano semicircolare e misterioso, il quale dava lume a un bugigattolo che vi era dietro. Accanto all'uscio vedevasi il tavolinetto del maestro, coperto da un tappetino ricamato a mano, e sopra tanti altri lavori fatti di ritagli: nettapenne, sottolume, e un mandarino di lana arancione, colle sue brave foglioline verdi, causa d'infinite distrazioni agli scolari. L'altro ornamento della scuola, sulla larga parete nuda dietro il tavolino, era una cornicetta di carta traforata, opera industre della stessa mano, che conteneva due piccole fotografie ingiallite, i ritratti del maestro e di sua sorella, somiglianti come due gocce d'acqua, malgrado i baffetti incerati dell'uno, e la pettinatura grottesca dell'altra: gli stessi pomelli scarni che sembravano sporgere fuori della cornice, la stessa linea sottile delle labbra smunte, gli stessi occhi appannati, quasi stanchi di guardare perennemente, dal fondo dell'orbita incavata, lo sbaraglio delle seggiole scompagnate per la scuola; e tutt'in giro la tristezza delle pareti bianche, macchiate in un canto dalla luce scialba della finestra polverosa che dava nel cortiletto.
Di buon mattino, appena il falegname accanto principiava a martellare, udivasi pispigliare due voci sonnolente nel bugigattolo oscuro, e poi s'illuminava il vano al di sopra del tramezzo. Il maestro andava a prendere una manata di trucioli, strascicando le ciabatte, tutto raggomitolato in un pastrano spelato, e accendeva il fuoco per fare il caffè. Allora, dietro la finestra appannata, vedevasi salire la fiamma del focolare rannicchiato sotto quattro tegole sporgenti dal muro, e il fumo denso che stagnava nel cortiletto cieco. In fondo allo stanzino la sorella del maestro intanto cominciava a tossire, dall'alba.
Egli andava a prendere le scarpe appoggiate allo stipite dell'uscio, l'una accanto all'altra, coi talloni in alto, e si metteva a lustrarle amorosamente, mentre faceva bollire il caffè, ritto innanzi al fuoco, col bavero del pastrano sino alle orecchie. In seguito toglieva dal fuoco la caffettiera, sempre colla mano sinistra, per pigliare colla destra la chicchera senza manico dall'asse inchiodata accanto al fornello, la risciacquava nel catino fesso incastrato fra due sassi accanto al pozzo, e portava finalmente il lume nel bugigattolo, diviso in due da una vecchia tenda da finestra appesa a una funicella. La sorella si alzava a sedere sul letto in fondo, stentatamente, tossendo, soffiandosi il naso, gemendo sempre, colle trecce arruffate, il viso consunto, gli occhi già stanchi, salutando il fratello con un sorriso triste d'incurabile.
– Come ti senti oggi, Carolina? – le chiedeva il fratello.
– Meglio, – rispondeva lei invariabilmente.
Intanto il sole sormontava il tetto di faccia alla finestra, come una polvere d'oro, in mezzo a cui balenava il volo dei passeri schiamazzanti. Dietro l'uscio passava lo scampanellare delle capre.
– Vado pel latte, – diceva don Peppino.
– Sì, – rispondeva lei collo stesso moto stracco del capo.
E cominciava a vestirsi lentamente, mentre il maestro, accoccolato col bicchiere in mano, leticava col capraio che gli misurava il latte come fosse oro colato.
Carolina andava a rifare il lettuccio piatto del fratello, dall'altra parte della cortina, rialzandola tutta nella funicella per dare aria alla stanza, come era solita dire; e si dava a strascicare la scopa per la scuola, adagio adagio, movendo le seggiole una dopo l'altra, appoggiandosi al bastone della scopa per tossire, in mezzo al polverìo.
Il fratello tornava coi due soldi di latte in fondo al bicchiere, e due panetti nelle tasche del pastrano. Ripiegavano un lembo del tappetino, per non insudiciarlo, e sedevano a far colazione in silenzio, l'uno di qua e l'altra di là del tavolino, tagliando ad una ad una delle fette di pane sottili, masticando adagio, e come soprapensieri. Soltanto, ogni volta che lei tossiva, il fratello rizzava il capo a fissarla in aria inquieta, e tornava a chinare gli occhi sul piatto.
Alfine egli se ne andava colla mazzettina sotto l'ascella, il cappelluccio sull'orecchio, i baffetti incerati, tirando in su il colletto della camicia, infilandosi con precauzione i guanti neri che puzzavano d'inchiostro, seguito passo passo dalla sorella che si ostinava a passargli straccamente la spazzola addosso, covandolo con uno sguardo quasi materno, accompagnandolo dall'uscio con un sorriso rassegnato da zitellona, che credeva tutte le donne innamorate di suo fratello.
Anch'essa aveva avuto la sua primavera scolorita di ragazza senza dote e senza bellezza, quando rimodernava, ogni festa principale, lo stesso vestitino di lana e seta, e architettava pettinature fantastiche dinanzi allo specchietto incrinato. Oh, le rosee visioni che passarono su quella vesticciuola, mentre essa agucchiava le intere notti! e gli sconforti amari che la tormentarono dinanzi a quello specchio, al quale si affacciavano ogni volta inesorabilmente i pomelli ossuti ed il naso troppo lungo! In mezzo al crocchio allegro e civettuolo delle altre ragazze ella portava sempre come la visione dolorosa della sua figura grottesca, e se ne stava in disparte – per vergogna, dicevano le une, – per orgoglio, dicevano le altre. – Giacché passava anche lei per letterata. Nello squallore della loro miseria decente le lettere avevano messo un conforto, una lusinga, come un lusso delicato che li compensava della commiserazione mal dissimulata dei vicini. Essa teneva gelosamente custoditi, in belle copie tutte a svolazzi e maiuscole ornate, i versi del fratello; e quando egli si era lasciato vincere alfine dall'indifferenza generale, dalla stanchezza dell'umile e faticoso impiego che doveva fare delle lettere per guadagnarsi il pane, essa sola era rimasta una gran leggitrice di romanzi e di versi: avventure epiche di cappa e di spada, casi complicati e straordinari, amori eroici, delitti misteriosi, epistolari di quattrocento pagine tutte piene di una sola parola, nenie belate al chiaro di luna, dolori di anime in lutto prima di nascere, che piangevano delusioni future. Tutta la sua giovinezza squallida s'era consunta in quelle fantasie ardenti, che le popolavano le notti insonni di cavalieri piumati, di poeti tisici e biondi, di avvenimenti bizzarri e romanzeschi, in mezzo ai quali sognava di vivere anche mentre scopava la scuola o faceva cuocere il magro desinare, nel cortiletto cieco che serviva da cucina. E sotto l'influenza di tutto quel medio evo, la preoccupazione dolorosa della sua disavvenenza e della sua povertà manifestavasi in modo grottesco, con ricciolini artificiosi sulla fronte, trecce spioventi sulle spalle, sgonfi medioevali ai gomiti del vestito e gorgiere inamidate.
– Che è l'ultimo figurino quello? – le aveva chiesto un giorno la più elegante e la più crudele delle sue compagne.
Lui solo – tanto tempo addietro! adesso era impiegato alla Pretura Urbana – quanti palpiti! quanta dolcezza! quanti sogni! Ed ora più nulla, allorché lo incontrava per caso, carico di moglie e di figliuoli! Allora era un giovinetto smunto, con grandi occhi pensosi che stavano a guardare i «vortici delle danze» dal vano di un uscio, come dall'alto, da cento miglia lontano. Le ragazze lo canzonavano anche un po' perché non ballava mai; lo chiamavano «il poeta». Egli da lontano inchiodava uno sguardo fatale su quella ragazza, sola e dimenticata in un cantuccio al par di lui. Una domenica infine le si fece presentare; le disse con una lunga frase ingarbugliata che aveva ambito l'onore di far la sua conoscenza perché «nella festa» era l'unica persona con cui si potesse scambiare due parole: lo sentiva, gliel'avevano detto: sapeva anche che era una distinta cultrice delle lettere...
«Le danze» giravano giravano «vorticose» in un gran polverìo, sotto la lumiera a petrolio, ed essi sembravano cento miglia lontani, proprio come nei romanzi, mezzo nascosti dietro la tenda all'uncinetto, lui col cappello sull'anca, e l'arco della mente teso per ogni parola che gli usciva di bocca; lei irradiata da quella prima lusinga che le veniva da un uomo, con una nuova dolcezza negli occhi, attraverso i ricciolini.
– È un poema?
– No, un romanzo.
– Storico?
– Oibò, signorina! Per chi mi piglia? Sa il detto di quel tale: «Chi ci libererà dai Greci e dai Romani?...»
– Genere Manzoni allora?
– No, più moderno; stavo per dire più fine; certo più nervoso... tutta la nervosità del secolo in cui viviamo...
– E il titolo? si può sapere almeno?
– Lei sì! – _Amore e morte!_
– Bello! bello! bello! Ci ha lavorato molto?
– Saran quattr'anni circa.
– Perché non lo fa stampare?
Il giovanotto alzò le spalle con un sorriso sdegnoso.
– Peccato!
Egli ebbe un lampo negli occhi, per la risposta che gli balenava in mente pronta e azzeccata; un lampo che illuse la poveretta:
– Mi basta questa parola sua, guardi!
La Carolina avvampò di gioia e chinò il capo, col petto che le scoppiava.
– Che dice?... Io!... Che dice mai?...
L'altro, gonfiandosi nel soprabito anche lui a quella prima lusinga che gli veniva da una donna, le lasciava cadere sul capo chino, dall'alto del suo colletto inamidato, la confidenza che il trionfo più ambito per uno scrittore è quello di una parola... una parola sola... d'encomio... d'incoraggiamento... che venga da una persona...
– _Pardon!..._ – s'interruppe a un tratto tirandosi bruscamente indietro.
– Gli è arrivata? – chiese dolente il padrone di casa che girava coll'annaffiatoio. – Mi dispiace sa... Facevo perché si soffoca dalla polvere. Non le pare?
Il poeta continuava dicendo che era proprio una fortuna d'incontrarsi... in mezzo a tanta volgarità invadente...
– Lei non balla? – domandò infine.
– Io?...
– Stia tranquilla. Non ballo neppur io. Sa il detto di quel tale: «Non capisco perché cotesto lavoro non lo facciano fare dai domestici!» Ed è vero infatti. Provi a tapparsi le orecchie, per vedere l'impressione grottesca...
– È vero, è vero.
– Sentisse poi che discorsi! Il caldo, la folla, i lumi... Quando si arriva a parlar delle acconciature è già un gran progresso. A proposito, lei è messa divinamente... No, no, mi lasci dire, è diversa dalle altre; un buon gusto, un'originalità...
Tese l'arco delle sopracciglia, e le scoccò l'ultima frecciata:
– Insomma l'abito non fa il monaco; ma il buon gusto dice la persona...
Com'era bello il valzer che sonavano in quel punto! come l'era rimasto in cuore tutta la notte! e come lo canticchiava poi a mezzavoce, cogli occhi gonfi di lagrime deliziose, cucendo nel cortiletto oscuro! Sul pilastrino del pozzo i garofani, che allungavano dal vaso slabbrato gli steli tisici, s'agitavano lieve lieve al sole, e parevano rinascere. Che pace ora con se stessa, quando si guardava nello specchio! che dolcezza in certi toni della sua voce! che soavità nel raggio della luna che baciava, in alto, il muro dirimpetto! e nell'oro del tramonto che scappava dal comignolo del tetto, e scintillava sui vetri di quella finestra dove si vedeva alle volte un fanciulletto biondo in una scranna a bracciuoli, immobile per delle ore! Vivere, vivere, anche in quel cortiletto triste, fra quelle quattro mura che avevano una melanconia nota e quasi affettuosa, nelle umili occupazioni divenute care, con quell'altro mondo fantastico che le aprivano i libri, sotto la carezza di quella voce fraterna, amorevole e protettrice; e in fondo al cuore poi come un punto luminoso, come una fibra delicata che trasaliva al menomo tocco, come una gran gioia che aveva bisogno di nascondersi e le balzava alla gola ogni momento, come una fede, come una tenerezza nuova per ogni cosa e ogni persona nota – e l'attesa di quella domenica, di quel ballonzolo periodico in mezzo alla polvere e al puzzo del petrolio, dove sapeva di rivedere colui che da otto giorni aveva preso tanta parte nel suo cuore e nella sua vita!
Stavolta le venne incontro appena la vide, con una stretta di mano che riannodava a un tratto la loro intimità spirituale, e le si mise al fianco, dietro la tenda all'uncinetto, colla destra nello sparato della sottoveste, parlandole sempre di lui, delle sue inclinazioni, dei suoi gusti, delle sue ammirazioni, che erano poche e calde, della sua ambizione, che toccava il cielo. Di tratto in tratto, quando gli pareva che la ragazza chinasse il capo stanco sotto tutto quell' _io_ implacabile, le accoccava un complimento, come un cocchiere fa schioccare la frusta nelle salite. La giovinetta però chinava il capo per la commozione, col cuore tutto aperto a quelle confidenze che cercavano avidamente la simpatia di lei. Egli pure, trascinato dalla sua foga, eccitato dalle sue frasi medesime, si abbandonava, cominciava a sbottonarsi, a scendere fino ai suoi piccoli guai: suo padre che lo contrariava nelle sue inclinazioni, nelle tendenze più spiccate del suo ingegno... Nei due anni d'università non aveva imparato nulla. Aveva scritto soltanto dei versi sulle panche della cattedra di Diritto Civile.
– Un vero parricidio! – osservò Carolina sorridendo.
Egli per la prima volta la baciò con un'occhiata d'ineffabile tenerezza.
– Carolina! Carolina! – chiamava il fratello. E sottovoce le disse all'orecchio: – Bada che tutti ti guardano; sei sempre con colui. Chi è?
Qua e là, dietro i ventagli, e nei crocchi delle ragazze, balenavano infatti dei sorrisi mal dissimulati. Ma Carolina, fiera, lo presentò al fratello:
– Il signor Angelo Monaco, distinto poeta, l'autore di _Amore e morte_!
– So che anche il signore è un chiaro cultore delle lettere! – disse il Monaco tendendogli la mano regalmente.
Il romanziere aveva «sollecitato l'onore» di leggere il manoscritto del suo romanzo in casa del maestro «per averne un giudizio illuminato e sincero». Una sera, dopo la scuola, lo istallarono dinanzi al tavolinetto dal tappetino ricamato, con due candele accese dinanzi, come un giocatore di bussolotti, don Peppino col capo fra le mani, tutto raccolto nel disegno di appioppargli alla sua volta la lettura dei propri versi, che si sentiva rifiorire in petto gelosi a quell'avvenimento; la sorella digià commossa dalla solennità dei preparativi, la porta chiusa, le seggiole dei ragazzi schierate in fila, come per una folla di ascoltatori invisibili.
Il manoscritto era voluminoso, circa mezza risma di carta a mano, raccolta in una custodia di marocchino col titolo in oro sul dorso, e legata con nastri tricolori. L'autore leggeva con convinzione, sottolineando ogni parola col gesto, colla voce, con certe occhiate che andavano a ricercare l'ammirazione in volto alla Carolina, pallidissima, e al fratello di lei, impenetrabile dietro la palma delle mani; si animava alle sue frasi istesse come un barbero allo scrosciare delle vesciche che porta attaccate alla coda; senza un minuto di stanchezza, quasi senza bisogno di voltar pagina. Le pagine volavano, volavano, con un fruscìo come di foglie secche d'autunno, nel gran silenzio della notte. Tutti i rumori della via erano cessati uno dopo l'altro. La luna alta si affacciava al finestrino.
C'era un punto in cui il protagonista del romanzo, disperato, forzava la consegna di uno stuolo di domestici in gran livrea schierati in anticamera, e andava a bere la morte nell'alcova della sua bella appena tornata dal ballo, ancora in una nuvola di merletti e di pizzi. Egli la bollava con parole di fuoco, voleva offrirle, dea implacabile, l'olocausto del suo sangue, dei suoi sensi, del suo amore immensurabile, lì ai piedi dell'altare istesso, su quel tappeto di Persia, dinanzi a quel letto immacolato. E all'occhiata trionfante che faceva punto, l'autore vide con gioia crudele la sua ascoltatrice che piangeva cheta cheta, colla mano dinanzi agli occhi.
Ei le prese quella mano, e se la tenne sulle labbra a lungo, per godere del suo trionfo:
– Perdonatemi! – mormorò poscia.
Ella scosse il capo dolcemente, e rispose con un filo di voce:
– No. Sono tanto felice!
La luna dal finestrino baciava la parete dirimpetto, tacita. Al silenzio improvviso il maestro si destò.
Angelo Monaco prese a frequentare la casa del maestro, attratto dalla simpatia che vi trovava, lusingato da quell'ammirazione fervida, da quell'amore timido e profondo di cui la sua vanità era riconoscente in modo da simulare alle volte un ricambio dello stesso sentimento. Carolina aspettava, felice, tutta piena di una vita nuova in mezzo alle solite modeste occupazioni, sorpresa da batticuori improvvisi, da dolcezze inesplicabili, per un nulla, per taluni avvenimenti consueti che prima non le avevano detto cosa alcuna, beandosi di uno sguardo, di un sorriso, di una parola, di una stretta di mano di lui, trepidante all'ora in cui egli soleva venire, commossa da una tenerezza ineffabile quando vedeva il raggio della luna sul finestrino, ogni quintadecima, al sentire la campana dell'avemaria, l'organetto che passava, la voce del fratello che pronunziava il suo nome, turbata solo da un imbarazzo insolito e da una nuova tenerezza per lui. Anch'egli le sembrava cambiato. Da qualche tempo la trattava con una dolcezza affettuosa e quasi triste, con un riserbo discreto e pietoso. Un giorno finalmente, al momento di uscire insieme ai ragazzi, col cappelluccio in testa e la mazzettina in mano, la chiamò in disparte, dietro la cortina rossa:
– ... Sai, Carolina... Sta per ammogliarsi... No! senti! Coraggio, coraggio!... Guarda che io ho lì i ragazzi... Perdonami se ti ho fatto dispiacere!... Toccava a me il dirtelo... Sono tuo fratello, il tuo Peppino!...
Ella uscì nello stanzone, barcollante, come si sentisse soffocare, e balbettò dopo un momento:
– Come lo sai? Chi te l'ha detto?
– Masino, quel ragazzo, il figlio del caffettiere. Oggi, come l'incontrammo per caso, e vide che lo salutavo, mi ha detto che sposa sua sorella.
– Vai, vai, – disse la poveretta respingendolo colle mani tremanti. – I ragazzi aspettano.
E fu tutto. Ella non aggiunse una parola, non gli mosse un lamento. L'ultima volta che la vide, Angelo la trovò così afflitta, così chiusa nel suo dolore, che ne indovinò il motivo. Sull'uscio del cortiletto, cogli occhi rivolti a quello spicchio di cielo e una lagrima vera negli occhi, egli le disse addio, commosso dall'accento suo istesso. Il giorno dopo le scrisse una lettera tutta fremente da un rigo all'altro d'amore e di disperazione, la prima in cui le parlasse d'amore, per dirle che il suo era fatale e doveva immolarlo sull'altare dell'obbedienza filiale. «Siate felice! siate felice! lontana o vicina, in vita e in morte!...» Fu la sola «missiva» d'amore che ella ricevesse, e la custodì gelosamente fra i fiori secchi ch'ei le aveva donati, e i nastri scoloriti che portava il giorno in cui si erano incontrati per la prima volta.
Poi, stanca, aveva riversato sul fratello le sue illusioni giovanili; rifacendo per lui i castelli in aria in cui erano passati i sogni ardenti della sua vita claustrale; subendo, sotto altra forma, le stesse calde allucinazioni che le erano rimaste di tante bizzarre letture, nelle quali si era consunta la sua giovinezza, dietro il tramezzo della scuola, com'era morto il geranio che aveva agonizzato dieci anni nel cortiletto senza sole. Una volta era stata una rosa che essa aveva sorpreso nel portapenne della scrivania, e s'era sfogliata senza che lei osasse toccarla, lasciandole un grande sconforto a misura che le foglioline si sperdevano nella polvere. Un'altra volta un bigliettino profumato, visto alla sfuggita sul tappetino della scrivania, scomparso subito misteriosamente, che l'aveva fatta almanaccare un mese, turbandola anche, mentre stava chiuso nel cassetto, col suo odore sottile, finché le era caduto un'altra volta sotto gli occhi, fra le cartacce inutili buttate via nel cortiletto – la stessa corona dorata in cima al foglio profumato, lo stesso carattere elegante con cui un ragazzo si faceva scusare dalla mamma non so quale mancanza.
Un giorno infine il romanzo sembrò disegnarsi, al giungere di una superba bionda che era venuta a prendere un ragazzetto pallido in una carrozza signorile, riempiendo tutta la scuola del fruscìo della sua veste, del profumo del suo fazzoletto, del suono armonioso della sua voce fresca e ridente come un raggio di sole che avesse abbarbagliato maestro e discepoli. La povera zitellona per molti giorni ancora, alla stessa ora, aveva aspettata la bella seduttrice, nascosta dietro la tenda del tramezzo, col cuore che le batteva forte, sconvolta sino alle viscere e come violentata da un delizioso segreto, da un turbamento strano, in cui si mescevano una tenerezza nuova pel fratello, un senso di vaga gelosia, e una contentezza, un orgoglio segreto.
Erano reticenze discrete, silenzi pudichi, imbarazzi scambievoli, per un cenno, per una parola, per un'allusione lontana che cadesse nel discorso, mentre sedevano a tavola, l'uno di qua e l'altra di là di un lembo del tappetino ripiegato, mentre rifacevano tutti i giorni la stessa conversazione vuota e insignificante del giorno innanzi, ripetendo le stesse frasi monotone che compendiavano la loro esistenza scolorita ed uniforme, a voce bassa, con una certa timidezza vergognosa.
Egli chinava il capo arrossendo, come sorpreso sul fatto; e giurava di no facendo una scrollatina di spalle, gongolando dentro di sé, con un sorrisetto di vanagloria che gli tremolava sulle labbra.
Alle volte, in un'effusione improvvisa di tenerezza riconoscente, le posava la destra sul capo, con quello stesso sorrisetto discreto che pareva dicesse:
– Stai tranquilla, scioccherella!
Però, nella rettitudine istintiva della sua coscienza, la zitellona sentiva nascere una ripugnanza, un'inquietudine dolorosa per tutto ciò che dovea esserci di losco e di pericoloso in quel romanzo clandestino. Allora correva a buttarsi ai piedi del confessore, nel nuovo fervore religioso in cui si era rifugiata quando aveva provato il più gran dolore della sua giovinezza, lo sconforto e l'abbandono d'ogni lusinga terrena, e domandava perdono per la dolce colpa che lei non aveva commesso, faceva la penitenza del peccato immaginario che era nella sua casa. E calda ancora di quel fervore vi attingeva il coraggio per esortare il fratello a rientrare nel retto sentiero con delle allusioni velate, delle insinuazioni discrete, un'effusione di tenerezza timida e quasi materna.
– Peppino! – gli disse infine, – dovresti darmi una gran consolazione. Dovresti risolverti a prender moglie.
Egli rizzò il capo, sorpreso prima, e poscia lusingato dalla proposta che gli toglieva vent'anni d'addosso, obbiettando col medesimo ingenuo entusiasmo della sua prima giovinezza che «il matrimonio è la tomba dell'amore», per farsi pregare ancora.
– Dammi retta, Peppino!... Poi, quando non sarai più in tempo, te ne pentirai!...
Egli si ostinava a scrollare il capo, lusingato internamente di poter rifiutare per la prima volta; senza notare l'espressione dolorosa che c'era nell'accento della povera zitellona.
– No, non mi lascio pescare. Stai tranquilla. Amo troppo la mia libertà!
Ella provava un senso strano di simpatia, di commiserazione, e di rancore per quel fanciulletto esile e pallido che la dama bionda era venuta a cercare, e che supponeva fosse il complice innocente della loro tresca. Lo covava cogli occhi da lontano, nascosta dietro la tenda, come egli portasse alla scuola, nei sereni lineamenti infantili, un riflesso delle seduzioni tentatrici della mamma, inquieta se lo scolaretto mancava qualche volta, almanaccando tutto un romanzo domestico dai menomi atti del ragazzo inconsapevole. Se lo chiamava vicino, quando poteva farlo da solo a solo, lo accarezzava, lo interrogava, gli faceva qualche regaluccio insignificante, attratta e ripugnante nello stesso tempo dalla sua grazia infantile. Un giorno il fanciulletto, tutto contento, le disse:
– Dopo le vacanze non vengo più a scuola.
Ella gli chiese il perché, balbettando.
– La mamma dice che ora son grande. Andrò in collegio.
Così terminò anche quel romanzo. Ella ne provò come un gran sollievo; ma nello stesso tempo un dubbio, uno sconforto amaro, sentendo dileguarsi anche le ultime illusioni che aveva collocate sul fratello.
Il male che la rodeva da anni e anni la inchiodò infine nel letto. Il povero maestro non ebbe più un'ora di pace: sempre in faccende anche nei brevi istanti che la scuola gli lasciava liberi, scopando, accendendo il fuoco, rifacendo i letti, correndo dal medico e dallo speziale, coi baffi stinti, le scarpe infangate, il viso più incartapecorito ancora. Le vicine, mosse a compassione, venivano a dare una mano, ora l'una ed ora l'altra: donna Mena, la vedova del merciaio, con tutti gli ori addosso, come se andasse a nozze; e l'Agatina del falegname, lesta di mano e sempre allegra, che riempiva della sua gaia giovinezza la povera casa triste; talché il vecchio scapolo era tutto scombussolato da quelle gonnelle che gli si aggiravano per casa, tentato, anche in mezzo alle sue angustie, come da un ritorno di giovinezza, da sottili punture nel sangue e al cuore, che gli cocevano poi come un rimorso, nelle ore nere.
– Meglio, meglio. Ha riposato.
Il poveraccio, al trovare quella buona notizia sulla soglia, le afferrò la mano tremante, e la baciò.
– Oh, donna Mena! Che consolazione!
Essa gli fece segno di tacere, e lo condusse in punta di piedi a veder l'inferma, che riposava con una gran dolcezza sul viso, già lambito da ombre funebri. E come se la dolcezza di quell'istante di tregua gli si fosse comunicata, affranto dall'angoscia che aveva trascinato insieme ai suoi ragazzi da un capo all'altro della città, egli cadde a sedere sulla seggiola dietro la cortina, senza lasciare la mano di donna Mena, che la svincolò adagio adagio. La stanza era già oscura, con un senso di intimità misterioso e triste.
Ad un tratto la sorella svegliandosi lo chiamò, quasi lo sentisse là; e per la prima volta egli accendendo il lume si trovò imbarazzato dinanzi a lei, accanto a un'altra donna.
Era stata una crisi terribile; la prima lotta colla morte che già abbrancava la preda. L'inferma, tornata in sé, guardava il lume, le pareti, il viso del fratello con certi occhi attoniti, in cui c'era ancora come la visione di terrori arcani, e lo accarezzava col sorriso, col soffio della voce, colla mano tremante, in un ritorno di tenerezza ineffabile, che si attaccava a lui come alla vita.
E allorché furono soli, gli disse pure con quell'accento e quello sguardo singolari:
– No quella! Quella no, Peppino!
Verso l'agosto sembrò che cominciasse a stare alquanto meglio. Il sole giungeva fino al letto, dall'uscio del cortile, e la sera entravano a far compagnia tutti i rumori del vicinato, il chiacchierìo delle comari, lo stridere delle carrucole, nei pozzi tutto intorno, la canzone nuova che passava, l'accordo della chitarra con cui il barbiere dirimpetto ingannava l'attesa. La ragazza del falegname entrava con un fiore nei capelli, con un sorriso allegro che portava la gioventù, la salute, e la primavera.
– No, no, non ve ne andate ancora! Vedete com'è allegra quella poveretta, quando siete qui!
– Si fa tardi, signor maestro. È un'ora che son qui.
– No, non è tardi. A casa vostra lo sanno che siete qui. Piuttosto dite che vi aspettano le compagne, lì sull'uscio.
– No, no.
– O l'innamorato, eh? Sarà l'ora in cui suole passare, col sigaro in bocca...
– Oh... che dite mai, vossignoria!...
– Sì, sì, una bella ragazza come siete... è naturale. Chi non si innamorerebbe, al vedere quegli occhi... e quel sorriso... e quel visetto furbo.
– Ma cosa gli salta in mente adesso?...
E un giorno s'arrischiò anche a dirle, nel vano dell'uscio tutto illuminato dalla luna.
– Ah! foss'io quel tale!
– Lei, signor maestro!... Che dice mai!
L'emozione lo prendeva alla gola, mentre la ragazza, per rispetto, non osava ritirare la mano che le aveva afferrata. E traboccarono frasi sconnesse. – L'amore che eguaglia; la poesia ch'è profumo dell'anima; i tesori d'affetto che si cristallizzano nelle anime timide; la divina voluttà di cercare il pensiero e il volto dell'amata nel raggio della luna, a un'ora data. – La ragazza lo guardava quasi impaurita, con grand'occhi spalancati, e tutta bianca nel raggio della luna.
– Non dimenticherò mai quest'ora che mi avete concesso, Agata! Né questo nome! mai! Divisi, lontani... ma ricorderemo... entrambi...
– Mi lasci andare; mi lasci andare. Buona sera.
L'inferma, appoggiata a un mucchio di guanciali, chiacchierava adagio adagio col fratello, seduto accanto al letto, ancora col cappello in testa e la mazzettina fra le gambe. Pareva che avesse a dirgli una cosa importante, dai silenzi improvvisi che le soffocavano la parola in gola, dalle occhiate lunghe che posava su lui, dai rossori fugaci che passavano sul pallore del suo viso disfatto. Infine, chinando il capo, gli disse:
– Perché non ci pensi ad accasarti?
– No, no! – rispose lui, scrollando il capo.
– Sì, ora che sei in tempo. Devi pensarci finché sei giovane... Poi, quando sarai vecchio... e solo... come farai?
Il fratello, sentendosi vincere dalle lagrime, conchiuse, per tagliar corto:
– Non è tempo di parlarne adesso!
Però essa ritornava spesso sullo stesso argomento.
– Se trovassi una bella giovinetta, ricca, istruita, di buona famiglia, che facesse per te...
E una sera che si sentiva peggio tornò a parlargliene ancora, coll'inquieto cicaleccio proprio del suo stato.
– No, lasciami dire, ora che ho un po' di lena. Non posso permettere che ti sacrifichi per tenermi compagnia... tutta la tua giovinezza... Una buona dote non può mancarti. E se lasci la scuola, tanto meglio. Vivremo tutti insieme; faremo una casa sola. Uno stanzino mi basterà; purché sia molto arioso. Vorrei che fosse verso il giardino. Della strada non so che farmene, oramai... Ho sempre desiderato di vedere il cielo, stando in letto... e del verde, degli alberi... come, per esempio, averci una finestra là dove c'è ora la cortina, una finestra che guardasse nei campi...
Si udiva la pioggia che scrosciava nel cortiletto, una di quelle piogge che annunziano l'autunno, e la pentola di latta, lasciata fuori, che risonava sotto la grondaia. Un gatto, nella bufera, chiamava ai quattro venti, con voce umana.
Il maestro, che aveva seguito il vaneggiare della sorella verso il verde ed il sole, coll'allucinazione perenne che era in lui, le chiese affettuosamente:
– Ora che viene l'autunno saresti contenta d'andare in campagna?
– E la scuola? – ribatté lei con un sorriso malinconico. – Se tu pigliassi una buona dote invece... con dei poderi...
– Benedette donne! quando si ficcano un chiodo in testa!... – rispose lui con un sorrisetto malizioso.
E pareva esitare a decidersi. Ma dopo averci pensato su, finì col dire:
– Non mi vendo, no!
E abbottonò il soprabito con dignità.
– Se ho da fare una scelta... Se mai... È inutile! – conchiuse finalmente. – Amo troppo la mia libertà.
Ella insisteva a dire che queste cose si fanno finché uno è giovane, che se no si finisce in mano della serva o di qualche intrigante.
Poi siccome il fratello non voleva arrendersi, la zitellona si lasciò scappare in un impeto di gelosia, alludendo alle vicine:
– Vedi che già ti si ficcano in casa, e cominciano a fare dei disegni su di te?
E la poveretta morì col crepacuore di lasciare il fratello esposto alle insidie di quelle intriganti.
Com'ella aveva fatto un gran vuoto in quel bugigattolo, per quanto poco spazio vi avesse occupato in vita, e il fratello vi si sentiva come perduto in una gran solitudine, in una gran desolazione, nelle ore che i ragazzi gli lasciavano libere, prese ad andare dal falegname, tutte le sere, attratto da una gratitudine dolce e malinconica verso la ragazzona che aveva avuta tanta carità per la sua povera morta. Ma il falegname, che certe cose non le intendeva, gli fece capire che in bottega il maestro di scuola non aveva nulla da insegnare, e gli facesse il piacere di andarci soltanto la mattina pei trucioli, se ne aveva bisogno.
Anche donna Mena, qualche tempo dopo, quando vide che le visite del maestro si facevano troppo frequenti, col pretesto dell' _Aloardino_ , e non finiva mai di ringraziarla dell'assistenza che aveva fatta alla sua povera sorella, per stringerle la mano e farle gli occhi di triglia, gli disse sul mostaccio:
– Orsù, signor maestro, facciamo a parlarci chiaro, ché il vicinato comincia a mormorare dei fatti nostri.
Il poveraccio, colto alla sprovvista, si confuse. Ma infine prese il suo coraggio a due mani:
– Or bene, donna Mena! Anche quella poveretta l'aveva previsto. Non ho voluto decidermi mai a fare questo passo, perché amavo troppo la mia libertà... Ma ora che vi ho conosciuta meglio... se volete...
– Eh, non li avevate fatti male i vostri conti, caro mio, se siete stanco d'andare attorno coi ragazzi! Ma il fatto mio ce lo siamo lavorato io e la buon'anima di mio marito... E non per farcelo mangiare a tradimento.
Ogni giorno, mattina e sera, tornava a passare il maestro dei ragazzi, con un fanciulletto restìo per mano, gli altri sbandati dietro, il cappelluccio stinto sull'orecchio, le scarpe sempre lucide, i baffetti color caffè, la faccia rimminchionita di uno ch'è invecchiato insegnando il _b-a-ba_ , e cercando sempre l'innamorata, col naso in aria.
Soltanto tornando a casa, serrava a chiave l'uscio, per scopare la scuola, rifare il letto, e tutte le altre piccole faccenduole per le quali non aveva più nessuno che l'aiutasse. La mattina, prima di giorno, accendeva il fuoco, si lustrava le scarpe, spazzolava il vestito, sempre quello, e andava a bere il caffè nel cortiletto, seduto sulla sponda del pozzo, tutto solo e malinconico, col bavero del pastrano sino alle orecchie. Ed ora che la povera morta non ne aveva più bisogno, risparmiava anche quei due soldi di latte.
# Un processo
All'Assise discutevasi una causa capitale. Si trattava di un facchino che per gelosia aveva ucciso il suo rivale, giovane dabbene e padre di famiglia. La folla inferocita voleva far giustizia sommaria dell'assassino, pallido e lacero dalla lotta, che i carabinieri menavano in prigione. La vedova dell'ucciso era venuta, come Maria Maddalena, per chiedere giustizia a Dio e agli uomini, in lutto, scarmigliata, coi suoi orfani attaccati alla gonnella, mentre l'usciere andava mostrando ai signori giurati l'arme con cui era stato commesso l'omicidio: un coltelluccio da tasca, poco più grande di un temperino, di quelli che servono a sbucciare i fichidindia, ancora nero di sangue sino al manico. Il presidente domandò:
– Con questo avete ucciso Rosario Testa?
Tutti gli occhi si volsero alla gabbia dov'era rinchiuso l'imputato, un vecchio alto e magro, dal viso color di cenere, coi capelli irti e bianchi sulla fronte rugosa. Egli ascoltava l'accusa senza dir verbo, col dorso curvo; e seguiva cogli occhi l'usciere, il quale passava dinanzi al banco dei giurati col coltello in mano. Soltanto batteva le palpebre, quasi la poca luce che lasciavano entrare le stuoie calate fosse ancora troppo viva per lui.
Alla domanda del presidente si rizzò in piedi, diritto, col berretto ciondoloni fra le mani, e rispose:
– Sissignore, con quello.
Corse un mormorìo nell'uditorio. Era una giornata calda di luglio, e i signori giurati si facevano vento col giornale, accasciati dall'afa e dal brontolìo sonnolento delle formule criminali. Nell'aula c'era poca gente, amici e parenti dell'ucciso, venuti per curiosità. La vedova, stralunata, si teneva sul viso il fazzoletto orlato di nero, e faceva frequentemente un gesto macchinale, come per ravviare le folte trecce allentate colle mani bianche, levando in aria le braccia rotonde, con un moto che sollevava il seno materno, orgoglio della sua bella giovinezza vedovata. E fissava sitibonda sull'uccisore gli occhi arsi di lagrime.
Costui non sapeva risponder altro che «sissignore» a tutte le domande del presidente che gli stringevano il capestro alla gola, guardando inquieto i movimenti d'indignazione dei giurati, non avvezzi alla severa impassibilità della toga, con un'aria di bestia sospettosa. Incominciò la sfilata dei testimoni, tutti a carico.
– Gli amici del morto, un buon diavolaccio, incapace di far male ad una mosca, – la vedova piangeva. – I vicini che l'avevano visto barcollare, come preso dal vino, e cadere balbettando «Mamma mia!» – Quelli che avevano gridato «All'assassino!» – Il coraggioso che aveva afferrato pel petto l'omicida, prima che giungessero le guardie, nella brusca e feroce lotta per lo scampo.
– Giustizia! Giustizia! – gridava nella folla la vedova, colla voce del sangue che chiedeva sangue, accompagnata dal piagnisteo degli orfani, inteneriti dalla solennità.
Infine fu introdotto un testimonio sinistro, l'amante di quei due uomini che se l'erano disputata a colpi di coltello: una creatura senza nome, senza età, quasi senza sesso, alta, nera, magra, mangiata dagli stenti e dal vizio, che solo le era rimasto vivo negli occhi arditi. Destò un senso di ripugnanza al solo vederla. – Il pubblico accusatore l'aveva fatta venire appunto per ciò.
Ella si piantò tranquillamente in faccia al Cristo, alla legge, a tutti quei visi arcigni, colla sicurezza di chi ha visto in maniche di camicia gli sbirri e i doganieri, e giurò, levando la mano sudicia e nera verso il crocifisso d'avorio, come avrebbe fatto una vergine dinanzi all'altare, baciando lo scapolare bisunto che trasse dal seno cascante.
– Come vi chiamate?
– La Malerba.
E siccome l'uditorio, nell'attesa tragica, s'era messo a ridere, quasi per ripigliar fiato, ella soggiunse:
– Anche lui, gli dicevano Malannata.
E indicò l'imputato nel banco.
– Di chi siete figlia?
– Di nessuno.
– Quanti anni avete?
– Non lo so.
– Che professione fate?
Essa parve cercare la parola.
– Donna di mondo, – disse infine.
Scoppiò un'altra risata nell'uditorio. Il presidente impose silenzio scampanellando.
– Sì, donna di mondo, – ribatté lei per spiegarsi meglio. – Ora con questo, e ora con quell'altro.
– Basta, abbiamo capito, – interruppe il presidente. – Conoscete da molto tempo l'imputato?
– Sissignore. Questo qui me l'ha fatto lui, tre anni sono.
E indicò fieramente uno sfregio che le segnava la guancia, dall'orecchio sinistro al labbro superiore.
– E non ve ne querelaste?
– No. Era segno che mi voleva bene.
– Foste presente all'uccisione di Rosario Testa?
– Sissignore. Fu alla Marina: il giorno di tutti i Santi.
– E ne sapete il motivo?
– Il motivo fu che Malannata era geloso...
– Geloso di Testa?
– Sissignore.
– E con ragione?
– Sissignore.
Allora la vedova si celò il viso fra le mani.
– Com'è possibile che Rosario Testa, giovane, marito di una bella donna, gli desse ragione d'essere geloso... per voi?
– Com'è vero Dio, questa è la verità, – rispose la Malerba.
– Va bene, continuate.
– Avevo conosciuto quel poveretto ch'è morto prima di quest'altro cristiano, molto tempo prima, prima ancora che si maritasse. Allora mi chiamavano _la Mora dei Canali_ , Rosario Testa faceva il fruttaiuolo, lì alla Pescheria. Era un libertino, buon'anima. Le lavandaie dei Canali, le serve che venivano a far la spesa, con quella sua galanteria di far regali, se le pigliava tutte. Ma per me specialmente ci aveva il debole, ché una volta alla festa dell'Ognina gli ruppero la testa per via di un marinaio ubriaco che mi voleva. Poi seppi che si maritava e mutava vita. Andò a stare a San Placido col suo banchetto. Né visto né salutato. Io mi misi con Malannata, ch'erano i giorni del colèra. Buon uomo anche lui: buono come il pane, e se lo levava di bocca quel poco che guadagnava, per darlo a me. Ma geloso come il Gran Turco: «Dove sei stata? Cosa hai fatto?» E poi si picchiava la testa con un sasso, pentito delle botte che mi dava. Quell'annata del colèra, che tutti scappavano via e si moriva di fame davvero, egli voleva anche mettersi a beccamorto, per non farmi fare la mala vita, col castigo di Dio che ci avevamo addosso. Si lasciava morire piuttosto che mangiare del mio guadagno. Sì, glielo dico in faccia, ora che l'avete a condannare, perché questa è la verità dinanzi a Dio. Mi diceva, poveretto: «No, non me ne importa. È che penso al come lo guadagni, questo pane, e non posso mandarlo giù.» Ma io che potevo farci? Poi lui lo sapeva che cosa io ero. «Non importa,» tornava a dire, «almeno non ci voglio pensare.» Ma aveva i suoi capricci anche lui, come una donna, e certuni non me li voleva intorno. Allora diventava come un pazzo; si strappava i capelli e si rosicava le mani, perché non era più giovane. Quando mi vedeva insieme al doganiere del molo, che era un bell'uomo, colla montura lucida, mi diceva: «Vedi questo quattrino arrotato, che lo tengo in tasca apposta? con questo ti taglierò la faccia, e dopo m'ammazzo io.» E lo fece davvero. Io gli dissi: «Che serve? Ora che m'avete sfregiata nessuno mi vorrà, e non sarete più geloso.»
S'interruppe, con un orribile sorriso di trionfo, guardando sfrontatamente in giro il presidente, i giurati, i carabinieri, cinghiati di bianco, incrociando sul petto il vecchio scialle, con un gesto vago.
– Ma non fu così, signor presidente. Mi volevano ancora, per sua bontà. Già gli uomini, sono come i gatti...
– E anche Rosario Testa?
Ella chinò il capo, assentendo, due o tre volte, con quel sorriso.
– Sissignore, anche lui!
La vedova adesso la guardava cogli occhi ardenti e feroci, le labbra pallide come le guance.
– V'ho detto ch'era un discolo, buon'anima. E anch'io, al rivederlo, mi sentivo tutta fiacca, come m'avesse fatto bere. Dicevo di no perché Malannata era lì vicino, a scaricar zolfo nel magazzino dietro la Villa, e tante volte mi aveva detto lui pure: «Bada che se torni con Rosario, vi faccio la festa a tutti e due.» Ma l'amore antico non si scorda più, vossignoria!
– Basta. Dite come avvenne l'omicidio.
– Così, come ve lo dico adesso, signor presidente, col coltello dei fichidindia, quello lì.
– Testa era armato?
– Lui? povero ragazzo! Mi aveva invitato a' fichidindia, una galanteria delle sue, lì, al banco di Pocaroba, che ce li ha di quelli di Paternò, sino a Natale. Pocaroba dice: «Badate che Malannata è in sospetto. L'ho visto che si affaccia ogni momento alla porta del magazzino, e tien d'occhio compare Rosario.» Testa dice: «Lasciatelo guardare, compare Pocaroba, ché me ne rido di Malannata e del suo santo.» Io dicevo che non ne volevo più, di fichidindia, e cercavo di condurlo via; quand'ecco quel cristiano lì correre dall'arco della ferrovia, tutto bianco di zolfo, e cogli occhi come uno che ha bevuto, e in due salti ci fu addosso; afferrò il coltello, dal banco dei fichidindia, prima di dire Gesù e Maria...
– Accusato, avete qualche cosa da rispondere alla deposizione del testimonio?
– Nulla, signor presidente. Questa è la verità.
Allora sorse il pubblico accusatore, togato e solenne, a malgrado della nota mondana dell'alto goletto inglese che gli usciva dal nero della toga; e fulminò il reo colla sua implacabile requisitoria, facendo inorridire i giurati col quadro del vizio abbietto che vive nel fango dei bassi strati sociali per dar l'orrido fiore del delitto senza neppure la febbre della giovinezza, della passione o dell'onore, senza nemmeno la scusa della tentazione o della gelosia. – Il vizio che vive del disonore ed osa ribellarvisi col delitto. – E stendeva verso quel grigio capo avvilito l'indice minaccioso, dall'unghia rosea e lucente.
Le signore, che dovevano alla sua galanteria i posti riservati dell'aula, rianimavano la loro indignazione col profumo della boccetta di sale inglese, soffocate dall'afa; e i larghi ventagli si agitavano vivamente a scacciare il lezzo immondo della colpa, come farfalle gigantesche. Poscia il magistrato si assise tranquillamente, ringraziando con un impercettibile sorriso, all'applauso discreto di quei ventagli che s'inchinavano, ponendosi sul viso il fazzoletto di batista. Solo l'imputato non aveva caldo, seduto sulla sua panchetta, col dorso curvo, il viso color di terra rivolto verso tutte quelle infamie che gli rinfacciavano.
A sua volta prese a parlare l'avvocato. Era un giovane di belle speranze, delegato d'ufficio dal presidente a quella difesa senza compenso. Egli sfoderò tutte le sue brillanti qualità oratorie pel solo onore. Esaminò lo stato psicologico e morale degli attori del lugubre dramma; sciorinò le teorie più nove sul grado di responsabilità umana, argomentò sottilmente intorno alle circostanze di fatto, per farne risultare tutto ciò che occorreva a dimostrare la provocazione grave e l'ingiuria. Qui veniva a taglio una pittura commoventissima di quella morbosa gelosia senile, che doveva avere tutti gli strazi e le collere furibonde dell'umiliazione e dell'abbandono. Sì, egli lo sapeva, non erano le coscienze di uomini onesti, vissuti nel culto della famiglia, resi più sensibili dagli agi, che avrebbero potuto scendere negli abissi di quei cuori tenebrosi e di quelle infime esistenze per scoprire il movente di certe delittuose follìe. Forse soltanto il sentimento più delicato e immaginoso di quelle dame eleganti, avrebbe potuto sorprendere il tenue filo per cui si legano i fatti più mostruosi al sentimento più puro in quegli animi rozzi. Egli seguì cotesta fatale concatenazione che c'è fra tutti i sentimenti e le azioni umane con una analisi così acuta, che più di un onesto padre di famiglia sentì turbata la sua digestione dallo smarrimento della colpa, mentre era lì, seduto a giudicare, pensando al ricolto del podere, o al fresco del terrazzino dove lo stava aspettando la famigliuola. Per poco non si udirono degli applausi alla perorazione dell'avvocato. Lo stesso presidente gli fece velatamente i mirallegro.
– Accusato, avete nulla da aggiungere a vostra discolpa? – conchiuse il presidente.
L'accusato si alzò di nuovo, colle braccia penzoloni lungo la sua stecchita persona, e un gesto vago dell'indice, come d'uomo persuaso di quel che dice.
– Signor presidente, ho ucciso Rosario Testa; devo andare a morte anch'io, com'è scritto nella legge, e va bene. La Malerba, poveretta, è quella che è, e anche ciò va bene. Ma quando me la lasciavano sulla panchina del molo come una scarpa vecchia, chi andava a dirle una buona parola ero io; e a chi ella diceva una buona parola quando aveva il cuore grosso, ero io pure. Gli altri, pazienza, oggi questo, domani quell'altro; le buttavano dei soldi e delle male parole, ed essa non ci pensava più. Ma Testa, nossignore! Essa quando era stata con lui, mi ritornava a casa tutta sossopra, cogli occhi che pareva ci avesse la luminaria dentro. Io glielo aveva detto a Testa: «Guarda che a te non te ne importa. Tu ci hai moglie e figliuoli; ma io non ho che questa qui, Testa!»
Poi tornò a sedersi, accennando ancora del capo, mentre la Corte si ritirava per deliberare. E rimase immobile, nell'ombra, aspettando il suo destino. Era venuta la sera. La folla s'era diradata, e nella sala accendevano il gas. Infine squillò di nuovo un campanello, e comparvero di nuovo le stesse toghe nere, le stesse facce pallide e stanche che guardavano l'imputato. Egli non capiva nulla delle frasi che borbottavano in mezzo a quella folla, nell'ombra. Intese solo il presidente che pronunziava la condanna: – A vita!
E si alzò un'ultima volta, barcollando sulle gambe, accennando sempre coll'indice quel gesto vago ch'era tutta la sua eloquenza, e balbettò:
– Io glielo avevo detto a colui, signor presidente.
# La festa dei morti
Nella collina solitaria, irta di croci sull'occidente imporporato, dove non odesi mai canto di vendemmia né belato d'armenti, c'è un'ora di festa, quando l'autunno muore sulle aiuole infiorate, e i funebri rintocchi che commemorano i defunti dileguano verso il sole che tramonta. Allora la folla si riversa chiassosa nei viali ombreggiati di cipressi, e gli amanti si cercano dietro le tombe.
Ma laggiù, nella riviera nera dove termina la città, c'era una chiesuola abbandonata, che racchiudeva altre tombe, sulle quali nessuno andava a deporre dei fiori. Solo un istante i vetri della sua finestra s'accendevano al tramonto, quasi un faro pei naviganti, mentre la notte sorgeva dal precipizio, e la chiesuola era ancora bianca nell'azzurro, appollaiata come un gabbiano in cima allo scoglio altissimo che scendeva a picco sino al mare. Ai suoi piedi, nell'abisso già nero, sprofondavasi una caverna sotterranea, battuta dalle onde, piena di rumori e di bagliori sinistri, di cui il riflusso spalancava la bocca orlata di spuma nelle tenebre.
Narrava la leggenda che la caverna sotterranea, per un passaggio misterioso, fosse in comunicazione colla sepoltura della chiesetta soprastante; e che ogni anno, il dì dei Morti, nell'ora in cui le mamme vanno in punta di piedi a mettere dolci e giocattoli nelle piccole scarpe dei loro bimbi, e questi sognano lunghe file di fantasmi bianchi carichi di regali lucenti, e le ragazze provano sorridendo dinanzi allo specchio gli orecchini e lo spillone che il fidanzato ha mandato in dono _per i morti_ , un prete sepolto da cent'anni nella chiesuola abbandonata si levasse dal cataletto, colla stola indosso, insieme a tutti gli altri che dormivano insieme a lui nella medesima sepoltura, colle mani pallide in croce, e scendessero a convito nella caverna sottostante, che chiamavasi per ciò «la Camera del Prete». Dal largo, verso Agnone, i naviganti s'additavano l'illuminazione paurosa del festino, come una luna rossa sorgente dalla tetra riviera.
Tutto l'anno, i pescatori che stavano di giorno al sole sugli scogli circostanti, colla lenza in mano, non vedevano altro che lo spumeggiare della marea, quando s'internava muggendo nella «Camera del Prete», e il chiarore verdognolo che ne usciva colla risacca; ma non osavano gettarvi l'amo. Un palombaro che s'era arrischiato a penetrarvi, nuotando sott'acqua, uno che non badava a Dio né al diavolo, pel bisogno che lo stringeva alla gola, e i figliuoli che aspettavano il pane, aveva visto il chiarore ch'era lì dentro, azzurro e ondeggiante al pari di quei fuochi che s'accendono da sé nei cimiteri, il pietrone liscio e piatto, come una gigantesca tavola da pranzo, e i sedili di sasso tutt'intorno, rosi dall'acqua, e bianchi quali ossa al sole. L'onda che s'ingolfava gorgogliando nella caverna, scorreva lenta e livida nell'ombra, e non tornava mai indietro; come non tornò più quel poveretto che s'era strascinato via. L'estate, nell'ora in cui ogni piccola insenatura della riva risonava della gazzarra dei bagnanti, l'onda calma scintillava, rotta dalle braccia di qualche ragazzo che nuotava verso le sottane bianche, formicolanti come fantasmi sulla spiaggia. – Così quel prete, un sant'uomo, aveva perso l'anima e la ragione dietro i fantasmi delle terrene voluttà, il giorno in cui Lei – la tentazione – era venuta a confessargli il suo peccato, nella chiesetta solitaria ridente del sole di Pasqua, col seno ansante e il capo chino, su cui il riflesso dei vetri scintillanti accendeva delle fiamme impure. Da cent'anni le sue ossa, consunte dal peccato, posavano nella fossa, stringendosi sul petto la stola maculata. Ivi non giungevano gli strilli provocanti delle ragazze sorprese nel bagno; né il canto bramoso dei giovani; né le querele delle lavandaie; né il pianto dei fanciulli abbandonati. La luna vi entrava tacita dallo spiraglio aperto nella roccia, e andava a posarsi, uno dopo l'altro, su tutti quei cadaveri stesi in fila nei cataletti, sino in fondo al sotterraneo tenebroso, dove faceva apparire per un istante delle figure strane. L'alba vi cresceva in un chiarore smorto, che al fuggire delle ombre sembrava far correre un ghigno sinistro sulle mascelle sdentate. Il giorno lungo della canicola indugiava sotto le arcate verdognole, con un brulichìo furtivo di esseri immondi in mezzo all'immobilità di quei cadaveri.
Erano defunti d'ogni età e d'ogni sesso; guance ancora azzurrognole, come se fossero state rase ieri l'ultima volta, e bianche forme verginali coperte di fiori; mummie irrigidite nei guardinfanti rigonfi, e toghe corrose che scoprivano le tibie nerastre. Dallo spiraglio aperto nell'azzurro entravano egualmente il soffio caldo dello scirocco, e i gelati aquiloni che facevano svolazzare come farfalle di bruchi le trine polverose e i riccioloni cadenti dai crani gialli. I fiori, già secchi di lagrime, si agitavano pel sotterraneo, come vivi, e andavano a posarsi su altre labbra rose dal tempo; e appena il vento sollevava i funebri lenzuoli, stesi da mani smarrite d'angoscia su caste membra amate, occhi inquieti di rettili immondi guardavano furtivi nelle ossa nude.
Poscia, nell'ore in cui il sole moriva sull'orlo frastagliato dello spiraglio, il ghigno schernitore di tutte le cose umane sembrava allargarsi sui teschi camusi, e le occhiaie vuote farsi più nere e profonde, quasi il dito della morte vi avesse scavato fino alla sorgente delle lagrime. Là non giungeva nemmeno il mormorìo delle preci recitate all'altare in suffragio dei defunti che dormivano sotto il pavimento della chiesuola, e i singhiozzi dei parenti non passavano il marmo della lapide. Le raffiche delle notti di fortuna scorrevano gemendo sulla casa dei morti, senza lasciarvi un pensiero per coloro che in quell'ora erravano laggiù, pel mare tempestoso, coi capelli irti d'orrore al sibilo del vento nel sartiame; né un senso di pietà per le povere donne che aspettavano sulla riva, sferzate dal vento e dalla pioggia; né un ricordo delle lagrime che si lasciarono dietro, nell'ora torbida dell'agonia, e che bagnarono quegli stessi fiori che adesso vanno da una bara all'altra, come li porta il vento. – Così le lagrime si asciugarono dietro il loro funebre convoglio; e le mani convulse che composero nella bara le loro spoglie, si stesero ad altre carezze; e le bocche che pareva non dovessero accostarsi ad altri baci, insegnano ora sorridendo a balbettare i loro nomi ai bimbi inginocchiati ai piedi dello stesso letto, colle piccole mani in croce, perché i buoni morti lascino dei buoni regali ai loro piccoli parenti che non conobbero. – Tanto tempo è passato, insieme alle bufere della notte, e al soffio d'aprile, colle ore che scorrono uniformi e impassibili anch'esse sul campanile della chiesuola, sino a quella del convito!
A quell'ora tutti quegli scheletri si levano ad uno ad uno dalle bare tarlate, coi legacci cascanti sulle tibie spolpate, colla polvere del sepolcro nelle orbite vuote, e scendono in silenzio nella «Camera del Prete», recando nelle falangi scricchiolanti le ghirlande avvizzite, col ghigno beffardo di tutte le cose umane nelle bocche sdentate.
Più nulla! più nulla! – Né la tua treccia bionda, che ti cade dal cranio nudo. – Né i tuoi occhi bramosi, pei quali sfidavo il disonore e la morte, onde portarti il bacio delle labbra che non ho più. Ti rammenti? I baci insaziati dietro quell'uscio! – E neppure i morsi acuti della mia gelosia, il delirio sanguinoso che mi mise in mano l'arma omicida in quell'andito buio. – Né le lagrime che si piangevano attorno al mio letto, e cercavo di stamparmi negli occhi dilatati dall'agonia. – Né le ansie in cui vegliai tante notti davanti a quel guanciale in cui posava la cara testa bianca. – Né le carezze colle quali mi pagavi il latte del mio seno e i dolori della mia maternità. – E neppure le lotte in cui mi son logorato. – Né le speranze che mi hanno accompagnato sin qui. – Né i fiori del campo per cui ho tanto sudato. – Né i libri sui quali ho vissuto tanta e tanta vita. – Né la bestemmia del marinaio che stringe ancora le alighe secche nelle falangi disperate. – Né la preghiera del prete che implora il perdono dei falli umani. – E neppure l'azzurro profondo del cielo tempestato di stelle; né il tenebrore vivente del mare che batte allo scoglio. – L'onda che s'ingolfa gorgogliando nella caverna sotterranea, e scorre lenta e livida sulla «Tavola del Prete» si porta via per sempre le briciole del convito, e la memoria di ogni cosa.
Ora nel costruire la diga del molo nuovo, hanno demolito la chiesuola e scoperchiato la sepoltura. La macchina a vapore vi fuma tutto il giorno nel cielo azzurro e limpido, e l'argano vi geme in mezzo al baccano degli operai. Quando rimossero l'enorme pietrone posato a piatto sul piedistallo di roccia come una tavola da pranzo, un gran numero di granchi ne scappò via; e quanti conoscevano la leggenda, andarono narrando che avevano visto lo spirito del palombaro ivi trattenuto dall'incantesimo. Il mare spumeggiante sotto la catena della gru tornò a distendersi calmo e color del cielo, e scancellò per sempre la leggenda della «Camera del Prete».
Nel raccogliere le ossa del sepolcreto per portarle al cimitero, fu una lunga processione di curiosi; perché frugando fra quegli avanzi, avevano trovato una carta che parlava di denari, e molti pretendevano di essere gli eredi. Infine, non potendo altro, ne cavarono tre numeri pel lotto. Tutti li giocarono; ma nessuno ci prese un soldo.
# Artisti da strapazzo
Su tutte le cantonate immensi cartelloni a tre colori annunziavano:
CAFFÈ-CONCERTO NAZIONALE
QUESTA SERA
debutto di MADAMIGELLA EDVIGE
GRAN SUCCESSO DEL GIORNO
_senza aumento sul prezzo delle consumazioni._
I pochi avventori mattutini del CAFFÈ-CONCERTO NAZIONALE già avvezzi ai _grandi successi_ , non degnavano neppure di un'occhiata il lenzuolo bianco, verde e rosso, sciorinato dietro il banco, sul capo della padrona, la quale stava discutendo con una ragazza alta e magra, che la supplicava a voce bassa, in atteggiamento umile, infagottata nella cappa lisa. In un canto il lavapiatti sbracciato scopava un tavolone che la sera faceva da palco, parato a drappelloni bianchi, verdi e rossi; ornato di corone d'alloro, di carta, che pendevano malinconiche.
La padrona scrollava il capo ostinatamente, stringendosi nelle spalle. L'altra insisteva sempre a mani giunte, facendosi rossa, quasi piangendo. Infine, come entrò un forestiero stracco a bere un moka da venti centesimi, col naso sul giornale del giorno innanzi, la ragazza si rassegnò ad intascare i pochi soldi che la padrona le contava ad uno ad uno sul marmo, con un fare d'elemosina.
Alle otto in punto di sera, accesi i lumi del pianoforte, il maestro, un giovanotto allampanato sotto una gran barba e uno zazzerone che se lo mangiavano, dopo un grande inchino alla sala quasi vuota, incominciò timidamente una _ouverture_ di propria fabbrica, mentre il CAFFÈ-CONCERTO NAZIONALE andavasi popolando a poco a poco. Dopo montò sul tavolone un pezzo d'uomo, vestito tutto di rosso come un gambero cotto, con due enormi sopracciglia alla chinese, per darsi un'aria satanica, e dei cornetti inargentati. Egli si mise ad urlare «la canzone dell'oro» come un ossesso, allargando le gambe sul tavolato, stendendo gli artigli minacciosi verso l'uditorio, con certi occhi terribili e certe boccacce sardoniche che volevano incutere terrore. Al «dio dell'oro» mescolavasi l'acciottolìo dei piattini, lo sbattere dell'usciale e la voce dei tavoleggianti, i quali gridavano – Panna e cioccolata! – oppure – Tazza Vienna! – Mefistofele salutò lo scarso pubblico, che non gli badava, e scese adagio adagio la scaletta col mantelletto ad ali di pipistrello che gli sventolava dietro.
– Stasera avremo il gran debutto, – osservò un avventore che centellava da tre quarti d'ora una chicchera di _levante._
– Il successo del giorno! – grugnì il vicino, ch'era sempre lì a quell'ora, colla coppa di Vienna vuota dinanzi, un mucchio di giornali sotto la mano, e la moglie addormentata accanto.
Infatti, dopo il pezzo con variazioni per pianoforte sulla _Stella confidente_ venne il duetto dell' _Ernani_ , e comparve un'altra volta dalla cucina il baritono, vestito alla spagnuola, con un medaglione d'ottone che gli ballava sul ventre, e un cappello piumato in testa, facendo largo a madamigella Edvige, tutta di bianco come un fantasma, sotto la polvere d'amido e la veste di raso del rigattiere.
– Che braccia magre! – osservò un dilettante, malgrado i guanti lunghi e duri di benzina.
Carlo V offrì cavallerescamente la mano ad Elvira per montare sul palco malfermo, e lì, dinanzi alla gran sala piena di fumo il duello incominciò. Ahimè! una vera delusione pel pubblico e pel caffettiere. Madamigella Edvige aveva una voce stridente che faceva voltare arrabbiati anche i tranquilli lettori di giornali; e la poveretta, pallida come una morta, aveva un bell'annaspare colle mani, e dimenare i fianchi, rizzandosi sulla punta delle scarpette di raso troppo larghe, per acchiappare le note. Una voce, dal fondo della sala gridò: – Presto! un bicchier d'acqua! – E tutto l'uditorio scoppiò a ridere. Carlo V invece se la cavava magnificamente, avendo le signore dalla sua, pei suoi _effetti di polpa_ , sotto le maglie di colore incerto, e le sue note alte che assordavano perfino i camerieri, e facevano tintinnare le gocciole delle lumiere. La _debuttante_ scese dal palco più morta che viva, incespicando, colle sottane in mano, fra gli spintoni dei tavoleggianti che correvano di qua e di là, portando i vassoi in aria.
Il dilettante di prima osservò pure:
– Che piedi!
Seduta in un cantuccio della cucina, fra i lazzi degli sguatteri, e il fumo delle casseruole, la _debuttante_ aspettava scorata la sua sentenza, ed anche la cena, ch'era compresa nell'onorario, alla tavola comune, insieme al cuoco, il baritono, i camerieri ed il maestro, ancora in cravatta bianca. Quest'ultimo, un gran buon diavolo, malgrado la sua barbona, cercava di confortarla come poteva: – La sala era tanto sorda. Chissà, una seconda volta, quando fosse stata più sicura dei _suoi mezzi_... – La poveretta rispondeva di tanto in tanto con un'occhiata umile e riconoscente a quelle buone parole. Il baritono intanto, con un pastrano peloso gettato sul giustacuore di Carlo V, e un tovagliuolo al collo, divorava in silenzio. – Artisti bisogna nascere! – osservò infine a bocca piena.
La padrona, chiuso il libro e spenti i lumi del Caffè, era scesa in cucina a dare un'occhiata. Alla povera ragazza, che aspettava col viso ansioso, disse bruscamente:
– Cara mia, me ne dispiace, ma non ne facciamo nulla. Avete visto che fiasco?
L'altra rimaneva a capo chino, coi fiori di carta nei capelli, e le spalle infarinate. – Mangiate, mangiate pure! – ripigliava la padrona, una buona donna. – Che diamine! Non voglio che la gente vada via a pancia vuota da casa mia. – Il maestro, che pensava al poi, le spingeva il piatto sotto il naso. Ma la poveretta non aveva più fame; si sentiva la gola come stretta dai singhiozzi; andava riponendo adagio adagio nella borsetta i guanti lavati, i fiori di carta, e le scarpette di raso; senza però poter risolversi ad andarsene. Due ragazzacci, che parlavano forse di tutt'altro, si misero a sghignazzare. Allora essa salutò umilmente tutti, e se ne andò.
Sulla porta un cameriere in giubba stava spengendo i lumi, e staccava il cartellone del Concerto, canticchiando: – Gran successo del giorno!
Per la via buia e deserta da stringere il cuore, correvano le prime raffiche d'autunno. Il maestro, mosso a compassione, le era corso dietro:
– Vuol essere accompagnata a casa?... Senza complimenti.
– No, grazie, sto lontano assai.
– Diamine! diamine! Anch'io sono aspettato a casa... Ma non posso lasciarla andare sola come un cane... Vuol dire che affretteremo il passo.
– Davvero... Non vorrei abusare...
– No, no... Spicciamoci piuttosto! Anche per me è tardi... Ci ha qualcuno che l'aspetti?
– Nossignore, nessuno.
– Almeno ci avrà qualche conoscente qui?
– Neppure, signore; sono arrivata la settimana scorsa da Alessandria, con una lettera pel Caffè Nazionale: una mia compagna che vi era stata questa primavera. Mi disse che ci avrei trovato qualche cosa, non molto, è vero, ma nella stagione morta, sa bene... Ad Alessandria erano rimaste cinquanta persone sulla strada, dopo la fuga dell'impresario. Dicono che anche lui ci abbia perso tutto il suo...
Il maestro pensava intanto a quei giorni terribili in cui una notizia simile era arrivata come un fulmine al Caffè, sulla faccia stravolta di un artista, e s'erano trovati tutti, raccolti dallo stesso terrore, davanti alla porta chiusa del teatro. Poi erano corsi in folla all'agenzia, come pazzi, in paese straniero, in mezzo a gente di cui non conoscevano la lingua, e che si fermava sorridendo al passaggio di quella turba affamata. E le lunghe ore dei giorni interminabili, ingannate al Caffè, il solo rifugio, con una tazza di birra dinanzi; le notti terribili d'inverno; le camicie portate tre settimane; il mozzicone di sigaro raccattato di nascosto. Sentiva perciò una grande simpatia per quell'altra derelitta, e le andava dicendo:
– Coraggio! coraggio! Bisogna farsi animo! L'aiuterò anch'io, come posso... È vero che non posso far molto... Son forestiero come lei... E non sono stato sempre fortunato... Ma vedrà che il buon tempo giungerà anche per lei... Diavolo! diavolo! Dov'è andata a scovarlo quest'albergo, così lontano?
– Me lo indicarono laggiù... perché spendessi poco... Mi rincresce per lei!...
– No, no... È che m'aspettano a casa... Sanno l'ora, press'a poco... Mi toccherà inventare qualche storiella... Ma lei non pensi a questo... Deve aver altro in testa, lei, poveretta! Ci dorma su; si faccia animo, ché quanto potrò lo farò ben volentieri per lei.
– Oh, signore!... Com'è buono!...
– Niente, niente, una mano lava l'altra. Se non ci aiutiamo fra di noi!... Il male è che non posso far molto!...
Infine ella disse:
– È qui. – Picchiò all'uscio di un albergaccio d'infima classe, e gli strinse la mano colle lagrime agli occhi. Aveva la faccia tanto buona, colla barba lunga, e il misero paletò che il vento gli incollava addosso come fosse di lustrino. Dalla finestra una vociaccia assonnata rispose brontolando: – Vengo vengo! Bell'ora di tornare a casa!
Anche lui, in quel momento, la guardò negli occhi, le strinse forte la mano due o tre volte, mosse le labbra, per dire qualche cosa, infine proruppe: – Me ne vado, sono aspettato. Buona notte! Buona notte! – E partì correndo.
La stanzuccia, che pigliava lume da un finestruolo sulla scala, costava cinquantacinque centesimi al giorno tre soldi di pane e latte la mattina trentacinque centesimi il desinare. La sera poi doveva spendere altri sei soldi per andare al Caffè Nazionale, dove era quasi certa di vedere il maestro, la sola persona che conoscesse nella città. Negli intermezzi, quando poteva, egli andava a salutarla; da lontano, prima di parlare, gli si vedeva in viso la stessa notizia scoraggiante: – Nulla ancora! – Poi, al vederla così trista e rassegnata, colla chicchera di caffè vuota sul tavolino, voleva pagar lui. Ma essa non permetteva, arrossendo sino ai capelli. – No, signore, un'altra volta! – Egli non osava insistere, ma avrebbe voluto che lei lo considerasse come un vero amico, come un fratello. Le confidava i suoi piccoli guai, anche lui, per incoraggiarla. Le narrò a poco a poco tutta la sua vita, proprio come a una sorella, oggi una cosa, domani l'altra. Il fallimento dello zio che s'era preso cura di lui orfano; la vocazione strozzata dal bisogno, il pane trovato con mille stenti qua e là, tutta la sua giovinezza scolorita, scoraggiata, senza gioie, senza fede, senza amore. Essa allora sorrideva, scotendo il capo con una grazia giovanile che la faceva tornar bella. – No, no! Ve lo giuro! Mai! – Allora chinavano il viso, malinconici. Una volta i loro occhi s'incontrarono, e si fecero rossi tutti e due.
Ma spesso egli giungeva accompagnato da un donnone coi baffi come un uomo d'arme, la quale aveva il colorito acceso, ed era serrata in una veste di seta grigia che pareva dovesse scoppiare a ogni momento, con un cappellone di felpa in capo ornato di piume rosse. Quelle volte il maestro non osava muoversi neppure; e la sua compagna, da lontano, non lo perdeva di vista un momento, sotto le piume rosse del cappellone. – È la mia padrona di casa, una buona donna, – le aveva detto lui. – Ma quando ci vede insieme faccia finta di niente, per carità!
Fu come una fitta al cuore. Il baritono che l'incontrò per la strada, tutta sottosopra, le propose di accompagnarla. – Permettereste voi, mia bella damigella, d'offrirvi il braccio mio, per far la strada insieeem? – Ella ricusava. Andava molto lontano... Non voleva abusare... – Ma che! ma che! Bagattelle! D'altronde son ben coperto. Con questa pelliccia qui, potrei andare sino al Polo! Senta! senta! Un regalo dei miei ammiratori di Odessa. Tutta volpe di Siberia; una bestia che vende cara la sua pelle. Questa qui vale cinquecento lire! Eh! eh! Comincia presto l'inverno quest'anno! Non c'è male, n'è vero?... Buona notte, maestro!
Questi passava rattrappito nel suo paletò, dando il braccio alla sua compagna, di cui la veste grigia luccicava come un'armatura sotto il lampione. – È la fiamma del maestro, – aggiunse il baritono. – Una pira, come vede! Però un buon diavolaccio anche lui! Un po' timido, un po' _bagnato_ , come diciam noi, ma il mestiere lo conosce, ve lo dico io! Quando vi siete mangiate quelle note della cabaletta, la sera del vostro _debutto_ , vi rammentate? do, sol, do, nessuno se n'è accorto. Peccato che non riempiano lo stomaco le note che si mangiano, eh! eh! eh! Capisco, capisco, l'emozione, la paura... Ma bisogna aver la faccia tosta, mia cara; e sputar fuori le vostre note pensando che quanti stanno ad ascoltarvi sono tutti una manica di cretini, se no non si fa nulla! Però vorrei sapere chi è quel boia che vi ha messo in questo mestiere, senza voce come siete!
– La voce ce l'avevo. Fui ammalata tanto tempo e d'allora in poi, al principio dell'inverno ci ho sempre come una spina qui...
– Ah! ah! Peccato! Alle volte, vedete, succedono di queste cose che si farebbe scendere Dio e la Madonna di lassù!
In fondo, del cuore ce ne aveva anche lui, sotto la pelliccia, e sapendo che era a spasso cercava di consolarla come poteva.
– Bisogna farsi animo, mia cara amica. Cent'anni di malinconia non ci procurerebbero una sola giornata buona. E poi son cose che abbiamo passate tutti quanti. La va così, per noi altri artisti. Oggi fame, domani fama! Non parlo per me, ché non posso lagnarmi, grazie a Dio! M'hanno sempre voluto bene da per tutto! Guardate questo anello di brillanti! E queste catenelle d'oro, oro di ventiquattro carati, garantito! Ma ogni santo ha la sua festa. Vedrete che verrà la vostra festa anche per voi!
Chiacchierava, chiacchierava, con una certa bonomia che proveniva in quel momento dallo stomaco pieno, dalla pelliccia calda, dal bicchierino di cognac, e anche dalla vicinanza di quella giovane simpatica, che sentiva tremare di freddo sotto il suo braccio nella via deserta. – Vedrete che verrà la vostra festa. Bisogna tentare un'altra volta; in un'altra piazza, ben inteso! Peccato che non abbiate voce! Avete provato se vi vanno le canzonette allegre? Per quelle si fa anche a meno della voce. Ma occorrono altri requisiti: del tupè, l'occhio ardito, i fianchi sciolti... e un po' più di polpa, che diavolo! È vero che questa può venire... siete giovane!...
Così dicendo l'esaminava dalla testa ai piedi, ogni volta che passavano sotto un lampione, col fare allegro e senza cerimonie di buon camerata. – E non bisogna far tante smorfie, cara mia. Colle smorfie non si mangia. E non aver neppure dei grilli in capo. Io, come mi vedete, ho fatto i primi teatri del mondo; potete dimandare a chi volete di Arturo Gennaroni; eppure quando vennero ad offrirmi la scrittura pel Concerto del Caffè Nazionale non mi feci tirar le orecchie. Si piglia quel che capita. Oggi qui, domani là. Come? ci siamo digià? Avrei fatto altri due passi, per avere il piacere di stare con voi ancora. Il tempo passa presto. Che bella serata, in così buona compagnia! eh? Un freddo secco che fa bene allo stomaco. È quello il vostro albergo? Hum! hum! Quasi quasi v'offrivo ospitalità in casa mia!
E com'essa si stringeva all'uscio: – Eh, non abbiate paura! Che non voglio mica mangiarvi per forza. Non volete? Buona notte!
Il maestro le aveva procurato due o tre indirizzi d'agenti teatrali ai quali l'aveva raccomandata. La presentò ad un impresario che montava un'operetta. Tutti rispondevano: – Pel momento non c'è nulla. – L'impresario soggiunse – Bisogna vedere se possedete qualcos'altro di bello, figliuola mia, perché la voce se n'è andata. Be', be', se avete di questi scrupoli non ne parliamo più!
Ella tornava indietro così avvilita che il maestro si fece animo per dirle:
– Sentite... È un pezzo che volevo dirvelo... Se avete bisogno di denaro... forestiera come siete... senza amici... senza avere altri conoscenti... Non son ricco, è vero... Ma quel poco che ho. No! no! non vi offendete. È un imprestito, vedete! Come fra fratello e sorella!...
Ella scoppiò a piangere.
– Dio mio! Vi ho forse offesa! Non intendevo offendervi, vi giuro. Se mi voleste un po' di bene anche voi!... Io ve ne voglio tanto!... Basta, basta, perdonatemi! Sia per non detto! Ma promettetemi almeno che se mai... il giorno in cui... Pensate che vi voglio bene... come un fratello... E vorrei che anche voi...
Ella gli stringeva le mani, colle lagrime agli occhi, per dirgli di sì... che anche lei... che gli prometteva...
Ma piuttosto sarebbe morta. Da tutti, da tutti, prima che da lui! Glien'era riconoscente, sì! Avrebbe voluto anzi dirgli tante cose, per provarglielo, che non ci aveva più nessun altro in cuore... che quell'altro a poco a poco se n'era andato via, com'era andato lontano; e domandargli della donna che spesso veniva con lui al Caffè, e le dava una stretta al cuore... delle sciocchezze; ma non sapeva da che parte incominciare. Egli sembrava sulle spine, ogni volta ch'erano insieme, guardava intorno, con aria inquieta; evitando d'incontrarla, nelle vie frequentate; scappando subito con un pretesto se c'era gente.
Uno dopo l'altro aveva prima impegnato i pochi oggetti che avessero qualche valore: gli orecchini, il braccialetto d'argento dorato, la poca roba d'estate, fino il baule dove la teneva; tanto non poteva più andarsene. Poscia vendette le polizze dei pegni. Alla posta, l'ultima speranza degli sventurati in paese straniero, le rispondevano invariabilmente, due volte al giorno:
– Nulla!
Una sera che ne usciva barcollante, incontrò il baritono, Arturo Gennaroni, sempre impellicciato, che le fece un gran saluto cerimonioso, levando in alto il cappello come se volesse dire evviva! Giusto voleva presentarle l'amico che era con lui – Temistocle Marangoni, il primo basso del mondo! – un uomo di mezza età, tutto capelli e barba, con un cappellone a cono, drappeggiato in un mantello grigio, e che sembrava che parlasse di sottoterra. – E dove corre, signora Edvige? Voleva sfuggirmi? Non è mica in collera con me, spero!
Ella si scusava di non aver udito perché credeva che non dicesse a lei: – Io mi chiamo Assunta. Ma sul cartellone la padrona del Caffè pretendeva che quel nome non facesse...
– È vero, è vero. Anche il mio è un nome di guerra, per riguardi di famiglia, sa bene. Mio padre è il primo negoziante di Napoli. Laggiù hanno ancora dei pregiudizi... sa bene... Veniamo con lei, se non le dispiace.
Strada facendo aggiunse che era libero quella sera, perché la padrona del Caffè Nazionale l'aveva licenziato – una cabala che gli avevano inventato contro per gelosia di donne. Temistocle, lì, poteva dirlo. – Il basso agitava il barbone per attestarlo. Anche a lui gli avevano rubato la scrittura, quel porco di Gigi Lotti, una scrittura di seimila franchi, viaggio intero pagato, col pretesto che la conferma al telegramma non era venuta. Ma gli voleva rompere il muso, la prima volta che l'incontrava alla birreria! Gennaroni, intanto che il suo amico si sfogava, chiedeva ad Assunta cosa avrebbe fatto della sua serata. – Si voleva andare al Concerto del Caffè Nazionale? Sentirebbero che porcherie! Lui se le sarebbe godute mezzo mondo, e si sarebbe fregate le mani magari se quella carogna della padrona fosse venuta ginocchioni a supplicarlo e ad offrirgli doppia paga. – Andiamo, andiamo. Pago io, Temistocle! Dei soldi, grazie a Dio, ce n'è sempre qui. Veniteci anche voi, bella Assuntina. Chissà che non troverete il fatto vostro?
Sul tavolato, in mezzo al gran fumo della sala, una donna cogli occhi neri come avesse il colèra, e i pomelli color cinabro, nuda fino allo stomaco, strillava con voce rauca delle canzonette che facevano andare in visibilio l'uditorio, schioccando le dita, e con una mossa dei fianchi che faceva svolazzare la sua gonnella corta sino ai legaccioli. Un vecchiotto, seduto in prima fila, col mento sul pomo dell'ombrello, si crogiolava dal piacere, ammiccando ai vicini, ridendo nella bazza, applaudendo anche col cranio calvo sino alle orecchie. Una modesta famigliuola, padre, madre e figliuoli in abbondanza, era venuta a solennizzare la festa al Caffè, ridendo saporitamente; solo la maggiore, una ragazzina magra e nera come un tizzone, dimenticava perfino il sorbetto per ascoltare la cantatrice, sgranando degli occhi enormi, seria seria. Altri, nella sala, vociavano, picchiavano colle mazze ed i pugni sui tavolini, facevano un chiasso indiavolato, accompagnando il ritornello, interrompendolo con esclamazioni da trivio. Gennaroni ripeteva: – Ditemi poi se questa è arte! Ditemi se non è una vera porcheria! – Tutt'a un tratto si vide la gente affollarsi davanti al palco, intorno a un omettino in tuba il quale gesticolava colle mani in aria. La donna invece si ostinava, col viso sfacciato, cercando cogli occhi nella folla i suoi adoratori. Un tale, vestito da operaio, coi baffi grossi e la faccia dura, si arrampicò sul tavolato in mezzo ai fischi che assordavano, e prese la cantante per le spalle, spingendola verso due questurini in uniforme che s'erano fatti largo a furia di spintoni, e agitavano le braccia. Il gruppo scomparve nella folla, verso la cucina, fra un uragano di fischi, d'urli e di risate. Il baritono si dimenava come un ossesso, smanacciando, gridando: – Bravo! bis! – Poi corse a stringere la mano al maestro, ancora sbalordito dinanzi al pianoforte.
– Che cagnara, eh! Ma la colpa non è tua, poveretto! Ci ho gusto per quella carogna della padrona, la quale pretendeva di averne le tasche piene di musica seria, lei e il suo pubblico. Come se non glielo avessimo fatto noi questo pubblico! E non le avessi fatto guadagnare più quattrini che non abbia capelli nella parrucca, quella strega!
Intanto si sbracciava per farsi scorgere, gesticolando, gridando forte, calcandosi ogni momento la tuba sull'orecchio, posando di tre quarti, col bavero della pelliccia rialzato sino alle orecchie, malgrado il gran caldo, e un fazzoletto di seta al collo, come avesse avuto un tesoro da custodirvi.
– Dovresti farle intendere ragione, a quella stupida. Dovresti metterti in mezzo. S'è quistione di soldi, si può aggiustarsi. Non ho mai fatto quistione di quattrini per l'arte. Ma bisogna concludere subito. Sì o no! Ho delle offerte magnifiche per l'estero. Domattina devo dare una risposta.
Poi tornò al suo posto trionfante, facendosi largo nella folla. – Ah! ah! ve lo dicevo io! Ora tornano a pregarmi! Mi hanno offerto carta bianca. Hanno bisogno di me per fare andare la baracca!
Il basso gongolava, come se si fosse trattato di lui, e picchiava sul tavolino per ordinare altra birra. – Ogni conoscente che entrava nel Caffè lo invitava a prendere qualche cosa, facendo segno coll'ombrello, chiamando ad alta voce. – Tienti sulla tua, sai, Gennaroni! Fatti tirar le orecchie, prima di dir di sì! – L'altro scrollava il capo, minaccioso, come a dire: – Vedrete! vedrete! – Poi si alzava in piedi e faceva le presentazioni in regola: – Romolo Silvani, primo ballerino. – Augusto Baracconi, primo tenore assoluto, e suo fratello. – Ernesto Lupi, distinto pittore. – Fiasco completo, amici miei! Peccato che siate venuti tardi! – Essi, per cortesia, tornavano a pregarlo che narrasse. Ma Baracconi fratello stava col naso nel bicchiere, tutto intento a godersi il trattamento; Lupi disegnava delle caricature sul marmo del tavolino; il tenore diceva roba da chiodi di un collega sottovoce con Marangoni, e Silvani, dall'altro lato, domandava se quella bella giovane appartenesse all'amico Gennaroni, lisciandosi i baffettini neri come la pece, accarezzando la chioma inanellata, componendo la faccetta incartapecorita a un risolino seduttore. Tutti quanti però, a ogni pezzo nuovo, quando Gennaroni atteggiava il viso a una boccaccia di disgusto, facevano coro per sdebitarsi coll'amico, battendo in terra coi tacchi e coi bastoni, vociando basta! basta! mettendosi a sghignazzare. Il baritono infine, vedendo che il maestro non osava prendere le sue parti, quasi fosse inchiodato al pianoforte, andò a salutare la padrona del Caffè, colla scappellata alta, tutto gentilezze, mentre essa cambiava i gettoni e teneva d'occhio i garzoni che uscivano dalla cucina. In quella entrò il donnone del maestro, più accesa in viso che mai. Aveva udito il baccano dalla strada, mentre veniva a prendere Bebè.
– No, no, lui non ci ha colpa, – le dicevano gli amici.
Gennaroni, che tornava dal banco fuori di sé, aggiunse ch'era proprio un bebè, un pulcino bagnato, uno che non era capace di dire due parole per un amico. Le domandava ridendo se le capitava di dargli le sculacciate, qualche volta.
L'altra continuava a ridere, scrollando le piume del cappello. – No, no, era così buono il poveretto! proprio come un fanciullo! A lasciarlo fare se lo sarebbero mangiato vivo, certe sgualdrinelle che sapeva lei! – Infine se lo prese sotto il braccio, e se lo portò via. Gli altri se n'erano andati pure ad uno ad uno. Il basso protestò che correva a vedere se era giunto il telegramma, e piantò il bicchierone vuoto su di una pila di piattelli. Assunta rimaneva sbalordita, colla tazza a metà piena, il cappellino di paglia e la eterna cappa grigia che la facevano sembrare più misera. Nell'uscire barcollava perché non aveva preso altro tutto il giorno, quasi il chiasso le avesse dato alla testa. – Che avete? – chiese Gennaroni. – Eh, la birra! Non ci sarete avvezza! – Essa invece pensava a quella disgraziata che l'avevano mandata via coi questurini. – Non temete, no; che il pane non gli manca a quella lì... e il letto neppure! – conchiuse il baritono.
Tirava vento, e cominciavano a cadere i primi goccioloni della pioggia. – Sentite, cara Assunta. Adesso dovreste fare una bella cosa; venirvene a casa mia e scacciare insieme la malinconia! Avete visto come fanno gli altri? Ciascuno colla sua ciascuna! Ci avete il vostro ciascuno voi?
Ella non rispondeva, colla testa sconvolta, il cuore stretto da un'angoscia vaga, un senso di sconcerto nello stomaco, davanti agli occhi una visione confusa dell'albergatrice arcigna che voleva esser pagata, dell'impiegato postale che le rispondeva – nulla! – dei visi sconosciuti in mezzo ai quali andava e veniva tutto il giorno, della donna enorme che si era portato il maestro sotto il braccio, intirizzita dalla tramontana, coi ginocchi che le si piegavano sotto. L'altro seguitava a stordirla chiacchierando, soffiandole sul viso le sue parole calde e il fumo del sigaro, stringendole forte il braccio sotto la pelliccia. Allo svoltare di un'altra via essa alzava gli occhi, e si guardava intorno, balbettando: – Dove andiamo? Dove andiamo? – come fuori di sé. Gennaroni le diceva adesso delle parole dolci e sonore che la stordivano: – Vieni meco! Sol di rose, intrecciar ti vo' la vita... – Colla chiave che s'era levata di tasca aveva aperto un usciolino sgangherato. Nell'androne buio, prima d'accendere un fiammifero, se la strinse sul costato come nel melodramma, di tre quarti, un braccio sulla spalla e l'altro sotto l'ascella.
Là, nel lettuccio magro e cencioso della cameraccia nuda che prendeva lume da un cortiletto puzzolente, ella gli narrò il povero romanzo della sua vita, per quel bisogno d'abbandono con cui gli si era data, mentre egli sbadigliava, cogli occhi gonfi, e l'alba insudiciava le pareti untuose, da cui pendevano appesi ai chiodi i costumi stinti da teatro. – Aveva amato un giovane che usciva dal Conservatorio, con due o tre spartiti pronti, e intanto s'era messo a dozzina in casa loro, per sessanta lire al mese, tutto compreso. Gli altri pigionali erano un professore, un impiegato al dazio, e due studenti. Sua sorella lavorava in un magazzino di guanti; il babbo era guardia municipale; lei gli avevano consigliato d'imparare il canto, che sarebbe stata una fortuna per tutti, e le avevano fatto lasciare anche il mestiere d'orlatrice, col quale si sciupava le mani, per novanta centesimi al giorno. Finché giungevano le vacanze, nove mesi dell'anno, si stava piuttosto bene. Poi quando gli studenti se ne partivano, il professore andava a fare i bagni, e l'impiegato desinava in un'osteria fuori porta per risparmiare i sei soldi dell'omnibus, si restringevano un po' nelle spese, e il giovane del Conservatorio s'adattava con loro, proprio come uno della famiglia. Le domeniche andavano a spasso insieme; qualche volta egli portava un bel cocomero, e si faceva festa, nel terrazzino. Soleva dire scherzando: – Ce ne ricorderemo poi, quando saremo ricchi, sora Assunta! – Era così buono! aveva negli occhi un non so che, come vedesse lontano tante cose; e diceva che l'arte gli pingeva delle nuvole d'oro sconfinate nel pezzettino di cielo che si vedeva al di sopra del vicoletto, allungando il collo. La sera si metteva a sonare al buio, pratico com'era della tastiera, ed essa stava ad ascoltare più che poteva, dietro l'uscio, quella bella musica che le penetrava al cuore come una dolcezza. Egli, che se n'era accorto infine, le diceva di tanto in tanto: – Le piace? Dice davvero? – Voleva pure che Assunta gli cantasse la sua musica. Un giorno che la sua voce gli era piaciuta tanto, tanto che a lei stessa le sembrava fosse un'altra che cantasse, egli si alzò all'improvviso dal pianoforte, e la strinse fra le braccia, tutta tremante anche lei, senza sapere quel che si facessero.
La mamma, povera e santa donna, non ne seppe nulla. Allorché fu impossibile nascondere quello che era avvenuto, il giovane scappò al suo paese, per paura del babbo municipale. Ella ne fece una malattia mortale, durante la quale la mamma sola veniva a trovarla di nascosto. Un giorno le disse piangendo che lui se n'era andato via lontano, in Grecia, in Turchia, molto lontano insomma! Ora svaniva l'ultima speranza. All'ospedale, appena fu guarita, non vollero lasciarla. Il babbo aveva giurato che non l'avrebbe più ricevuta in casa sua. Un avventore della guantaia dove lavorava sua sorella le aveva procurato una scrittura di corista al Politeama. D'allora aveva girato il mondo, da un teatro all'altro, viaggiando in terza classe, dormendo in alberghi dove la notte venivano a bussarle all'uscio e a minacciarla, digiunando spesso per mantenersi onesta, passando lunghe ore nell'anticamera di un'agenzia, assediando il camerino dell'impresa per esser pagata, impegnando la roba d'estate per coprirsi l'inverno. A Mantova s'era ammalata d'angina, mentre provavano il _Ruy Blas_ , e aveva perso la voce. La mamma era morta giusto mentre era all'ospedale. Il babbo s'era rimaritato. La sorella era andata via di casa per non stare colla matrigna.
– Un bel porco, quel tuo allievo del Conservatorio! te lo dico io! – conchiuse Gennaroni, stirandosi le braccia.
Ora purtroppo gli era cascata addosso quella tegola sul capo! per un momento di debolezza, per aver troppo cuore, e non trovare il verso di dirle: – Cara mia, ogni bel giuoco vuol durar poco! – Ella non se ne dava per intesa, aveva fatto lì il nido come una rondine. Una che non era neanche buona a stirargli i solini, o a fargli uno stufatino con patate. Giusto in quel momento poi che si trovava a spasso, e i soldi volavano come avessero le ali! Vero che la poveretta non si lagnava mai, fossero carezze o schiaffi, mangiava poco, e non chiedeva neppure un paio di scarpe. Ma, tanto, era un altro peso! Agli amici, che le facevano l'occhietto, Gennaroni, fra burbero e scherzoso, soleva dire: – Da cedere con ribasso, per liquidazione!
Avevano preso a frequentare un caffeuzzo oscuro annesso al teatro, una specie di succursale dell'agenzia, dove bazzicavano soltanto gli artisti a spasso, che vi facevano un gran consumo di virginia ai ferri e d'acqua fresca, sparlando dei colleghi assenti, portandovi le prime notizie dei fiaschi, sempre a caccia di cinque lire, e giocando alle carte sulla parola. Gennaroni vi conduceva la sua amante di prima sera, per risparmiare il lume; la faceva sedere nel suo cantuccio, lì, vicino alla stufa, dove nessuno andava a disturbarla, giacché il garzone del caffè era avvezzo a non seccar la gente se prima non lo chiamavano, e si metteva a giocare a scopone, oppure se ne andava pei suoi affari. Spesso le diceva: – Sai, mia cara, io non sono geloso! – Ma il primo ballerino si limitava a strizzarle l'occhio da lontano, col gomito appoggiato al banco, e il busto inarcato sotto la giacchetta bisunta. Marangoni, all'ombra del suo enorme cappellaccio, facendole il solletico colla barbona nel parlarle all'orecchio, le chiedeva, colla sua bella voce che sembrava venire di sotto il tavolino: – Quando verrà il mio quarto d'ora? – E Lupi diceva che voleva farle il ritratto, «se era tutt'oro quello che riluceva». – Oro di coppella, com'è vero Iddio! – sghignazzava Gennaroni. Il tenore invece non parlava d'altro che di scritture e di telegrammi che aspettava; di cabale che gli montavano contro tutti i giorni; di gente a cui voleva rompere il muso. Dell'amore, lui, non sapeva cosa farsi, era buono da mettere in musica soltanto; più d'una volta cogli amici aveva detto chiaro e tondo quel che pensava di Gennaroni, lui stupido che si era appiccicato quel cerotto, una che tossiva sempre, come se gli fossero mancate altre donne, a quel macaco!
Una sera capitò anche il maestro, il quale aveva fatto San Michele lui pure, ora che al Caffè Nazionale c'era un giocatore di bussolotti. Gennaroni si fregava le mani sbraitando: – Vedrete che chiuderanno fra due mesi! Ve lo dico io! – Assunta si sentì come un tuffo nel sangue appena vide entrare il maestro, e avrebbe desiderato che egli non si accorgesse di lei, nel suo cantuccio presso la stufa. Il poveraccio era così disfatto e scombussolato che non sapeva nemmeno come rispondere a tutti coloro che gli facevano ressa intorno. Poi, come la scorse, cogli occhi addosso a lui, andò a salutarla, domandandole come stava, se aveva trovato qualche cosa, nel tempo che non s'erano più visti. Pur troppo, anche lui non aveva trovato nulla!... se no glielo avrebbe fatto subito sapere!... – Dopo che il maestro ebbe voltate le spalle, incominciarono le osservazioni sul conto di lui. – Quello lì se ne rideva! – Era ben appoggiato! – Appoggiato a un vero pilastro! – Baracconi disse una parolaccia.
Verso la fine di dicembre gli avventori del Caffè del teatro sembravano ammattiti, formando dei crocchi animati, disputandosi fra di loro, cavando ogni momento dal portafogli lettere e telegrammi sudici, correndo sull'uscio, ogni volta che s'apriva, per vedere se giungeva un fattorino del telegrafo. Il domani di san Stefano erano tutti lì dalle sette, davanti la porta del Caffè, sotto la pioggia, coll'ombrello aperto, ansiosi, guardandosi in cagnesco fra di loro, delle facce nuove che si vedevano soltanto nelle grandi occasioni, pastrani senza pelo e stivaloni infangati, scialli messi a guisa di pled, cappelloni di donna e sottane che sgocciolavano sul marciapiedi.
Alcuni dei vecchi mancavano: il tenore, un basso, rimorchiatovi da poco dal Silvani, e due o tre altri, di cui i rimasti dicevano corna. Attraverso l'usciale si udiva come un brontolìo sordo di rivoluzione nello stanzone vuoto, dove il Lupi beveva a piccoli sorsi un caffè caldo, schizzando la testata di un giornale davanti al garzone in maniche di camicia che gli si buttava addosso per vedere, col ventre sul tavolino.
Assunta, rimasta a casa, stava facendo cuocere due uova in una caffettiera posata sullo scaldino, quando udì picchiare all'uscio, e le comparve dinanzi il maestro all'improvviso, così in camiciuola com'era e ancor spettinata. Egli stesso pareva così turbato che non si accorse del suo imbarazzo:
– Lei!... Lei qui! Come ha saputo?... – Gennaroni stesso. Siamo stati insieme. – Ella avvampò in viso, cercando macchinalmente i bottoni della camiciuola. – Venivo a portarle una buona notizia... Un mio amico che è incaricato di formare una compagnia pel Cairo... m'ha promesso di scritturarla.
– Ma... Non saprei... Così lontano...
– No, no, bisogna risolversi piuttosto... Bisogna accettare.
– È che... dovrei parlarne prima a un'altra persona... Non potrei risolvermi da sola... così su due piedi...
Il maestro le afferrò le mani, quasi per forza:
– Bisogna accettare! Dica di sì... È pel suo meglio!
Essa non l'aveva mai visto a quel modo. Allora colla gola stretta da un'angoscia vaga, si fece animo per interrogarlo... Voleva sapere... – Egli partirà stasera col diretto. Deve imbarcarsi a Genova domani, – disse infine il maestro. – Chi gliel'ha detto? – Lui stesso; lo sanno tutti. – La poveretta cercò una seggiola brancolando. – No! no!... Non può essere! Non mi ha detto nulla!... Stamattina ancora!... – Glielo dirà poi, quand'è il momento di partire... A che scopo tormentarla avanti tempo? – È vero! è vero!...
Allora si mise a piangere cheta cheta nel grembiule. Poscia, quando fu un po' più calma, si asciugò gli occhi, senza dir nulla, e si mise a preparargli la valigia, un bauletto di cuoio nero tutto strappi e scontrini di ferrovia: le camicie di flanella, la scatola dei polsini, le pantofole slabbrate, la pipa nella quale egli soleva fumare, il berretto di pelo che teneva in casa, i costumi da teatro appesi ai chiodi – ogni oggetto che toglieva dal solito posto si sentiva staccare pure dal seno qualche cosa, dinanzi a quelle pareti nude. Il maestro l'aiutava. Gennaroni, tornando a casa, li trovò in quelle faccende. – Bravi! Bravi! Gliel'hai detto? – In fondo era davvero un buon diavolaccio, penetrato sino al cuore dalla dolcezza con cui Assunta s'era rassegnata.
– Così buona! così giudiziosa, povera ragazza! Tutto l'opposto del tuo carabiniere, eh!
Egli voleva anche abbracciarla dinanzi al maestro, strizzava l'occhio a costui perché li lasciasse soli. Ma Assunta gli faceva segno di non andarsene, cogli occhi gonfi di lagrime. – Non l'avrebbe dimenticata, no; finch'era al mondo! Del resto le montagne sole non s'incontrano. Intanto dava una mano anche lui per aiutarla, correndole dietro dal cassettone al letto, su cui era il baule, colle braccia piene di roba; voleva che andassero tutti e tre insieme a desinare al Caffè, l'ultima volta, e finir la giornata bene. Il maestro si scusò. – Ah! ah! il carabiniere! – Però promise di trovarsi alla stazione. – Sì, sì, benone! Le farai un po' di compagnia. Poi mi affido a te per trovarle la scrittura. È un pulcino bagnato questa poverina, se non c'è chi l'aiuti! – Voleva lasciarle anche una ventina di lire, caso mai le abbisognassero... Ma essa si ribellò, per la prima volta. – Scusa! scusa! Dicevo caso mai non firmassi subito la scrittura... Ma non c'è bisogno d'andare in collera. L'ho fatto a fin di bene. – Ella s'intenerì piuttosto. Per lei aveva fatto anche troppo!... per tanto tempo! Al Caffè poi non le riescì di mandar giù un solo boccone, mentre egli mangiava per due e cercava di tenerla allegra. Le offerse anche di farle una sigaretta per scioglierle quel gruppo alla gola – storia d'isterismo.
Alla stazione c'era tutta la compagnia che partiva con lui. Dei poveri diavoli che litigavano coi facchini, due o tre prime parti che pigliavano i posti di seconda, colla borsetta ad armacollo, e le mamme dietro, cariche di fagotti e di scatole di cartone. Gennaroni disse alla sua amica: – Tienti un po' in disparte, come tu fossi col maestro.
Così lo vide per l'ultima volta, col biglietto nel nastro del cappello, allegro e chiassone al solito, salutando questo e quello. – Addio! Ciao! Buona fortuna!
S'era preso anche in mano la gabbia del pappagallo di una compagna di viaggio. Dalla cancellata fuori la stazione lo videro sbracciarsi a collocare tutto il loro arsenale di scatole e cappellini mentre il treno fuggiva.
Di lui le rimase un bel ritratto in fotografia, formato gabinetto, in posa di tre quarti, colla bocca sorridente, la pelliccia sbottonata, un mazzetto di ciondoli sul ventre – e la sua brava dedica sotto: «Ricordo imperituro!»
In quanto alla scrittura non se ne fece nulla. L'impresario, anzitutto, voleva belle ragazze e non dei cerotti come quella lì! – Le pare, caro maestro? – Il poveraccio non si diede vinto ancora; continuò ad arrabattarsi come un disperato per lei, correndo di qua e di là, raccomandandola a quanti conosceva. Ma ciascuno pensava ai propri casi in quel momento. Ora che Gennaroni aveva piantata la ragazza senza voce e senza quattrini, doveva essere un affar serio levarsi da quella pece, uno che vi si lasciasse prendere, per buon cuore o per altro.
Gli amici, quando essa capitava al Caffè per aspettare il maestro che doveva portare la risposta, se la battevano uno dopo l'altro, primo di tutti il Silvani, colla giacchetta più stretta che mai. Il garzone stesso, così prudente di solito, veniva ogni momento a strofinare il marmo del tavolino con un cencio, vedendo che non ordinava nulla. Fino il maestro, a poco a poco, scoraggiato di portarle sempre la stessa cattiva nuova, non si era fatto più vedere. Però essa gli aveva detto: – Non si affanni tanto, poveretto, ché qualcosa ho già trovato.
E quando egli, facendosi rosso, era tornato sull'offerta di denaro, essa gli aveva risposto che non occorreva. A lui glielo avrebbe detto! davvero! di tutto cuore!
Una domenica, verso la fine di luglio, il maestro incontrò Assunta che usciva dalla bottega di un calzolaio. Essa avrebbe voluto evitarlo, ma l'altro già le si accostava col cappelluccio di paglia ritinto in mano. – Come va? Tanto tempo che non ci siamo più visti! – Assunta balbettava, cercando di nascondere un fagottino che portava, fattasi di brace in viso.
Il maestro cercava le parole anche lui: – Almeno un vermuttino. Qui a due passi, al solito Caffè!... – Essa non voleva, vestita a quel modo!... Infine si lasciò condurre a un tavolinetto fuori dell'uscio, all'ombra del tendone. Dapprincipio stettero un po' in silenzio, guardandosi in viso. Ella sembrava più grassa, disfatta, bianca come cera, con due enormi pesche sotto gli occhi, e le mani pallide colle vene gonfie. Il giovanotto aveva la barba lunga, la biancheria sudicia, i calzoni sfrangiati, che cercava nascondere sotto il tavolino. A poco a poco Assunta gli narrò che s'era acconciata colla padrona stessa della casa; pensava alle spese, riguardava la biancheria, teneva d'occhio la pensione, e ci aveva in compenso vitto e alloggio. Il tempo che avanzava poi s'era rimessa al suo mestiere d'orlatrice. – Con lei non mi vergogno, guardi! – Anche lui fece delle vaghe confidenze: le cose non gli erano andate sempre bene; la stagione morta si portava via quelle poche lezioni... Accennò pure di aver cambiato alloggio... Del resto i suoi abiti parlavano per lui. Assunta non volle altro che un caffè di quattro soldi. Egli invece ordinò un giornale – un giornale qualunque, – tanto seguitavano a discorrere con un senso invincibile di malinconia, che pure aveva la sua dolcezza. Di tratto in tratto si guardavano negli occhi, e ripetevano con un sorriso triste:
– Guarda, che piacere!
Si udiva parlare a voce alta nel Caffè; e degli scoppi di risa, delle discussioni tempestose, accompagnate dalla nota bassa del Marangoni che trinciava da caporione.
Assunta, allungando il collo dentro l'usciale, lo vide seduto in mezzo a un crocchio di sfaccendati, dinanzi ad un vassoio di bicchieri vuoti e una bottiglia d'acqua di seltz, con un vestito nuovo del Bocconi e la barba tagliata a punta come un damerino. Da lì a un po' se ne uscì fuori, seguito dagli amici che gli facevano codazzo. Silvani persino lo tirò in disparte sul marciapiedi opposto, supplicandolo sottovoce con tutta la persona umile. Il basso scrollava le spalle e il capo, colla barba dura come una spazzola. Infine volse un'occhiata sprezzante verso il maestro, il quale s'era fatto pallido al vederlo, e non l'aveva salutato, e cavò fuori il borsellino, scantonando seguito dal ballerino piegato in due. Passava della gente in abito da festa; delle famigliuole intere che andavano a sentir la musica al giardino pubblico. Poscia, di tratto in tratto, succedeva il silenzio grave delle ore calde della domenica. Infine Assunta e il maestro lasciarono il Caffè, e si avviarono ai Boschetti, rasente al muro, nella striscia d'ombra che orlava il marciapiedi. Assunta aveva detto ch'era libera fino a sera, e anch'esso non temeva più di farsi vedere insieme a lei. Il largo viale ombroso era deserto. Di tanto in tanto solo qualche coppia d'innamorati che passeggiavano sotto i platani, cercando i sedili più remoti. Anch'essi... Le ore scorrevano e non sapevano risolversi a lasciarsi. – Ah! se ci fossimo conosciuti prima! – esclamò infine il maestro.
Ella alzò gli occhi su di lui, si fece rossa, e li chinò di nuovo. Il maestro giocherellava col fagottino che Assunta teneva sulle ginocchia.
– O piuttosto se avessi fatto il calzolaio!... No... dico così... Son delle giornate nere... Passeranno! – Chiamò uno che andava vendendo dell'acqua fresca, in un barilotto attorniato di bicchieri, e offrì da bere anche a lei. L'uomo andò a mettersi in fondo al viale, col barilotto posato a terra, come una macchietta nera nel verde. Sembrava di essere a cento miglia dalla città, nell'ombra e nel silenzio. Poco per volta il maestro le disse che l'aveva amata, sì, proprio! tante volte quel segreto gli era spirato sulle labbra! Essa lo sapeva, accennando col capo che teneva chino in aria di rassegnazione dolorosa, la quale scorgevasi anche dall'abbandono di tutta la persona, dalla treccia allentata che le si allungava sul collo. – Allora perché... perché ci siamo taciuti?... La poveretta lo guardò in tal modo, attraverso le lagrime che le scendevano chete chete per le gote, ch'egli abbassò gli occhi.
– Sì, è vero, fu il destino! Quell'altra non sa neppure il sacrificio che le ho fatto... per debolezza, per bontà di cuore... e c'è chi dice per un tozzo di pane! Me lo merito. Ora essa m'ha piantato pel Marangoni che la batte e fa lo strozzino coi suoi denari. Come ho dovuto sembrarle spregevole, dica!...
– No... no... Era destino!... Anch'io!..
Però sentivano entrambi una gran dolcezza nel dirsi tutto ciò, seduti accanto sullo stesso banco. Egli aprì la bocca due o tre volte per farle una domanda che non osava. Poi strappò un ramoscello che pendeva, e si mise a sminuzzarlo in silenzio. Assunta più di una volta s'era mossa per andarsene, senza averne la forza.
La sera era venuta prima che se ne fossero accorti, una sera tepida e dolce. Assunta stava col capo chino, col seno gonfio, le mani pallide e venate d'azzurro sulle ginocchia, come ascoltando le parole che lui non osava pronunziare. Infine egli le prese in silenzio una di quelle mani, in un modo eloquente. Per tutta risposta ella aprì le braccia che si teneva sulle ginocchia, con un gesto desolato, e scotendo il capo: – No! no! non posso!
A quell'atto, per la prima volta, il maestro le posò addosso un'occhiata, capì ogni cosa, e glielo disse nell'occhiata ingenua e desolata che le posò in grembo.
– Almeno le ha scritto? – balbettò infine.
Ella rispose di no chinando il capo rassegnato.
Gennaroni ricomparve al Caffè verso il principio dell'inverno, masticando delle pastiglie, col fez come un turco, e le tasche piene di bottigline di marsala, per le quali ebbe a dire agli amici che volevano fargli festa:
– Adagio! adagio, miei cari! Questi qui sono campioni! Voialtri non mi darete certo delle commissioni, eh – To'! il maestro! Ben trovato! So, so, briccone! So che me l'hai portata via, traditore! Dico per scherzo, sai! Non sono in collera con te! tutt'altro! Non siamo mica dei piccioni per far sempre lo stesso paio! Specie uno come me che ha da girare il mondo, ora che mi son dato al commercio. Non c'è altro per guadagnar quattrini, te lo dico io! Tutto il resto... roba da pezzenti! Tanti saluti ad Assunta. Oppure, no, non le dir nulla. A buon rendere.
# Il segno d'amore
_Algio pelsooo... o cara Nici,_
_Lo riposúuuu... lo riposu di la noootti._
_Tostu dunami... tostu dunami la mooolti,_
_Tostu dunami la molti quannu sugnu allatu to!..._
cantava il Resca strimpellando sulla chitarra, e colorendo la canzone con gran boccacce, e aggrottar di sopracciglia. Cessato appena il fron-fron dell'accompagnamento, scoppiò una lunga smanacciata sul canto del Piano dell'Orbo. Gli amici si passarono le chitarre ad armacollo, e si raccolsero intorno al Resca, chiacchierando sottovoce, dietro l'uscio di donna Concettina, la fruttivendola. Come lo sportellino dell'uscio non s'apriva, il Resca disse:
– Vuol dire che la vecchia non è ancora addormentata. Buona notte, signori miei.
Allora dal voltone sotto il convento del Carmine si staccò un'ombra, piano piano, e si accostò per attaccar discorso con una gentilezza:
– Bravi, signori miei! Bella voce, e belli gli strumenti!
Il Resca squadrò lo sconosciuto, un ometto sparuto e colla barba di otto giorni, il quale portava un cappelluccio a cencio sull'orecchio; si passò il nastro della chitarra sulla spalla, e rispose secco secco:
– Grazie tante!
– Ora m'avete a fare un piacere, signori miei, – riprese l'altro. – E sarebbe di venire a cantare un'altra canzone alla mia innamorata, che sta qui vicino.
Gli amici, al vedere la piega che pigliava il discorso, tornarono ad accostarsi, seri seri. Il Resca, che non aveva proprio voglia di attaccar briga lì, a quell'ora, guardò lo sconosciuto nel bianco degli occhi, sotto il lampione, e disse, masticando adagio le parole:
– Scusate, amico. È tardi, e dobbiamo andarcene pei fatti nostri.
L'altro però, senza darsi vinto:
– Una canzonetta breve; qui, a due passi.
Il Resca si calcò il berretto sugli occhi, e chiese sottovoce, una voce singolare:
– Cos'è? per soperchieria?
– Siete in cinque... bella soperchieria!
– Dunque lasciateci stare in pace.
– Allora vi dico che non avete educazione.
Il Resca fece un passo indietro, e afferrò vivamente la chitarra pel manico. Ma si frenò; e tornò a ripetere:
– Vi dico di lasciarmi andare pei fatti miei!
– Allora vi dico che non avete educazione! – ribatté l'altro, freddo freddo, e colle mani in tasca.
– Sangue di...!
Il gruppo si scompose bruscamente, con un luccicare improvviso di coltelli. L'ometto ch'era saltato indietro, mettendosi colle spalle al muro, esclamò:
– Ssss! Sangue di...! La questura!
Lì accanto c'era l'impalcatura di una casa in costruzione; e in un batter d'occhio i coltelli sparirono dietro l'assito.
La pattuglia accostandosi, col passo cadenzato, adocchiò il crocchio.
– Siamo amici, – disse l'ometto, – che si faceva una serenata alle nostre innamorate; qui vicino.
– Il permesso ce l'avete?
– Il permesso eccolo qua, – rispose il Resca.
In quel momento batteva il tocco, e da lontano si udiva venire una canzonaccia d'ubbriaco, con un'ombra che andava a zig-zag, lungo la fila dei lampioni.
– Quello lì canta senza permesso! – osservò uno della comitiva per ischerzo.
– Finiamola! – intimò il brigadiere, – o se no, vi faccio visitare!
L'ometto che voleva la canzone per l'innamorata lo stette a guardar zitto, mentre si allontanava colla pattuglia; e dietro gli sputò: – Sbirro!
– Sentite amico, – riprese quindi il Resca, – qui non mi piace far del chiasso, perché ci sta la mia innamorata. Ma se volete venire sotto il voltone laggiù, vi servo subito.
– No. Ho visto or ora che siete un uomo; e mi basta cotesto. Di me, se conosco il mio dovere, potete domandarne a chi vi piace: Vanni Mendola.
– Ed io, don Giovanni, quand'è così, voglio cantarvi la canzone; dovessimo venire all'Ognina oppure a Cifali.
– Grazie tante! – disse il Mendola. – Ma la canzone adesso non la voglio più. Mi basta d'aver visto il vostro buon cuore.
E come ciascuno se ne andava per la sua strada, dopo molte strette di mano, e – Buona sera! Scusate, se mai, qualche parola... – Mendola tirò in disparte il Resca, e gli disse:
– Volevo mostrare soltanto... Come vi chiamate?
– Giuseppe Resca, per servirvi, – rispose l'altro. – Ma mi dicono anche il _Biondo_.
– Volevo mostrare a donna Concettina, che ora è la vostra innamorata, e sta dietro l'uscio ad ascoltare... Volevo mostrarle, don Giuseppe, che gli uomini non si misurano a palmo... E che se sono piccolo di statura ho il cuore grande quanto questa piazza qui... Ma vedo che siete un galantuomo, e non voglio che a casa vostra o a casa mia abbiano a piangere per quella donnaccia lì... che, guardate! non val niente più di questo qui!
E abbrancatosi il cappelluccio lo buttò a terra con disprezzo e vi sputò sopra.
Allora si spalancò di botto il finestrino della fruttivendola, e ne schizzò fuori un getto d'improperi.
– Il molto che valete voi! brutto nano pezzente che siete! e mi fate stomaco!
– Lasciatela dire, don Giuseppe, – rispose calmo il Mendola, fermando pel braccio il Resca che non si moveva neppure. – Lasciate parlare donna Concettina che è in collera, e non si rammenta più che allora non mi diceva tutte queste parolacce, quando mi faceva venire qui di notte, al tempo di suo marito il Grosso, buon'anima! qui, dove posiamo i piedi adesso!
– A te? bugiardo infame!
– Sì, a me. E il tuo innamorato qui presente, adesso, lo vedi? Crede più alle mie parole anziché ai tuoi giuramenti.
– Finiamola! – interruppe il Resca. – Sangue di... finiamola!
– Avete ragione; è tempo di finirla, – disse il Mendola: e senza dar retta a donna Concettina che lo colmava di villanie, soggiunse:
– Buona sera, e arrivederci, don Giuseppe. Tanto piacere della vostra conoscenza. E scusate qualche parola, se mai.
– Aspettate, vengo con voi.
– Ah, capisco! Anch'io, ai miei tempi, mi sarei fatto ammazzare per colei, s'ella mi avesse detto che adesso c'è il sole fuori. Ma le chiacchiere non servono. Sono ai vostri comandi, don Giuseppe. Quando volete voi.
– Domani.
– Va bene, domani. Ditemi a che ora, e dove vi farebbe comodo.
– Conoscete il _Pizzolato_ , quello che fa negozio di cenci al Vico Stretto?
– Chi non lo conosce? Il magazzino grande, dentro il cortile del Sole?
– Bravo! Il magazzino grande dentro il cortile del Sole. Trovatevi là a mezzogiorno, che ci sarò anch'io, don Giovanni.
Questi se ne andò per la sua strada, dondolandosi, e il _Biondo_ ripassò dinanzi alla bottega della vedova. Buio da per tutto; e l'uscio chiuso che gli teneva il broncio.
Ritornò il giorno dopo, prima di mezzogiorno, e trovò donna Concettina la quale stava pettinandosi, in fondo alla bottega, con quei bei capelli lunghi che facevano l'onda, ed essa vi metteva apposta un'ora a distrigarli innanzi a lui, senza levar gli occhi dallo specchietto.
– O cos'è, donna Concettina? Non vogliono lasciarsi fare oggi quei bei capelli? – cominciò infine il Resca.
– Questo è il grande amore che mi portate... che andate a bazzicare con tutti quelli che mi vogliono male? – rispose essa senza voltarsi neppure.
– Quel tale l'ho incontrato iersera per caso, e non fui io che lo feci parlare. Ma so quel che debbo fare, e non ho bisogno che nessuno m'insegni il mio dovere. Ora son venuto per sentire se avevi qualche cosa da dirmi anche tu, mentre sei sola nella bottega.
– Cosa volete che vi dica? Quel cristiano io non lo conosco e gli faccio lo scongiuro, a lui e a tutte le bugie che ha avuto il coraggio di inventare, pel Signore delle Quarant'Ore ch'è alla parrocchia!
– Va bene, – disse il Resca alzandosi dallo sgabello. – Va bene, vi saluto.
Mendola l'aspettava nel cortile del Sole, discorrendo sottovoce col _Pizzolato_ , un omaccione senza un pelo di barba, e che parlava come un ventriloquo. Si strinsero la mano; e il _Pizzolato_ li lasciò a discorrere insieme, per correre a dare un'occhiata nel magazzino, e disporre l'occorrente.
Vanni Mendola s'era fatto radere, e aveva messo il vestito nuovo della domenica. Di giorno, così camuffato, sembrava più piccolo e sparuto ancora, con una faccia da pulcino, e un certo ammiccar dell'occhio, che sembrava dicesse delle barzellette a ogni parola, e quando parlava colle donne doveva far loro come il solletico. – Sentite, – disse al _Biondo_ , – com'è vero Dio, me ne dispiace! Alle volte, lo sapete, una parola tira l'altra, e non si sa dove si va a finire. Avrei fatto meglio a tacere, giacché ve la pigliate calda per donna Concettina. Tanto più che non val la pena di ammazzarsi per colei.
– Lo so. Son venuto soltanto per fare il mio dovere.
– Donne! – conchiuse il Mendola, – pazzo chi ci si mette!
Il _Pizzolato_ s'affacciò di nuovo all'uscio, e disse che era pronto.
– Sentite quest'altra cosa, don Giuseppe. Se volete chiuderle la bocca una volta per tutte, e levarvela di torno, ditele che sapete di una certa voglia che ci ha sotto l'ascella... E ho finito.
– Zitto! – interruppe il _Pizzolato_. – Non bisogna scaldarsi il sangue adesso!
I giovani del magazzino, occupati a spartire i cenci, sgattaiolarono uno dopo l'altro, dinanzi a un randello che aveva ghermito il padrone; intanto che Mendola, il _Biondo_ e due altri amici entravano nel magazzino. Il _Pizzolato_ affacciò il capo fra i battenti, disse: – Lì ci avete tutto. – E chiuse l'uscio.
Successero alcuni minuti di silenzio. Poi uno scalpiccìo, dentro il magazzino, dei salti sul battuto, delle esclamazioni brevi e secche. Infine uno degli amici fece capolino.
– Tutti e due, – rispose alla domanda ch'era negli occhi del _Pizzolato_.
– Badate ai fatti vostri, voialtri! – minacciò costui rivolto ai ragazzacci che levavano il capo curiosi.
Primo uscì il Mendola, piegato in due, colla faccia più incartapecorita ancora; e dopo venne il _Biondo_ , smorto in viso, sorretto per le ascelle da due amici.
– Gli avete fatto quello che occorreva? – domandò loro il _Pizzolato_.
– Sissignore, a tutti e due. Pericolo non ce n'è.
– Voialtri tornate dentro a lavorare! – gridò il _Pizzolato_ colla voce di cappone ai giovani del magazzino. – E se mai, non avete visto niente!
All'ospedale volevano sapere dal _Biondo_ un mondo di cose: chi era stato, come, e quando. Il Mendola, appunto per evitare tutte quelle noie, si faceva curare di nascosto dagli amici, in un bugigattolo. Ma anche il _Biondo_ «aveva dello stomaco», e se ne stava apposta col naso contro il muro, per non essere seccato. – È stato un accidente, lavorando da sellaio. Avevo il punteruolo in mano, così... Va bene; fatemi mettere in prigione, ma non posso dir altro. – Giudice e carabinieri rimasero a denti asciutti. Quando donna Concettina mandò la vecchia, per vedere come stava, il _Biondo_ tornò a dire le stesse cose, senza nemmeno voltare il capo:
– Bene, bene, sto benone. È stato un accidente, roba da nulla. Salutatemi vostra figlia.
Però appena ebbe lasciato l'ospedale, un po' debole ancora e bianco in viso, andò a trovar la fruttivendola.
– O santo cristiano! che mi avete fatto morire di spavento! – gli disse lei. – Ora come state?
– Io sto bene, – rispose lui. – E son venuto apposta adesso che non c'è nessuno, per parlarti da solo a sola.
– O Gesù mio! Tornate un'altra volta con quei discorsi vecchi? Che cosa vi hanno detto contro di me? Parlate chiaro.
– E se parlo chiaro, tu chiaro mi rispondi?
– Sì, per la Madonna Immacolata!
– Guarda che hai gli occhi falsi, Concettina! Con don Giovanni Mendola cosa ci hai avuto?
– Ci ho avuto? Niente ci ho avuto! Veniva a comprar noci e mele. Viene tanta gente! La bottega è un porto di mare... In coscienza mia, Peppino, non mi guardare a quel modo! Te lo farò dire dai vicini, se non mi credi... Vado a chiamarli...
– No! Lascia stare i vicini. Dimmi cosa c'è stato fra voialtri. E se dicesti di sì a lui, quand'era vivo il Grosso tuo marito, perché m'hai detto sempre di no, a me, ora che sei vedova?
– Ah, siete venuto ad insultarmi? Per questo siete venuto? Ebbene, giacché credete piuttosto a quel galantuomo, e sospettate ancora di me... Ebbene, non voglio più saperne di voi, né per marito né per nulla!... Lasciatemi andare...
– No, non te ne andare! Dimmi perché mi hai detto sempre di no, a me che ti volevo tanto bene, mentre a quell'altro gli hai detto di sì!...
– Aiuto! aiuto!
– No, non gridare! Tu gli hai fatto vedere il segno che ci hai sotto l'ascella, a quell'altro, perché l'amavi. Io voglio lasciartene uno sulla faccia, perché tutti lo vedano, che ti ho voluto bene anch'io!
Aveva nel taschino del panciotto una moneta sottile come una lama, e arrotata da una parte, una monetina da due centesimi che teneva fra l'indice e il pollice come un confetto, e lasciava il segno dove toccava, per tutta la vita.
– Aiuto! all'assassino! – urlò la donna avventandoglisi contro colle unghie, accecata dal sangue che le rigava la guancia.
Il _Biondo_ , pallido come un cencio, in mezzo alla folla dei vicini, che lo scrollavano tenendolo pel petto, balbettava:
– Ora vado in galera contento.
# L'agonia d'un villaggio
«Bollettino dell'eruzione! Il fuoco a Nicolosi!» La folla accorreva dai dintorni, a piedi, a cavallo, in carrozza, come poteva. Lungo la salita, fra il verde delle vigne, un denso polverone disegnava il zig-zag della strada. Ad ogni passo s'incontravano carri che scendevano dal villaggio minacciato, carichi di masserizie, di derrate, di legnami, perfino d'imposte e di ringhiere di balconi, tutto lo sgombero di un villaggio che sta per scomparire. E colla roba, sui carri, a piedi, uomini e donne taciturni, recandosi in collo dei bambini sonnolenti, coi volti accesi dalla caldura e dall'ambascia. Pei casolari, nelle borgate, lungo la via, gli abitanti affacciati _per vedere_ , colle mani sul ventre; qualche vecchiarella che attaccava un'immagine miracolosa allo stipite della porta o al cancello dell'orto; i monelli che ruzzavano per terra festanti; e sulle porte spalancate delle chiesuole, la statua del santo patrono, luccicante sotto il baldacchino, come un fantasma atterrito, colle candele spente, e i fiori di carta dinanzi. A Torre del Grifo scaricavano carrate intere di assi e di tavole sulla piazzetta, per le baracche dei fuggiaschi. Le pompe d'incendio tornavano indietro di gran trotto, col fracasso di carri d'artiglieria; e in alto, dirimpetto, il vulcano tenebroso, dietro un gran tendone di cenere, lanciava in aria, con un rombo sotterraneo, getti di fiamme alti cinquecento metri.
All'ingresso del paesetto era un ingombro straordinario di carri, cavalli, gente che gridava, e soldati col fucile ad armacollo; quasi l'avanguardia di un esercito in rotta. Si camminava su di una sabbia nera, fra due file di case smantellate, irregolari, cogli usci e le finestre divelte. La gente ancora affaccendata a portare via roba. Dal balcone di una casa nuova calavano gridando – largo – un armadio monumentale. Una vecchiarella stava a custodia di alcune galline, seduta su di un cesto, in un cortile ingombro di doghe e cerchi di botte. E qua e là, sulle porte senza uscio, vedevasi qualche povero diavolo che voltava le spalle alle stanzucce nude, aspettando colle mani in mano e il viso lungo, in silenzio, come nell'anticamera di un moribondo. Sul marciapiedi del Casino di Compagnia erano schierate su due file di sedie alcune signore venute a vedere lo spettacolo, che si facevano vento, degli uomini che fumavano; un sorbettiere portava in giro dell'acqua fresca; il baldacchino del Santissimo appoggiato al muro, colle aste in fascio; e di faccia la chiesa spalancata, senza lumi, solo un luccichìo di santi dorati in fondo all'altare in lutto; e sopra tutto ciò, sul chiacchierìo, sul frastuono, sui boati del vulcano, la campana che sonava a processione, senza cessare un istante.
Al Nord, verso l'Etna, lo stradone si allungava in mezzo a due file di ginestre arboree, formicolante di curiosi che andavano a vedere, ridendo, schiamazzando, chiamandosi da lontano, e gli strilli soffocati delle signore barcollanti sul basto malfermo delle mule, e il vociare di quelli che vendevano gazzosa, birra, uova e limoni, sotto le baracche improvvisate. Via via che i più lontani giungevano sull'erta udivasi gridare – Ecco! Ecco! – con un grido quasi giulivo. Di faccia, a destra e a sinistra, fin dove arrivava l'occhio, come il ciglione alto di una ripa scoscesa, nera, fumante, solcata qua e là da screpolature incandescenti, dalle quali la corrente di lava rovinava con un acciottolìo secco di mucchi immensi di cocci che franassero. A due passi le ginestre in fiore si agitavano ancora alla brezza della sera; delle signore si stringevano al braccio del loro compagno di viaggio, con un fremito delizioso; altri si sbandavano per le vigne, lungo la linea della corrente minacciosa, scavalcando muriccioli, saltando fossatelli, le donne colle sottane in mano, con un ondeggiare infinito di veli e d'ombrellini, mentre il crepuscolo moriva nell'occidente, e la marina in fondo dileguava lontana, nel tempo istesso che l'immensa fiumana di lava sembrava accendersi nell'orizzonte tetro. Dal paesetto perduto nell'oscurità giungeva sempre il suono delle campane, e un mormorìo confuso e lamentevole, un formicolìo di lumi che si avvicinavano, come delle lucciole in viaggio. Poi, dalle tenebre della via, sbucò una processione strana, uomini e donne scalzi, picchiandosi il petto, salmodiando sottovoce, con una nota insistente e lagrimosa della quale non si sentiva altro che – Misericordia! misericordia! – E sul brulicame nero e indistinto di quei penitenti, fra quattro torce a vento fumose, un Cristo di legno, affumicato, rigido, quasi sinistro, barcollante sulle spalle degli uomini che affondavano nella sabbia.
# ...e chi vive si dà pace
Come la batteria partiva a mezzanotte, Lajn Primo aveva invitato la sua ragazza a desinare – una gentilezza per mostrarle il dispiacere che provava nel lasciarla. – Sapevano giusto un'osteria di campagna, appena fuori la porta, bel sito e vino buono, quattro ciuffetti di verde al sole, l'altalena e il giuoco delle bocce, i tavolinetti sotto il pergolato, da starci bene in due soli, senza soggezione; e subito dopo la campagna larga e quieta, grandi fabbriche in costruzione, tutte irte di antenne, un folto d'alberi a diritta, e in fondo la linea dei monti, che digradavano. Anna Maria s'era messa il vestitino nuovo, colla giacchetta attillata, le scarpette di pelle lucida e le calze rosse. Sentiva una gran contentezza, stando insieme al suo bel militare, coi gomiti sulla tovaglia, i mezzi litri che andavano e venivano, Lajn Primo di faccia a lei, col naso nel piatto, dandole delle ginocchiate di tanto in tanto. Però, al vedergli il chepì coll'incerato, e la striscia gialla della giberna che gli fasciava il petto, si sentiva gonfiare il cuore nel seno, grosso grosso, da mozzarle il fiato. – Mi scriverai? Di'? mi scriverai? – Egli accennava di sì, a bocca piena, guardandola negli occhi lucenti che l'accarezzavano tutto, il panno grosso dell'uniforme e la faccia lentigginosa di biondo. C'erano nel piatto dei mandarini colle foglioline verdi. Essa ne strappò una, e volle mettergliela alla bottoniera.
Lì accanto si udiva l'urtarsi delle bocce fra di loro. Alcune ragazze schiamazzavano attorno l'altalena, colle gonnelle in aria. Passavano dei carri per la strada, cigolando; delle nuvole grigie d'estate che lasciavano piovere una gran tristezza.
Lajn Primo chiacchierava sempre lui, col sigaro in bocca, la testa già lontana, nei paesi dove andava la batteria, cercando di tanto in tanto la mano di Anna Maria attraverso la tavola, quando in bocca gli venivano le parole buone. Poi, come aveva il vino allegro, si mise a canticchiare:
> _Morettina di la stacioni,_
>
> _Ecco il trenno che già parti._
>
> _Mi rincresse di lasciarti,_
>
> _Il soldato mi tocc' affar._
E tutt'a un tratto la ragazza scoppiò a piangere, col viso nel tovagliuolo.
– Via! via! I morti soli non si rivedono!... – Stavolta però gli tremavano i baffi rossi anche a lui, e le mani, nell'affibbiarsi il cinturone. Vollero fare quattro passi sino al fiume, come le altre volte. C'era un sentieruolo fangoso a sinistra, fra i campi, sotto dei grandi olmi. Anna Maria si lasciava condurre a braccetto, colle sottane in mano, gli occhi socchiusi che non vedevano, un gran sbalordimento dentro, una dolcezza infinita e malinconica, al tintinnìo di quella sciabola e di quegli sproni e al contatto di quell'uniforme contro cui tutta la sua persona le sembrava che volesse fondersi. Egli le aveva passato il braccio attorno alla vita, mormorandole ne' capelli tante paroline affettuose che essa udiva confusamente, l'orecchio però sempre teso verso la tromba della caserma, da buon soldato.
A un certo punto Anna Maria gli sfuggì di mano, e corse a inginocchiarsi sul ciglione del fossatello, senza badare al vestito nuovo, per cogliere delle foglioline verdi che spuntavano dal muricciuolo.
– Per te! le ho colte per te!
Egli non sapeva più dove metterle; le diceva ridendo che lo caricava d'erba come un asino, così, per farla ridere. La ragazza però non rispondeva; stava segnando delle grandi lettere storte sulla corteccia di un olmo, con un sasso, due cuori uniti e una croce sopra. Lajn non voleva, per via del malaugurio; però l'aveva presa fra le braccia, intenerito anche lui, tanto non passava nessuno nella stradicciuola fangosa di là dell'argine. Essa diceva di no, diceva di no, col cuore gonfio. Guardava piuttosto un gran muraglione nerastro, ch'era dirimpetto, quasi volesse stamparselo negli occhi. Gli diceva: – Guarda anche tu! anche tu! – Aveva il vino triste, poveretta! Calava la sera desolata, con una squilla mesta e lontana dell'avemaria che picchiava sul cuore. Quanto piangere fece Anna Maria cheta cheta nel fazzolettino ricamato!
Prima di lasciarla, sull'angolo della via, egli le aveva detto: – Verrò a salutarti un'altra volta, prima di partire; fatti trovare sulla porta. – E si tenevano per mano, non si risolvevano a staccarsi l'uno dall'altro. Lajn Primo tornò infatti a salutarla un'altra volta, prima di partire, come passasse per caso, nell'andare in quartiere. Anna Maria teneva per mano la figlioletta del portinaio – un pretesto per star lì sulla porta – e gli fece segno che c'era gente dietro l'uscio. Allora scambiarono ancora quattro parole per dirsi addio, senza guardarsi, parlando del più e del meno: lui che gli tremavano i baffi rossi un'altra volta. – Passerete di qua, per andare alla stazione? – Sì, sì, di qua! – Ogni momento della gente che andava e veniva; Ghita nel cortile ad accendere il gas. Lajn Primo accese un sigaro, e se ne andò colle spalle grosse. Anna Maria lo guardava allontanarsi.
La gente si affollava per la via, a veder passare i soldati che partivano pel campo: tutti gli inquilini della casa, sotto il lampione della porta: Ghita che teneva abbracciata Anna Maria; suo padre, il portinaio, e i padroni anche loro, alle finestre coi lumi. Così la povera ragazza vide passare la batteria dov'era il suo artigliere, in mezzo alla calca e ai battimani; i cavalli neri che sfilavano a due a due, scotendo la testa, dei cassoni enormi che facevano tremare le case; e sopra, sui cappelli e i fazzoletti che sventolavano, i chepì degli artiglieri coll'incerato, dondolando. Non vide altro; tutti quei chepì si somigliavano. Il suo Lajn però la scorse, alle folte trecce nere, in mezzo alle comari, la mamma di Ghita che stava contandole delle frottole; la vide che lo cercava, povera figliuola, con gli occhi smarriti e il viso pallido, senza poterlo scorgere, seduto basso com'era sul sediolo accanto al pezzo, il guanto sulla coscia, al suono triste della marcia d'ordinanza, che si allontanava.
Passarono città, passarono villaggi; dovunque, sulle porte, uomini e donne che s'affacciavano a veder passare i soldati. Alle volte, nella folla, un musetto pallido che somigliava ad Anna Maria – «Morettina di la stacioni...» – Alle volte, lungo lo stradone polveroso, un'osteria di campagna coll'altalena e il pergolato verde, come quella dov'erano stati a desinare insieme. Alle volte un fossatello con due filari d'olmi, o un muraglione nerastro che rompeva il verde. Oppure una cascina coi panni stesi al sole, una vecchierella che filava, un sentieruolo come quello per cui era disceso dai suoi monti, col fagottino sulle spalle larghe e robuste che lo avevano fatto prendere artigliere. Poscia la via bianca e polverosa, rotta, sfondata dal passaggio della truppa, formicolante di uniformi; e di tanto in tanto uno squillo di tromba, che sonava alto nel brusìo.
Di qua del fiume una gran folla: soldati di tutte le armi, un luccichìo, tende di cantiniere che sventolavano, e cavalli che nitrivano; delle canzoni dolci e malinconiche, in tutti i dialetti, come un'eco lontana del paese, in mezzo alle risate e al rullo dei tamburi: – «Morettina di la stacioni, mi rincresse di lasciarti!...» – Sull'altra sponda la campagna calma e silenziosa, coi casolari tranquilli affacciati nel verde delle colline; e sulla linea scura che traversava il fiume luccicante qua e là, l'ondeggiare delle banderuole turchine, una lunga fila di lancieri polverosi che sfilavano sul ponte.
Le quattro trombe della batteria tutte insieme sonarono – Avanti. – Poscia, di là del ponte – A trotto! – in mezzo a un nugolo di polvere, alberi e casolari che fuggivano, pennacchi di bersaglieri ondeggianti fra i seminati. Di tanto in tanto, in mezzo al frastuono, si udiva un rombo sordo, dietro le colline. E fra gli scossoni dell'affusto la canzone della partenza che ribatteva: – «Ecco il trenno che già parti...» – A galoppo, _Marche_! – Addio, Morettina! Addio!
Su, su, per l'erta, sfondando i solchi, sradicando i tralci, saltando i fossati, i cavalli fumanti e colle schiene ad arco, gli uomini a piedi, spingendo le ruote, frustando a tutto andare. Poi, sulla cima del colle, due carabinieri di scorta immobili, a cavallo, dietro un gruppo di ufficiali che accennavano lontano, alle vette coronate di fumo, e dei soldati sparsi per la china, fra i solchi, come punti neri. Qua e là, dei lampi che partivano dalla terra bruna; e il rombo continuo, nelle colline dirimpetto: delle nuvolette dense che spuntavano in fila sulla cresta.
Detto fatto, i pezzi in batteria, e musica anche da questa parte. Allora, dopo cinque minuti, attorno alla batteria cominciò a tirare un vento del diavolo; la terra che volava in aria, gli alberi dimezzati, solchi che si aprivano all'improvviso, dei sibili acuti che passavano sui chepì. Però attenti al comando, e nient'altro per il capo; né capelli bianchi, né capelli neri. – Abbracci' avanti! – Alt! – Caricat! – Prima il povero Renacchi che stava per compir la ferma. – Mamma mia! Mamma mia! – Numero due, manca! – Attenti! – Si udiva il comando secco e risoluto del biondo ufficialetto che stava impettito fra i due pezzi, ammiccando nel fumo, cogli occhi azzurri di ragazza, i quali vedevano forse ancora il piccolo _coupé_ nero che aspettava in piazza d'armi, e la mano bianca allo sportello. – Abbracci' avanti! – Alt! – Caricat! – Tutt'a un tratto giù in un gomitolo anche lui, fra un nugolo di polvere, gemendo sottovoce e mordendo il cuoio del sottogola. Solo il comandante rimaneva in piedi, ritto sul ciglione, in mezzo al vento furioso che spazzava via tutto, guardando col cannocchiale, come un gran diavolo nero.
Lajn Primo in quel momento stava chino sul pezzo, a puntare, strizzando l'occhio turchino, come soleva fare per dire ad Anna Maria quanto gli piacesse il suo musetto, e facendo segno colla destra al numero tre di spostare a sinistra la manovella di mira, quando venne la sua volta anche per lui. – Ah! Mamma mia! – Colle mani tentò di aggrapparsi ancora all'affusto, delle mani che vi stampavano il sangue – cinque dita rosse. – Numero quattro, manca! – Attenti!
Il telegrafo portava le notizie, una dopo l'altra: tanti morti; tanti feriti. – Ciascun bollettino cinque centesimi. – Anna Maria ne aveva raccolto un fascio, lì sul cassettone. E poi, due volte al giorno, all'andare e venire dalla fabbrica, passava dalla posta. – Nulla, nulla. – Che groppo allora nella gola! che peso sul cuore e dinanzi agli occhi! La sera sopratutto, quando sonava la ritirata! La notte che se lo sognava, e lo vedeva sotto il pergolato, canticchiando – «Mi rincresse di lasciarti» – e le stringeva la mano sulla tovaglia! Avesse avuta la mamma almeno, per sfogarsi! Il babbo, poveretto, cosa poteva farci? notte e giorno sulla macchina, a correre pel mondo. La sua amica Ghita, che non aveva fastidi, lei, e non se la prendeva di nulla, faceva spallucce, ripetendole:
– Gli uomini, mia cara, son tutti così. Lontano dagli occhi, lontano dal cuore! – Quanto piangere fece in quel fazzolettino!
Tornavano i soldati, lunghe file di cavalli, battaglioni interi. Dinanzi al castello, in piazza d'armi, erano pure tornati i carretti colle arance, e quelli del sorbetto a due soldi, e le bambinaie coi ragazzi, e le coppie che si allontanavano sotto gli alberi. Artiglieri che andavano e venivano, coll'incerato sul chepì, tale e quale come Lajn Primo. – N. 7, N. 9. – Solo mancava il numero del suo Lajn. Nella fabbrica aveva sentito dire che molta truppa era stata mandata in Sicilia – laggiù, lontano. – Lontano dagli occhi, lontano dal cuore! – Neppure un rigo, in tre mesi! Quante gite alla posta! quante volte ad aspettare il portalettere dal portinaio! Tanto che Cesare, il servitore dirimpetto, il quale veniva a pigliare le lettere della contessa, le diceva anche lui, ridendo:
– Nulla, eh? Ha male alla penna il suo artigliere?
Una vera persecuzione quell'antipatico, colla faccia di donna, e i capelli lucenti di pomata! Aveva un bello sbattergli la finestra sul muso! Tutto il giorno lì, di faccia, in anticamera, a farle dei segni colle manacce sempre infilate nei guanti bianchi, scappando solo un momento appena sonavano il campanello, e tornando subito a montare la sentinella. Sempre, sempre, quasi ci si cocesse anch'esso a poco a poco, al vedersela ogni giorno lì di faccia. Sicché una volta la fermò per le scale, e le disse: – Cosa le ho fatto, infine? Almeno me lo dica! – E come si vedeva che le parole gli venivan dal cuore, essa non ebbe animo di mandarlo a quel paese.
Pensava sempre a quell'altro, lavorando alla finestra. Chissà, chissà dov'era? di là di quelle case, dove andavano quelle nuvole scure? Che tristezza quando giungeva la sera! La campana di Sant'Angelo, lì vicino, che le picchiava sulla testa, e in cuore la tromba della ritirata, che piangeva. Il servitore accendeva i lumi, dirimpetto, e poi rimaneva ancora lì, nell'ombra delle cortine, si scorgeva dai bottoni che luccicavano. Quanto piangere in quel fazzolettino ricamato! Tanto che il cuore era stanco e s'era vuotato intieramente.
Il giorno di San Luca, ch'era anche la festa del portinaio, andarono tutti al Monte Tabor. Ghita era venuta a prenderla per forza, e anche Cesare, il quale s'era fatto dare il permesso quel giorno dalla padrona, e le aveva detto stringendole le mani: – Venga, venga con noi! Così, a star sempre chiusa, piglierà qualche malanno! – Una gran tavolata all'aria aperta, l'altalena e il giuoco delle bocce. – Cesare che pensava sempre ad una cosa, le rispose: – M'importa assai delle bocce adesso! Mi lasci stare vicino a lei piuttosto, ché non la mangio mica! – La sera poi al ritorno le diede il braccio; tutta la brigata a piedi pel bastione, sotto i platani che lasciavano cadere le foglie. Una bella sera tutta stellata. Delle ombre a due a due che si parlavano all'orecchio, sui sedili, voltando le spalle alla strada.
Anna Maria chiacchierava di questo e di quello, per non lasciar cadere il discorso. L'altro zitto, a capo chino. – Buona sera, buona sera. – Aspetti, aspetti. L'accompagno sino all'uscio, di sopra. Non voglio che salga le scale così al buio e tutta sola. Ora accendo un cerino. – No, no, ci son le stelle. – Delle stelle lucenti che scintillavano sui tetti, attraverso i finestroni ad arco, ogni ramo di scala – sei rami. Anna Maria digià stanca, s'era appoggiata al muro, proprio accanto al finestrone, col fiato ai denti. – Ah, le mie povere gambe! – Egli sempre zitto, guardandola, nella poca luce che lasciava vedere soltanto il musetto pallido e gli occhi lucenti – Che fatica! Una giornata intera! Dev'essere molto tardi. Guardi quante stelle! – Batteva un po' la campagna anche lei, poveretta, per sfuggire da quel silenzio. Ma lui non rispondeva ancora. – Bella sera! Non è vero? – Allora egli le prese la mano, e balbettò con la voce mutata: – Se crede che abbia capito quel che m'ha detto, sa!... – E anche lei fu vinta da una gran dolcezza, da un grande abbandono. Gli lasciò la mano nella mano, e chinò il capo sul petto.
Quest'altro aveva le mani bianche e pulite di uno che non fa nulla, i capelli lisci, la pelle fine, certe garbatezze d'anticamera che la accarezzavano. Lo vedeva ogni giorno, l'aspettava alla porta, si lasciava condurre la domenica a desinare in campagna, alla stessa tavola, sotto il pergolato, colle ragazze che schiamazzavano sull'altalena, e gli avventori che giocavano alle bocce. Avevano passeggiato insieme per quella stradicciuola fangosa, sotto i pioppi, stringendosi l'uno all'altro, nella sera che li celava. Poi egli voleva sapere questo e quello; voleva frugare come un furetto nel presente e nel passato. La faceva ritornare, passo passo, verso quelle altre memorie che le rifiorivano in cuore come una carezza e una puntura. Era geloso della stradicciuola dove era stata a passeggiare con quell'altro, geloso della campagna che avevano vista insieme, della tavola alla quale s'erano seduti e del vino che avevano bevuto nello stesso bicchiere. Diventava a poco a poco ingiusto e cattivo. Un vero ragazzo, ecco. Un ragazzo bizzoso da mangiarselo coi baci. Che dolcezza per Anna Maria allora! Che dolcezza triste ed amara! Tutte le lacrime che egli le faceva versare le restavano in cuore, e glielo rendevano più caro.
Le bruciava le labbra; ma infine... infine glielo disse: – Non ci penso più, ti giuro! Non ci penso più a quell'altro!.. – Cesare non voleva crederle! Anzi, a ogni cosa che ella facesse per provarglielo, ogni bacio, ogni carezza, ogni parola, era come se quell'altro si mettesse fra loro due. Allora Anna Maria un sabato sera gli fece segno dalla finestra, con tutte e due le braccia, col viso illuminato. – Domani! Domani! – E all'ora solita si vestì, in fretta, colle mani tremanti, tutta radiosa, le calze rosse, le scarpe lucide, la giacchetta attillata, tale quale come quel giorno ch'era andata l'ultima volta coll'artigliere, e volle condurlo proprio là, nel sentieruolo sotto i pioppi. – Perché? Cosa vuoi fare? – domandava Cesare. – Vedrai! Vedrai!
Erano cresciute delle altre fronde all'olmo, nel maggio che fioriva, del verde che celava i due cuori color di ruggine, legati insieme dalla croce. Essa però li rinvenne subito, e con un sasso, gli occhi lucenti, il seno che le scoppiava, le mani febbrili, si mise a raschiare da per tutto, sulla corteccia dell'olmo, le iniziali, i due cuori, la croce, tutto. Poi gli buttò le braccia al collo, a lui che stava a guardare con tanto di muso, e se lo strinse al petto, furiosamente.
– Mi credi ora? Mi credi ora?
Egli le credette allora, con quelle braccia annodate al collo, e quel seno che si gonfiava contro il suo petto. Ma dopo fu la stessa storia; ogni cosa che gli dava ombra: se era allegra, se era malinconica, se cantava, se taceva, se si pettinava in certo modo, e se non voleva confessare che quegli orecchini fossero un ricordo di quell'altro, se la vedeva dal portinaio, o se la incontrava vicino alla posta. Ogni carezza, ogni parola; delle parolacce amare, dei musi lunghi, delle risate ironiche, degli impeti di collera, dei voltafaccia bruschi di servitore che sputi villanie dietro le spalle dei padroni. – Con lui non dicevi così! – Con quell'altro era un altro par di maniche! – No! no! te lo giuro! Non ci penso più! Tu solo adesso! Tu solo! – Poi gli arrivò a dire: – Non gli ho mai voluto bene!...
– O allora? – rispose il servitore.
E infine un giorno essa gli mostrò una carta; una carta che gli aveva portata nel petto, come una reliquia. – Guarda! Guarda! – Era il certificato di morte del _suo artigliere_ , come glielo buttava in faccia a ogni momento Cesare. Il certificato di morte di Lajn Primo, soldato del 5º artiglieria, c'era il bollo e tutto, non ci mancava nulla; la povera donna glielo portava come un regalo, come un regalo del bene che aveva voluto e delle lacrime che aveva versate, come un regalo di tutta sé stessa, della donna innamorata e sottomessa.
L'altro, il maschio, per tutta risposta fece una spallata.
# Il bell'Armando
Ecco quel che gli toccò passare al Crippa, parrucchiere, detto anche il _bell'Armando_ , Dio ce ne scampi e liberi!
Fu un giovedì grasso, nel bel mezzo della mascherata, che la _Mora_ gli venne incontro sulla piazza, vestita da uomo – già non aveva più nulla da perdere colei! – e gli disse, cogli occhi fuori della testa:
– Di', Mando. È vero che non vuoi saperne più di me?
– No! no! quante volte te l'ho a dire?
– Pensaci, Mando! Pensa che è impossibile finirla del tutto a questo modo!
– Lasciami in pace. Ora sono ammogliato. Non voglio aver storie con mia moglie, intendi?
– Ah, tua moglie? Essa però lo sapeva quello che siamo stati, prima di sposarti. E oggi, quando t'ho incontrato a braccetto con lei, mi ha riso in faccia, là, in mezzo alla gente! E tu, che l'hai lasciata fare, vuol dire che non ci hai né cuore né nulla, lì!
– Be', lasciamo andare. Buona sera!
– Di', Mando? È proprio così?
– No, ti dico! Non voglio più!
– Ah, non vuoi più? No?
E il Crippa, colpito lì dove la _Mora_ diceva che non ci aveva né cuore né nulla, andò annaspando dietro a lei, come un ubriaco, e gridando: – Chiappatela! chiappatela! – Poi cadde come un masso, davanti alla bottega del farmacista.
Le guardie e la folla ad inseguirla, strillando anche loro: – Piglia! piglia! – Finché un giovane di caffè la fece stramazzare con un colpo di sedia sul capo; e tutti quanti l'accerchiarono, stralunata e grondante di sangue, col seno che gli faceva scoppiare il gilè dall'ansimare, balbettando:
– Lasciatemi! lasciatemi!
Appena la riconobbero, così rabbuffata, a quel po' di luce del lampione, scoppiarono improperi e parolacce:
– È la _Mora_! quella donnaccia! l'amante del Crippa!
Come se gli avesse parlato il cuore, al disgraziato! Giusto in quei giorni, era stato dal maresciallo a denunziargli la sua amante, che voleva giocargli qualche brutto tiro: – La _Mora_ non vuole lasciarmi tranquillo, ora che ho preso moglie, signor maresciallo. – E il maresciallo aveva risposto: – Va bene – al solito, senza pensare a ciò che potesse covare dentro di sé una donna come quella. Ora le guardie arrivavano dopo che la frittata era fatta, sbracciandosi a gridare: – Largo! largo!
In quel momento si udì un urlo straziante, e si vide correre verso la bottega del farmacista, dove stavano medicando il ferito, una donna colle mani nei capelli. Era l'altra, la moglie vera, che piangeva e si disperava, gridando: – Giustizia! Giustizia, signori miei! Me l'ha ucciso, quell'infame, vedete! – Il Crippa abbandonato su di una seggiola, tutto rosso di sangue, col viso bianco e stravolto, la guardava senza vederla, come stesse per lasciarla dopo soli due mesi di matrimonio, poveretta! La folla voleva far giustizia sommaria della _Mora_ , ch'era rimasta accasciata sul marciapiedi, in mezzo agli urli e alle minacce della folla, come una lupa. Arrivarono sino a darle delle pedate nel ventre; tanto che le guardie dovettero sguainare le daghe per menarla in prigione, in mezzo ai fischi, che sembrava una frotta di maschere.
Dopo, al cospetto dei giudici, quando le mostrarono i panni insanguinati della sua vittima, non seppe che cosa rispondere.
– Questa donna ch'è stata di tutti, – tonava il pubblico accusatore, coll'indice appuntato verso di lei, come la spada della giustizia; – questa donna che, per ogni trivio, fece infame mercato della propria abbiezione, e della cecità, voglio anche concedere alla difesa, della acquiescenza del suo amante, questa donna, o signori, osò arrogarsi il diritto delle affezioni pure e delle anime oneste; osò esser gelosa, il giorno in cui il suo complice apriva gli occhi sulla propria vergogna, e si sottraeva al turpe vincolo, per rientrare nel consorzio dei buoni, ritemprandosi colla santità del matrimonio!
Ella udì pronunziare la sua condanna, disfatta, cogli occhi sbarrati e fissi, senza dir verbo. Si alzò traballando, come ubriaca, e nell'uscire dalla gabbia di ferro, batté il viso contro la grata.
Prima l'aveva fatta cadere _il signorino_ – se ne rammentava ancora come un bel sogno lontano, nell'azzurro. – Aveva pianto e supplicato. Indi, a poco a poco, vinta dal rispetto, dalla lusinga di quella tenerezza orgogliosa, dalla collera di quel ragazzo abituato a fare il suo volere in casa, s'era abbandonata timorosa e felice. Era stato un bel sogno, ch'era durato un mese. Egli saliva furtivo nella cameretta di lei, colle scarpe in mano, e si abbracciavano tremanti, al buio. Il giorno in cui il giovanetto dovette far ritorno all'Università, pioveva a dirotto; essa si rammentava pure dello scrosciare malinconico e continuo di quella grondaia. L'avevano sentito tutta la notte, colle braccia al collo l'una dell'altro, cogli occhi sbarrati nelle tenebre, contando le ore che sfilavano lente sui tetti. Poi lo vide partire coll'ombrello sotto l'ascella e la cappelliera in mano, senza dirle una parola davanti ai suoi. La signora però, coll'istinto della gelosia materna, indovinò le lacrime che doveva soffocare la ragazza in quel momento, e si diede a sorvegliarla. Un giorno, dopo averla mandata fuori con un pretesto, salì nella cameretta di lei, si chiuse dentro, e quando la Lena fu di ritorno colla spesa, trovò la padrona seria e accigliata, che le aggiustò il conto su due piedi, le ordinò di far fagotto, e la mise alla porta con una brutta parola.
La povera Lena, non sapendo che fare, schiacciata sotto la vergogna, prese la diligenza per la città, e andò a trovare il suo amante. Egli non era in casa. L'aspettò sulla porta, seduta sul marciapiede, col fagottino accanto. Dopo la mezzanotte lo vide che rientrava insieme a un'altra. Allora si alzò, colle gambe rotte dal viaggio, e si allontanò rasente al muro, zitta zitta. Il giovane non ne seppe mai nulla.
Era sopravvenuto un altro guaio, il suo fallo che era visibile a tutti. Cercò inutilmente di collocarsi. Spese quei pochi quattrini che le avanzavano; e infine, per vivere, fu costretta a prendere alloggio in un albergaccio dove la Questura veniva, di tanto in tanto, a far le sue retate. Lì ebbe a fare la prima volta con quella gente. Padrona ed avventori ridevano delle paure sciocche di lei, quando le guardie entravano all'improvviso di notte, e frugavano sotto i letti. Uno di quegli avventori, detto il _Bulo_ , uomo sulla cinquantina, colla faccia dura, il quale arrivava ogni quindici o venti giorni, senza bagaglio, ed era sempre in moto di qua e di là, s'innamorò di lei. Ella disse di no. Allora egli le offerse di sposarla. Lena disse ancora di no, sbigottita da quella faccia, e vergognosa di dover confessare il suo passato. Poscia, quando fu all'ospedale, e che lui soltanto venne a trovarla, colle mani piene d'arance, vinta da una gran debolezza chinò il capo piangendo, e gli confessò il suo fallo.
Il _Bulo_ protestava che non gliene importava nulla – acqua passata – purché non si ricominciasse da capo – e così si accordarono. Il _Bulo_ non era affatto geloso; la lasciava sola per mesi e settimane, e continuava ad andare sempre in giro pel suo mestiere, che non si sapeva quale fosse. Il Crippa, suo compagno, bazzicava solo in casa, aiutandolo nei negozi ai quali ei solo aveva mano, aspettandolo quando non c'era, avendo sempre qualche cosa da dirgli sottovoce, prima che il _Bulo_ si mettesse in viaggio. Nel medesimo tempo faceva l'asino alla comare, s'irritava alla resistenza di lei, abituato a fare il gallo della Checca, sempre vestito come un figurino, coi capelli arricciati e lucenti. Le portava dei vasetti di pomata, delle boccette di profumeria. Ella ribatteva che suo marito non se lo meritava. – Era stato tanto buono con lei! – Il Crippa, che certe storie non le capiva, badava a ripetere: – Or bene, giacché vostro marito ha chiuso gli occhi una prima volta...
Fu un giorno che il marito tardava a venire; e il Crippa la colse nella stanza di sopra, col pretesto di cercare un pacchettino che il compare gli aveva scritto di mandargli. La Lena, china sul cassetto del mobile, cercava insieme a lui, col seno gonfio, quando il _bell'Armando_ tutt'a un tratto l'afferrò pei fianchi, e le accoccò un bacio alla nuca.
– No! no! – balbettava essa tutta tremante, bianca come cera; ma il sangue le avvampò all'improvviso in faccia; arrovesciò il capo, cogli occhi chiusi, le labbra convulse, che scoprivano i denti. Dopo rimase tutta sottosopra, tenendosi la testa fra le mani, quasi fuori di sé.
– Cosa ho fatto, Dio mio! Cosa m'avete fatto fare!
Il Crippa, contento come una Pasqua, cercava di chetarla. Ormai... suo marito non ne avrebbe saputo mai nulla, parola di galantuomo, se avesse avuto giudizio anche lei...
Il _Bulo_ però lo seppe, o lo indovinò, al vedere l'aria smarrita della Lena, che ancora non aveva fatto il callo a certe cose. Il _bell'Armando_ , più sfacciato, gli faceva le solite accoglienze da fratello, buttandogli le braccia al collo, dandogli conto dei loro negozi per filo e per segno.
Il _Bulo_ lo guardò colla faccia dura, e gli rispose secco secco:
– Vi ringrazio, compare, di tutto quello che avete fatto per me e un giorno o l'altro ve lo renderò.
La Lena sentì gelarsi il sangue a quelle parole. Ma il Crippa, che aveva mangiato la foglia anche lui, le disse nell'orecchio, mentre il compare era andato di sopra un momento, a mutarsi di panni:
– Stai tranquilla, che ci penso io!
La notte stessa vennero le guardie ad arrestare il _Bulo_ ; e misero sottosopra tutta la casa, rimovendo perfino i mattoni del pavimento per vedere quel che c'era sotto. Il _Bulo_ , mentre lo menavano via ammanettato, le lasciò detto per ultimo addio:
– Salutami il compare, e digli che ci rivedremo al mio ritorno.
Il giorno dopo arrivò il Crippa, fresco come una rosa. La Lena, che aveva qualche sospetto, non seppe nascondergli la brutta impressione. Però egli si scolpò subito giurando colle braccia in croce. Due giorni dopo arrestarono anche lui, come complice del _Bulo_ , mettendoli a confronto l'uno con l'altro. Ma prove non ce n'erano; il Crippa dimostrò ch'era innocente come Dio; e per ribattere l'accusa spiattellò innanzi ai giudici la storia della comare, un tiro che cercava di giocargli il marito per gelosia. – Pelle per pelle, cara mia!... – disse poi alla Lena. – Da mio compare non me l'aspettavo questo servizio!... Quante ne ho passate, vedi, per causa tua!...
Ormai non c'era più rimedio. Tutto il paese lo sapeva. Perciò ella si mise col Crippa apertamente.
E si rammentava anche di questo – che un giorno, dopo che gli si era data tutta, anima e corpo, dopo che per amor suo aveva sofferto ogni cosa, la fame, gli strapazzi, la vergogna del suo stato, dopo che per lui era arrivata a vendere sin la lana delle materasse, il _bell'Armando_ l'aveva piantata, per correre dietro a una stracciona che gli spillava quei pochi soldi strappati a lei. E quando, pazza di dolore e di gelosia, cercava di trattenerlo, cogli occhi arsi di lacrime, dicendogli: – Guarda, Mando!... Guarda che ti rendo la pariglia!... – egli si stringeva nelle spalle, per tutta risposta.
Poi, allorché s'incontrarono di nuovo, era passato tanto tempo! tanto tempo! e tante vicende! Anch'essa era mutata, tanto mutata! Ma quell'uomo non se l'era potuto levare mai dal cuore, e adesso, la sciagurata, chinava il capo e si sentiva venir rossa come una volta.
Fu una sera tardi, che ella tornava a casa tutta sola, per combinazione. Egli la chiamò per nome, guardandola negli occhi con un certo fare, con un risolino che la rimescolava tutta. Lei voleva scusarsi balbettando, tentando di giustificarsi umilmente, mentre sentiva che il cuore le balzava verso quell'uomo. Lui le tappò la confessione in bocca con un bel bacio, un bacio che la fece impallidire, e le passò il cuore come un ferro.
Avrebbe preferito una coltellata addirittura. Ma egli non era geloso, no. Ormai!...
Un giorno le capitò dinanzi tutto rabbuffato. Aveva bisogno di denari; ma si fece pregare un bel pezzo prima di confidarglielo. Lena glieli diede il giorno dopo. D'allora in poi tornò spesso a domandargliene, senza farsi più pregare. E infine quando la poveretta, colla nausea alla gola, come una costretta a mandar giù delle porcherie, si arrischiò a dirgli: – Ma dove vuoi che li pigli, questi denari? – per tutta risposta Mando le voltò le spalle.
– Senti, – esclamò la Lena, con un impeto di tenerezza selvaggia, buttandoglisi al collo; – se li vuoi... se li vuoi proprio questi denari... Ma dimmi almeno che mi vorrai bene lo stesso...
Egli si lasciò abbracciare, ancora accigliato, brontolando fra i denti.
Lena glielo diceva spesso:
– Vedi, lo so che tu non mi vuoi bene. Ma non me ne importa; perché te ne voglio tanto io; tutto il male che ho fatto, l'ho fatto per te, intendi?
E il giorno in cui venne a sapere che egli prendeva moglie, l'ultima volta che ebbe ancora il coraggio di comparirle dinanzi col sorrisetto ironico e la giacchetta nuova, gli disse:
– Lo so che la sposi pei quattrini. Ma ora tu devi fare quel che ho fatto io per te.
Il _bell'Armando_ fingeva di non capire. Allora Lena lo afferrò per i capelli profumati, colle labbra bianche, e gli disse:
– Guarda, Mando! Guardami bene negli occhi! E dimmi s'è possibile finirla così, del tutto, dopo quel che abbiamo fatto tutti e due! Dimmi se potresti dormire senza rimorsi nel letto di quella donna...
Il Crippa campò, per sua fortuna; mise giudizio, ed ebbe figliuoli e sonni tranquilli, in quel buon letto morbido e caldo; mentre la _Mora_ scontava la pena sul tavolaccio dell'ergastolo.
# Nanni Volpe
Nanni Volpe, nei suoi begli anni, aveva pensato soltanto a _far la roba._ – Testa fine di villano, e spalle grosse – grosse per portarci trent'anni la zappa, e le bisacce, e il sole, e la pioggia. Quando gli altri giovani della sua età correvano dietro le gonnelle, oppure all'osteria, egli _portava paglia al nido_ , come diceva lui: oggi un pezzetto di chiusa; domani quattro tegole al sole: tutto pane che si levava di bocca, sangue del suo sangue, che si mutava in terra e sassi. Allorché il nido fu pronto, finalmente, Nanni Volpe aveva cinquant'anni, la schiena rotta, la faccia lavorata come un campo; ma ci aveva pure belle tenute al piano, una vigna in collina, la casa col solaio, e ogni ben di Dio. La domenica, quando scendeva in piazza, col vestito di panno blu, tutti gli facevano largo, persino le donne, vedove o zittelle, sapendo che ora, fatta la casa, ci voleva la padrona.
Egli non diceva di no; anzi! ci stava pensando. Però faceva le cose adagio, da uomo uso ad allungare il passo secondo la gamba. Vedova non la voleva, ché vi buttano ogni momento in faccia il primo marito; giovinetta di primo pelo neppure, _per non entrare subito nella confraternita_ , diceva lui. Aveva messo gli occhi sulla figliuola di comare Sènzia la Nana, una ragazza quieta del vicinato, cucita sempre al telaio, che non si vedeva alla finestra neppure la domenica, e sino ai ventott'anni non aveva avuto un cane che le abbaiasse dietro. Quanto alla dote, pazienza! Vuol dire che aveva lavorato egli per due. La Nana era contenta; la ragazza non diceva né sì né no, ma doveva esser contenta anche lei. Soltanto qualche mala lingua, dietro le sue spalle, andava dicendo: – Acqua cheta rovina mulino. – Oppure: – Questa è volpe che se la mangia il lupo, stavolta!
A Pasqua finalmente giunse il momento _della spiegazione_. I seminati erano alti così; gli ulivi carichi; Nanni Volpe aveva terminato allora di pagare l'ultima rata del mulino. – Ogni cosa proprio opportuna. Infilò il vestito blu, e andò a parlare a comare Sènzia. La ragazza era dietro l'uscio della cucina ad ascoltare. Quando poi sua madre la chiamò, comparve tutta rossa, lisciata di fresco, colla calzetta in mano, e il mento inchiodato al petto.
– Raffaela, qui c'è massaro Nanni che ti vuole per sposa, – disse la madre.
La giovane rimase a capo chino, seguitando a infilare i punti della calza, col seno che le si gonfiava. Massaro Nanni aggiunse:
– Ora si aspetta che diciate anche voi la vostra.
La mamma allora venne in aiuto della sua creatura:
– Io, per me, sono contenta.
E Raffaela levò gli occhi dolci di pecora, e rispose:
– Se siete contenta voi, mamma...
Le nozze si fecero senza tanto chiasso, perché compare Nanni Volpe non aveva fumi pel capo, e sapeva _che a fare un tarì ci vogliono venti grani_. Pure non si dimenticarono i parenti più stretti ed i vicini; e ci furono dolci del monastero, e vino bianco. Fra gli invitati c'erano anche quelli che sarebbero stati gli eredi di Nanni Volpe, poveri diavoli che s'empivano di roba, e si sarebbero mangiata cogli occhi anche la sposa. Questa, impalata nel vestito di lana e seta, cogli ori al collo, badava già ai suoi interessi, l'occhio al _trattamento_ , il sorrisetto della festa e una buona parola per tutti, amici e nemici. Nanni Volpe, tutto contento, si fregava le mani, e diceva fra sé e sé:
– Se non riesce bene una moglie come questa, vuol dire che non c'è più né santi né paradiso!
E Carmine, suo cugino alla lontana, che lo chiamava zio per amor della roba, ed ora gli toccava anche mostrarsi amabile con lei che gli rubava il fatto suo, diceva alla zia, ogni manciata di confetti che abbrancava:
– Avessi saputo la bella zia che mi toccava!... Vorrei pigliarmi gli anni e i malanni di mio zio, stanotte!
Chiusa la porta, quando tutti se ne furono andati, compare Nanni condusse la sposa a visitare le stanze, il granaio, sin la stalla, e tutto il ben di Dio. Dopo posò il lume sul canterano, accanto al letto, e le disse:
– Ora tu sei la padrona.
Raffaela, che sapeva dove metter le mani, tanto gliene aveva parlato sua madre, chiuse gli ori nel cassetto, la veste di lana e seta nell'armadio; legò le chiavi in mazzo, così in sottanina com'era, e le ficcò sotto il guanciale. Suo marito approvò con un cenno del capo, e conchiuse:
– Brava! Così mi piaci!
Tutto andava pel suo verso. Nanni Volpe badava _alla campagna_ , duro come la terra; e sua moglie poi gli faceva trovare la camicia di bucato bella e pronta sul letto, quando tornava il sabato sera, la minestra sul tagliere, e il pane a lievitare per l'altra settimana. Teneva conto della roba che il marito mandava a casa: tanti tumoli di grano, tanti quintali di sommacco, tutto segnato nelle taglie, appese in mazzo a piè del crocifisso; buona massaia e col timor di Dio, a messa col marito la domenica e le feste, confessarsi due volte al mese, e il resto del tempo poi tutta per la casa, sino a far la predica al marito, se Carmine, il nipote povero, veniva a ronzargli intorno.
– Non gli date nulla, a quel disutilaccio, o se no, non ve lo levate più di dosso. A lasciarli fare, i vostri parenti, vi mangerebbero vivo.
E compare Nanni si fregava le mani, e rispondeva:
– Brava! Così mi piaci.
Carmine alla fine aveva odorato da che parte soffiava il vento, e s'era attaccato alla gonnella della zia, per strapparle di mano qualche misura di fave, o qualche fascio di sarmenti, nell'inverno rigido che spaccava le pietre.
– Che ci avete un sasso, lì nel cuore, per lasciar morir di fame il sangue vostro? Con tanto ben di Dio che ci avete in casa! Se voi volete, lo zio Nanni non dice di no.
– Io che posso farci? Lo sai che è lui il padrone.
Poi un'altra volta:
– Almeno aveste dei figliuoli, pazienza! Ma cosa volete farne di tutta quella roba, quando sarete morti, marito e moglie?
– Se non abbiamo figliuoli, vuol dire che non c'è la volontà di Dio.
Il giovinastro allora si grattava il capo, guardando la zia cogli occhi di gatto. Un giorno per toccarle il cuore, arrivò a dirle:
– Così bella e giovane come siete, è un vero peccato che non ci sia la volontà di Dio!
– O a te che te ne importa?
Carmine ci pensò su un momento, e poi rispose, fregandosi le mani:
– Vorrei essere nella camicia dello zio Nanni, e vi farei vedere se me ne importa!
– Zitto, scomunicato! O lo dico a tuo zio, i discorsi che vieni a farmi, sai!
– Me lo date dunque cotesto fiasco di vino?
– Sì, per levarmiti dai piedi. Non dir nulla a compare Nanni però.
Carmine finalmente, trovato ora il tasto che bisognava toccare, quando aveva bisogno di qualche cosa, tornava a dire alla zia:
– Siete bella come il sole. Siete grassa come una quaglia. Il Signore non fa le cose bene, a dare il biscotto a chi non ha più denti.
La zia Raffaela si faceva rossa dalla bile; lo sgridava come un ragazzaccio che era, e perché gli si levasse dinanzi gli metteva in mano qualche cosuccia. Una volta gli lasciò andare anche un ceffone.
– Fate, fate, – disse Carmine, – ché dalle vostre mani ogni cosa mi è dolce.
– Non venirci più qui! Non mi far peccare a causa tua! Ogni volta poi, mi tocca dirlo al confessore.
– Che male c'è? Son vostro nipote, sangue vostro.
– No, no, non voglio. La gente parlerebbe, vedendoti sempre qui. Poi, no, non voglio!
– Io ci vengo soltanto per vedervi. Non vi domando più nulla, ecco. Mi avete affatturato, è colpa mia?
Un giorno, durante la raccolta, mentre Carmine aiutava a scaricare l'orzo nel granaio – Raffaela che faceva lume, tutta rossa e in camiciuola anche lei – lo scellerato l'afferrò a un tratto pei capelli, come una vera bestia che era, e non volle lasciarla più, per quanto essa gli martellasse gli stinchi cogli zoccoli, e gli piantasse le unghie in faccia.
– Per la santa giornata ch'è oggi!... – sbuffava Carmine col fiato grosso. – Stavolta non vi lascio, no!
Raffaela tutta scomposta, torva, col seno ansante che le rompeva la camiciuola, andava brancicando per trovare la lucerna caduta a terra, e balbettava, colle labbra ancora umide:
– M'hai fatto spandere dell'olio! Accadrà qualche disgrazia!
Nanni Volpe, nel rompere il maggese, alle prime acque, aveva acchiappata una perniciosa. – La terra che se lo mangiava finalmente – e il medico e lo speziale pure. Raffaela, poveretta, si sarebbe meritata una statua in quella circostanza. Tutto il giorno in faccende col nipote, a far cuocere decotti, e preparar medicine pel malato. Lui rimminchionito in fondo a un letto, pensando sempre ai denari che volavano via, e ai suoi interessi ch'erano in mano di questo e di quello: gli uomini che mangiavano e bevevano alle sue spalle, e se ne stavano intanto nell'aia senza far nulla, ora che mancava l'occhio del padrone; il _curatolo_ che gli rubava certo una pezza di formaggio ogni due giorni; la porta del magazzino che ci voleva la serratura nuova, tanto che il camparo doveva averci pratica colla vecchia. La notte non sognava altro che ladri e ruberie, e si svegliava di soprassalto, col sudore della morte addosso. Una volta gli parve anche di udir rumore nella stanza accanto, e saltò dal letto in camicia, collo schioppo in mano. C'erano davvero due piedi che uscivano fuori, di sotto il tavolone, e Raffaela in sottanino che s'affannava a buttarvi roba addosso:
– Al ladro! al ladro! – si mise a gridare Nanni Volpe, frugando sotto la tavola colla canna dello schioppo.
– Non mi uccidete, ché sono sangue vostro! – balbettò Carmine rizzandosi in piedi, pallido come la camicia; e Raffaela, facendosi il segno della croce, brontolava:
– L'avevo ben detto, che l'olio per terra porta disgrazia!
Poscia, spinto fuori dell'uscio Carmine più morto che vivo, e ancora mezzo svestito, Raffaela si mise attorno a suo marito, coi beveroni, col vino medicato, per farlo rimettere dallo spavento, scaldandogli i piedi col fiasco d'acqua calda, rincalzandogli nella schiena la coperta: – Lei non sapeva, in coscienza, come si fosse ficcato là quel ragazzaccio. Gli aveva detto, è vero, in prima sera, di aiutarla a cavar fuori il bucato; ma credeva che a quell'ora se ne fosse già andato da un pezzo.
Nanni, rammollito dal letto e dalla malattia, lasciava dire e lasciava fare. Però, testa fina di villano, col naso sotto il lenzuolo, pensava ai casi suoi, e al modo di levare i piedi da quel pantano senza lasciarci le scarpe.
– Senti, – disse alla moglie appena giorno. – Ho pensato di far testamento.
– Che malaugurio vi viene in mente adesso?
– No, no, figliuola mia. Ho i piedi nella fossa. Mi son logorata la pelle per far la roba, e voglio aggiustare i conti prima di lasciar la fattoria.
– Almeno si può sapere che intenzione avete?
– Quanto a questo sta' tranquilla. Sai come dice il proverbio? «L'anima a chi va, e la roba a chi tocca.»
– Dio vi terrà conto del bene che mi avete fatto e che mi fate; – rispose Raffaela intenerita. – M'avete presa nuda e cruda come un'orfanella, e anch'io vi ho rispettato sempre come un padre.
– Sì, sì, lo so, – accennò il marito, e la nappina del berretto che accennava di sì anch'essa. Volle pure confessarsi e comunicarsi, per essere in pace con Dio e cogli uomini, quando il Signore lo chiamava. Mandò a cercare persino suo nipote, e gli disse:
– Bestia, perché sei scappato? Avevi paura di me, che sono il sangue tuo?
Carmine, come un baccellone, non sapeva che rispondere, dondolandosi ora su una gamba e ora sull'altra, col berretto in mano.
– Rimetti il tuo berretto, – conchiuse lo zio Nanni. – Qui sei in casa tua, e puoi venirci quando vuoi. Anzi sarà meglio, per guardarti i tuoi interessi.
E come l'altro spalancava gli occhi di bue:
– Sì, sì, va' a chiederlo al notaro il testamento che ho fatto, ingrataccio! «L'anima a Dio e la roba a chi tocca.»
Allora Raffaela saltò su come una furia:
– L'anima la darete al diavolo! Come un ladro che siete! Sì, un ladro! Perché vi ho sposato dunque?
– Questo è un altro affare; – rispose Nanni spogliandosi per tornare a letto; – un altro affare che non può aggiustarsi, al caso, come un testamento.
– Ohé! – gridò Carmine affrontando la zia che voleva slanciarsi colle unghie fuori. – Ohé! lasciate star lo zio! O vi tiro il collo come una gallina!
Raffaela uscì di casa inferocita, giurando che andava a citare suo marito dinanzi al giudice, per avere il fatto suo, e voleva farlo morir solo e arrabbiato come un cane.
– Non importa! – disse Carmine, il nipote. – Se mi volete, ci resto io con voi, che sono sangue vostro.
– Bravo! – rispose Nanni. – E ti guarderai i tuoi interessi pure.
Però Raffaela in casa della mamma fu accolta come un cane che viene a mangiare nella scodella altrui.
– Non hai la tua casa adesso? Non sei già maritata? che vuoi qui?
Essa voleva almeno gli alimenti dal marito. Ma Nanni Volpe sapeva il codice meglio di un avvocato.
– L'ho forse cacciata via di casa? – rispose al giudice. – La porta è aperta, se vuol tornare, lei.
Carmine badava a dirgli che faceva uno sbaglio grosso, a mettersi di nuovo la moglie in casa, con quell'odio che doveva avere adesso, che un giorno o l'altro l'avrebbe avvelenato per levarselo dinanzi.
– No, no, – rispose lo zio col suo risolino d'uomo dabbene. – Il testamento è in favor tuo, e se mi avvelena non ci guadagna nulla. Anzi! – Si grattò il capo a pensare se dovesse dirla, e infine se la tenne per sé, ridendo cheto cheto.
Infatti Raffaela tornò a casa sottomessa come una pecora. – L'accompagnò la mamma Sènzia e gli altri parenti. – Nulla nulla. Son cose che succedono fra marito e moglie; ma ora la pace è fatta, e vedrete come vostra moglie si ripiglia il cuore che gli avete dato, compare Nanni.
– Io non gliel'ho tolto, – rispose Nanni Volpe. – E non voglio toglierle nulla, se lo merita.
Raffaela per meritarselo si fece buona ed amorevole che non pareva vero, sempre intorno al marito, a curarlo, a prevenirgli ogni desiderio e ogni malanno. Il vecchio le diceva:
– Fai bene, fai bene. Perché se mi accade una disgrazia prima che io abbia avuto il tempo di rifare il testamento, è peggio per te.
E si lasciava cullare e lisciare, e mettere nel cotone, e ci stava come un papa.
– Un giorno o l'altro, – diceva sempre, – se il Signore mi dà tempo, voglio rifare il testamento. Ho lavorato tutta la vita; ho fatto suola di scarpe della mia pelle; ma ora ho il benservito. Tutto sta ad avere il giudizio per procurarsi il benservito.
Il solo fastidio che gli fosse rimasto, in quella beatitudine, erano le liti continue fra Carmine e la zia. Strilli e botte da orbi tutto il giorno; e non poteva neppure alzarsi per separarli.
Alle volte Raffaela compariva tutta arruffata, sputando fiele, col sangue che le colava giù dal naso, mostrando gli sgraffi e le lividure:
– Guardate cosa m'ha fatto, quell'assassino!
– Ehi, ehi, Carmine, cosa le hai fatto a tua zia, birbante?
– Perché non lo cacciate via a pedate, quel fannullone?
– Eh, eh, bisogna averci un uomo in casa, ora che sono inchiodato al letto.
– Vedrete! vedrete! Un giorno o l'altro vi fa fare la morte del topo, per non lasciarvi il tempo di rifare il testamento. Vi dà il tossico, com'è vero Dio!
– O tu che ci stai a fare allora, se non mi guardi la pelle e i tuoi interessi?
Sempre quell'affare del testamento, che Carmine n'era contento, così come gli aveva detto lo zio, e la moglie no; e Nanni Volpe fra i due non trovava modo di rifarlo, dicendo ogni volta che si sentiva peggio; sicché Raffaela, al vedere che se ne andava di giorno in giorno, ormai tutto una cosa col berretto di cotone, si mangiava il fegato dalla bile, e si sentiva male anche lei, tanto che infine glielo disse chiaro e tondo in faccia a Carmine stesso, il quale stava imboccando lo zio col cucchiaio in una mano e reggendogli il capo coll'altra.
– Fate bene a tenervi così caro il sangue vostro, perché non sapete il bel servizio che v'ha fatto vostro nipote!
Carmine voleva romperle sul muso la scodella e il candeliere; ma il vecchio agitando due o tre volte adagio adagio il fiocco del berretto disse:
– Sì, sì, lo so.
Così se ne andò all'altro mondo, pian pianino e servito come un principe. Quando Carmine volle cacciar via a pedate Raffaela dalla casa, che oramai doveva esser di lui solo, fece aprire il testamento, e si vide allora quant'era stato furbo Nanni Volpe, che aveva canzonato lui, la moglie e anche Cristo in paradiso. La roba andava tutta all'ospedale; e zia e nipote s'accapigliarono per bene stavolta, dinanzi al notaro.
# Quelli del colèra
Il colèra mieteva la povera gente colla falce, a Regalbuto, a Leonforte, a San Filippo, a Centuripe, per tutto il contado; e anche dei ricchi: il parroco di Canzirrò, ch'era scappato ai primi casi, e veniva soltanto in paese per dir messa, a sole alto, l'aveva pigliato nell'ostia consacrata; a don Pepé, il mercante di bestiame, gliel'avevano dato invece in una presa di tabacco, alla fiera di Muglia, un sensale forestiero – per conchiudere il negozio – diceva lui. Cose da far rizzare i capelli in testa! Avvelenata persino la fontana delle Quattro Vie; bestie e cristiani vi restavano, là! A Rosegabella, venti case, un bel giorno era capitato il merciaiuolo, di quelli che vanno in giro colle scarabattole in spalla, e quanti misero il naso fuori per vedere, tanti ne morirono, fin le galline. Ciascuno badava quindi ai casi propri, collo schioppo in mano, appiattato dietro l'uscio, accanto la siepe, bocconi nel fossatello, per le fattorie, nei casolari, da per tutto. Quelli di San Martino s'erano anche armati, uomini e donne. Volevano morir piuttosto di una schioppettata, o d'altra morte che manda Dio. Ma di colèra, no! non lo volevano!
Nonostante, lo scomunicato male andavasi avvicinando di giorno in giorno, tale e quale come una creatura col giudizio, che faccia le sue tappe di viaggio, senza badare a guardie e a fucilate. Oggi scoppiava a Catenavecchia, il giorno dopo si sentiva dire che era alla Broma, cinque miglia soltanto da San Martino. Una povera donna gravida di sei mesi, per avere aiutato certa vecchia che l'era caduto l'asino dinanzi alla sua porta, e fingeva di piangere e disperarsi, era stata presa dai dolori quasi subito, ed era morta, lei e il bambino: sangue d'innocente che grida vendetta dinanzi a Dio!
La sera, da quelle parti, chi aveva il coraggio di arrischiarsi sino in cima alla salita, vedeva dietro la china che nasconde il paesetto i fuochi e i razzi che sembravano quelli della festa del santo patrono, tutti col capitombolo verso San Martino; e il domani poi si trovavano le macchie d'unto per terra e lungo i muri; qua e là si sussurrava dei rumori strani che si udivano la notte: gatti che miagolavano come in gennaio; tegole smosse quasi tirasse il maestrale; gente che aveva udito picchiare all'uscio dopo la mezzanotte, com'è vero Dio; e dei carri che passavano per le stradicciuole più remote, come delle macchine asmatiche che andavano strascinandosi di porta in porta, soffiando e sbuffando, il Signore ce ne scampi e liberi!
Il venerdì, verso mezzogiorno, Agostino, quello delle lettere, era tornato dal rilievo della Posta colla borsa vuota e tutto stravolto. Sua moglie, poveretta, al vederlo con quel viso si cacciò le mani nei capelli: – Che avete fatto, scellerato? Dove l'avete preso tutto quel male in un momento? – Egli non sapeva dirlo. Laggiù, arrivato al ponte, s'era sentito stanco tutt'a un tratto, e s'era seduto un momento sul parapetto. Prima di lui c'era stato un viandante, il quale si asciugava il sudore con un fazzoletto turchino. – Don Domenico, il fattore, l'aveva predicato tante e tante volte, di badare sopra tutto a certe facce nuove che andavano intorno, per le vie, e nelle chiese perfino! (Potevate sospettarlo, nella casa di Dio?) Cavavano fuori il fazzoletto, finta di soffiarsi il naso, e lasciavano cadere certe pallottoline invisibili, che chi ci metteva il piede sopra poi, per sua disgrazia, era fatta!
Il giorno stesso, a precipizio, chi aveva qualche cosa da portar via, e un buco dove andare a rintanarsi, in una grotta, fra le macchie dei fichidindia, nelle capannucce delle vigne, era fuggito dal villaggio. Avanti il somarello, con quel po' di grano o di fave, il cesto delle galline, il maiale dietro, e poi tutta la famiglia, carica di roba. Quelli che erano rimasti, i più poveri, da principio avevano fatto il diavolo, minacciando di sfondar le porte chiuse, e bruciare le case dei fuggiaschi; poscia erano corsi a tirar fuori dal magazzino tutti i santi del paese, come quando si aspetta la pioggia o il bel tempo, l'Addolorata, coi sette pugnali di stagno, san Gregorio Magno, tutto una spuma d'oro, san Rocco miracoloso che mostrava col dito il segno della peste, sul ginocchio. All'ora della benedizione, nel crepuscolo, quelle statue ritte in cima all'altare buio, facevano arricciare i peli ai più induriti peccatori. Si videro delle cose allora da far piangere di tenerezza gli stessi sassi: Vito Sgarra che si divise dalla Sorda, colla quale viveva in peccato mortale da dieci anni; Padre Giuseppe Maria a far la croce sul debito degli inquilini che proprio non potevano pagarlo; Angelo il Ciaramidaro andare alla messa e alla benedizione come un santo, senza che gli sbirri gli dessero noia, e la notte dormire tranquillo nel suo letto, colla disciplina irta di chiodi e insanguinata al capezzale, accanto allo schioppo carico che ne aveva fatte tante. Misteri della Grazia! come diceva il predicatore. Tutta la notte, in fondo alla piazzetta, si vedeva la finestra della chiesa illuminata che vegliava sul villaggio; e di tratto in tratto udivasi martellare la campana, alla quale rispondeva da lontano una schioppettata, poi un'altra, poi un'altra, una fucilata che non finiva più, pazza di terrore, e si propagava per le fattorie, pei casolari, per le ville, per tutta la campagna circostante, dove i cani uggiolavano, sino all'alba.
La domenica mattina, spuntava appena l'alba, si vide una cosa nuova nel Prato della Fiera, appena fuori del villaggio. Era come una casa di legno, su quattro ruote, con certe figuracce brutte dipinte sopra, e lì vicino un vecchio carponi, che andava cogliendo erbe selvatiche. I cani avevano dato l'allarme tutta la notte; e quello del maniscalco, che stava da quelle parti, non s'era dato pace, quasi avesse il giudizio.
– Eccolo lì, povera bestia! gli manca solo la parola! – Il maniscalco raccontava a tutti la stessa cosa, via via che andavasi facendo gente dinanzi alla bottega. La gente guardava il cane, guardava la baracca, e scrollava il capo.
Dirimpetto, sugli scalini della croce in capo alla strada, c'erano altri in crocchio, che guardavano, e parlavano sottovoce fra di loro, col viso scuro. Dal muro del cimitero spuntava lo schioppo di Scaricalasino, malarnese, che accennava a tre o quattro altri suoi compagni della stessa risma, lontan lontano, verso la Broma, e poi verso Catenanuova, con gran gesti neri al sole. Dal ballatoio della gnà Giovanna suo marito chiamava gente anche lui, in fondo alla piazza, agitando le braccia in aria. – Quello! Quello! – gridavasi da un crocchio all'altro. E il vecchio carponi era corso a rintanarsi. Sul finestrino del carrozzone era passata una figura bianca di donna, coi capelli scarmigliati; poi s'erano uditi strilli di ragazzi e pianti soffocati. Dalla strada principale giungevano il farmacista, il Capo Urbano, le guardie, col giglio sul berretto e grossi randelli in mano. La folla dietro, come un torrente, mormorando; uomini torvi, donne col lattante al petto. Da lontano, verso San Rocco, la campana sonava sempre a distesa. Don Ramondo, colle mani e colla voce andava dicendo alla folla: – Largo, largo, signori miei! Lasciatemi vedere di che si tratta. – Poi sgusciarono dentro il baraccone tutti e due, lui e il Capo Urbano; le guardie sbatterono l'uscio sul naso ai più riottosi. Ci fu un po' di parapiglia, un po' di schiamazzo, qualche pugno sulla faccia. Infine il farmacista e il Capo Urbano ricomparvero vociando tutti e due che non era nulla, il Capo Urbano sventolando un foglio di carta in aria, don Ramondo sgolandosi a ripetere: – Niente! Niente! Son poveri commedianti che vanno intorno per buscarsi il pane. Poveri diavoli morti di fame.
La folla nonostante li seguiva mormorando e accavallandosi come un mare. Sulla piazza il Capo Urbano fece anche lui il suo discorsetto: – Via! via! State tranquilli. Sono o non sono il Capo Urbano? – Poi infilò l'uscio della farmacia con don Ramondo. La folla cominciò a diradarsi. Alcuni andarono a casa, a contar la notizia; altri, siccome il sagrestano si slogava sempre a sonare a messa, entrarono in chiesa. Qualcheduno, più ostinato, ritornò verso il Prato della Fiera. Quei poveri diavoli di comici, che si tiravano dietro la loro casa al par della lumaca, passato il temporale, tornarono a metter fuori le corna ad uno ad uno, appunto come fa la lumaca. Il vecchio aveva sciorinato all'uscio un gran cartellone dipinto. La moglie, con un tamburo al collo, chiamava gente; i ragazzi, camuffati da pagliacci, facevano mille buffonerie, e la giovinetta, colle gambe magre nelle maglie color di carne fresca, un fiore di carta nei capelli, il gonnellino più gonfio di una bolla di sapone, le braccia e le spalle nere fuori del corpetto di seta stinta, soffiava nella tromba, col poco fiato del suo petto scarno. Pure era una novità pel paese, e i giovinastri correvano a vedere, spingendosi col gomito. Inoltre i comici avevano altri richiami per il pubblico: un cardellino che dava i numeri del lotto; il ronzino che contava le ore, e indovinava gli anni degli spettatori colla zampa; un ragazzo che camminava sulle mani, portando in giro, stretto fra i denti, il piattello per raccogliere la _buona grazia_. Quando si era fatta un po' di gente, calavano il tendone un'altra volta, e rientravano tutti a rappresentare la commedia coi burattini, la donna col tamburone al collo, gridando sempre dalla piattaforma: – Avanti, signori! Avanti, che comincia! – Si pigliava alla porta quel che si poteva: un baiocco, delle fave, qualche manciata di ceci anche. I ragazzi gratis. Fino alla sera, tardi, ci fu ressa dinanzi alla baracca, sotto il gran lampione rosso che chiamava gente da lontano. Amici e conoscenti si vociavano da un capo all'altro del Prato della Fiera; si scambiavano i frizzi salati e le parolacce come dentro avevano fatto Pulcinella e Colombina. Nessuno pensava più al castigo di Dio che avevano addosso.
Ma la notte – ci volevano più di due ore alla messa dell'alba – Tac tac, vennero a chiamare in fretta lo speziale. – Presto, alzatevi, don Ramondo, ché dai Zanghi hanno bisogno di voi! – Il poveraccio non riusciva a trovare i calzoni al buio, in quella confusione. Zanghi, steso sul letto, freddo, colla barba arruffata, andava acchiappando mosche, colle mani fuori del lenzuolo, le mani nere, gli occhi in fondo a due buchi della testa. Sua moglie seminuda, coi capelli sulle spalle, tutta gonfia e arruffata anche lei come una gallina ammalata, correva per la stanza, cercando di aiutarlo senza saper come, coi figliuoli che le strillavano dietro. – Dottore! dottore! Che c'è? Che ve ne pare? – Don Ramondo non diceva nulla: guardava, tastava, versava la medicina nel cucchiaio, colle mani tremanti, la boccetta che urtava ogni momento nel cucchiaio, e faceva trasalire. E il malato pure, colla voce cavernosa, che sembrava venire dal mondo di là, balbettando: – Don Ramondo! Don Ramondo! Che non ci sia più aiuto per me? Fatelo per questi innocenti, ché son padre di famiglia! Poi, come s'irrigidì, colla barba in aria, e i figliuoli si misero ad urlare più forte, aggrappandosi alle coperte di lui che non udiva, don Ramondo prese il suo cappello, e la donna gli corse dietro in sottana com'era, colle mani nei capelli, gridando aiuto per tutto il vicinato. Spuntava l'alba serena nel cielo color di madreperla; alla chiesa, lassù, si udiva sonare la prima messa.
Per le stradicciuole ancora buie si udiva uno sbatter d'usci, un insolito va e vieni, un mormorìo crescente. Sull'angolo della piazza, nel caffè di Agostino il portalettere, buon'anima, avevano dimenticato il lume acceso, nella bottega vuota, i bicchierini ancora capovolti nel vassoio; e dinanzi all'uscio c'era un crocchio di gente che discuteva colla faccia accesa. Neli, il maggiore dei figliuoli, sporgeva il capo di tanto in tanto fra le tendine dello scaffale, più pallido del suo berretto da notte, cogli occhi gonfi, per vedere se qualcheduno venisse a prendere il rum o l'acquavite. E a tutti coloro che l'interrogavano dall'uscio, senza osare di entrare, rispondeva sempre scrollando il capo: – Così! Sempre la stessa! – Poi si vide uscire dalla parte del vicoletto la ragazzina che andava correndo dal sagrestano per le candele benedette.
Ogni momento giungeva qualcheduno che veniva dalla casa di Zanghi, e aveva visto dall'uscio spalancato il letto in fondo alla camera, col lenzuolo disteso, le candele accese al capezzale e i figliuoli che piangevano. Altri portavano altre brutte notizie. – Il Capo Urbano che stava imballando le materasse; il farmacista che tardava ad aprire la bottega. – La folla cominciava ad ammutinarsi a misura che cresceva. – Cristiani del mondo! Che ci vogliono far morire davvero come bestie nella tana? – Uno, colla faccia stralunata, raccontava come Zanghi avesse acchiappato il male, nella baracca dei commedianti. L'aveva visto lui, coi suoi occhi, il vecchio che lo tirava per la falda del vestito perché gli pareva che volesse passare a scappellotto. – Anche comare Barbara! che pur non si era mossa di casa! – E quell'infame Capo Urbano che andava dicendo «Non è nulla, non è nulla,» e mostrava la carta bianca! Quella era la carta del Sotto Intendente, che ordinava di lasciar spargere il colèra! – Ah! volevano proprio farli morire come bestie nella tana, cristiani di Dio!
Tutt'a un tratto si udirono dietro lo scaffale delle grida: – Mamma! mamma! – e delle strida di dolore disperate. Neli irruppe nella bottega urlando come una bestia feroce, coi pugni sugli occhi. Un parente corse lesto lesto a chiudere gli scaffali, per tutta quella gente che s'affollava nella bottega e nessuno poteva tenerla d'occhio.
Allora la folla, quasi fosse corsa una parola d'ordine, si mosse tutta come una fiumana, gridando e minacciando. Un'anima buona si mise le gambe in spalla, e corse per le scorciatoie dal Capo Urbano, a dirgli che scappasse. Ma il poveraccio, da un bel pezzo, fiutando come si mettevano le cose, aveva infilato l'usciuolo dell'orto, carponi fra le viti, e preso il volo pei campi.
Quelli del baraccone stavano facendo cuocere quattro fave, a ridosso del muricciuolo, seduti sulle calcagna, per covar la pentola cogli occhi, tutta la famiglia. A un tratto udirono gridare: – Dàlli! dàlli! – e videro la folla inferocita che correva per sbranarli. – Signori miei! siamo poveri diavoli, poveri commedianti che andiamo intorno per buscarci il pane! – Il vecchio annaspando colle mani, per fare intendere le sue ragioni; la donna che copriva i figlioletti colle ali, come una chioccia; la giovinetta colle braccia in aria. Arrivò una prima sassata, che fece colare il sangue. Poi un parapiglia, la gente in mucchio accapigliandosi, gli strilli delle vittime, che si udivano più forte. – No! no! non li ammazzate ancora! Vediamo prima se sono innocenti! Vediamo prima se portano il colèra! – C'erano pure delle anime buone in quella ressa. Ma gli altri non volevano intender ragione: Neli di comare Barbara, che gli sanguinava il cuore dall'angoscia; Scaricalasino che aveva visto coi suoi occhi Zanghi stecchito sotto il lenzuolo; massaro Lio che si sentiva già i dolori di ventre addosso. In un attimo la baracca fu tutta sottosopra; i burattini, gli scenari, i cenci, la poca paglia fradicia dei sacconi. Poi, dopo che non ebbero più dove frugare, fecero un mucchio d'ogni cosa, e vi appiccarono il fuoco. – Bravo! E adesso come farete a scoprire se portavano il colèra? – gridavano alcuni. Ma il povero capocomico non sentiva e non badava più a nulla, né le grida di morte, né le falci, né le scuri; pallido e stravolto, col sangue giù per la faccia, i capelli irti, gli occhi fuori della testa, voleva buttarsi sul fuoco per spegnerlo colle sue mani, urlando che lo rovinavano, che gli toglievano il suo pane, strappandosi i capelli dalla disperazione, in mezzo alla famigliuola tutta pesta e malconcia, scampata per miracolo alla strage. – Meglio, meglio che ci avessero uccisi tutti! – Neppure il colèra li aveva voluti, da per tutto dove l'avevano incontrato, stanchi ed affamati.
Ancora, dopo cinquant'anni, Scaricalasino, il quale è diventato un uomo di giudizio, dice a chi vuol dargli retta, che il colèra ci doveva essere nel baraccone. Peccato che lo bruciarono! Quelli erano ricconi che andavano attorno così travestiti per non dar nell'occhio, e buscavano centinaia d'onze a quel mestiere.
Dove avevano saputo far le cose bene era stato a Miraglia, un paesetto mangiato dal colèra e dalla fame, il giorno in cui s'erano viste certe facce nuove per la via dove da un mese non passava un cane, e la povera gente, senza pane e senza lavoro, aspettava il colèra colle mani in mano. Anche costoro mostravano di essere dei viandanti rifiniti dal lungo viaggio, come una famigliuola di zingari; l'uomo che si dava per calderaio, la moglie che diceva la buona ventura, la figlia, una bella bruna, la quale doveva averne fatte molte, così giovane com'era, e portava attaccato al petto cascante un bambino affamato e macilento. Dei suoi diciotto anni non le erano rimasti altro che due grandi occhi neri, degli occhi scomunicati che vi mangiavano vivo. Anch'essi si portavano dietro tutta la loro casa in un carretto sconquassato, coperto da una tenda a brandelli, che veniva avanti traballando, tirato da un somarello sfinito. Siccome la popolazione si era commossa al loro apparire, e minacciava, il Capo Urbano accorse anche qui colle guardie, armate sino ai denti, gridando da lontano – Via! via! – come si fa ai lupi. Loro a ripeter la commedia che venivano da lontano, che li avevano scacciati da ogni dove, che erano affamati, e preferivano li uccidessero lì a schioppettate. Allora, per non saper che fare, temendo di accostarsi per paura del colèra, li lasciarono lì, fuori del paese, guardati a vista come bestie pericolose. Nessuno chiuse occhio, quella notte, la vigilia di San Giovanni, che c'era un chiaro di luna come di giorno. Tutt'a un tratto, coloro che stavano a guardia, nascosti dietro il muro, videro lo zingaro che s'era avventurato carponi sino alle prime case, razzolando in un mondezzaio. Colà l'uccisero di una schioppettata, come un cane arrabbiato. Dopo gli trovarono un torsolo di cavolo, che ci aveva ancora in pugno, e il petto della camicia tutto gonfio di bucce e frutta marcia. Al rumore, alle grida che si udivano da lontano, tutto il paese fu in piedi subito, e la caccia incominciò. La vecchia fu raggiunta all'argine del fossatello, barcollando sulle gambe stecchite. La giovane dinanzi al carretto, che voleva difendere la sua creatura, come succede anche alle bestie, con certi occhi che facevano paura, e cercava di afferrare le scuri per aria, colle mani insanguinate. Dopo, frugando fra i cenci della carretta, trovarono le pillole del colèra e ogni cosa. Ma quegli occhi più d'uno non poté dimenticarli. E ancora, dopo cinquant'anni, Vito Sgarra, che aveva menato il primo colpo, vede in sogno quelle mani nere e sanguinose che brancicano nel buio.
Però, se erano davvero innocenti, perché la vecchia, che diceva la buona ventura, non aveva previsto come andava a finire?
# Lacrymæ rerum
Alla finestra dirimpetto, si vedeva sempre il lume che vegliava, la notte – le lunghe notti piovose d'inverno, e quando la luna di marzo, ancora fredda, imbiancava la facciata della casa silenziosa. La stanza era gialla, con una meschina tenda di velo appesa alla finestra. A volte vi apparivano dietro delle ombre nere, che si dileguavano rapidamente.
Ogni sera, alla stessa ora, si vedeva passare un lume di stanza in stanza, sino alla camera gialla, dove la luce si avvivava intorno a un letto bianco circondato dalle stesse ombre premurose. Indi la casa tornava scura e sembrava deserta, nel gran silenzio della via. Solamente, allorché vi saliva lo schiamazzo notturno di un ubriaco, o il passaggio di una carrozza faceva tremare i vetri delle finestre, una di quelle ombre tacite e dolorose si affacciava a spiare nella via, e poi si dileguava.
Di giorno tutte quelle finestre chiuse sembravano quasi misteriose. Al balcone della camera gialla c'era un vaso di garofani che morivano di incuria, spioventi sul muro umidiccio, e che il vento agitava perennemente. Verso il tramonto si fermava dinanzi alla porta un legnetto, che dei visi pallidi stavano ad attendere ansiosamente dietro i vetri, s'intravedeva un affaccendarsi per le stanze, e il lume che si accendeva anche di giorno nella camera solitaria. L'ultima visita che fece il legnetto nella stradicciuola solitaria fu più breve delle altre. Un vecchio dai capelli bianchi, col piede sul montatoio, scrollava pietosamente il capo, rispondendo a una giovinetta che le era scesa dietro supplichevole sino alla porta, colle mani giunte e il viso disfatto; anch'essa diceva di sì col capo, macchinalmente, cogli occhi sbarrati e quasi pazzi in quelli del vecchio. Poi, quando egli fu partito, si celò il viso nel fazzoletto e rientrò nell'andito.
Era una sera di primavera, tepida e dolce. Dalla strada saliva la canzone nuova, e il chiacchierìo delle ragazze innamorate, nel plenilunio d'aprile. Al primo piano della casa, dietro una ricca tenda di broccato, si udiva sonare il valzer di _Madama Angot_.
Poscia per la via deserta si udì una squilla, lo scalpiccìo e il borbottare dei fedeli che accompagnavano il viatico; s'affacciarono i vicini, alcuni ginocchioni, col lume in mano, e la folla s'ingolfò sotto la porta spalancata a due battenti, fra due file di lanterne che andavano balzelloni. Tutte le finestre del quartierino desolato si illuminarono per la prima volta, dopo tanto tempo, per l'ultima solennità, mentre la folla degli estranei ingombrava la casa, con un luccichìo tremolante di ceri, nella camera gialla. E dopo che tutti quanti furono partiti, la casa rimase sempre illuminata e deserta, quasi per una lugubre festa. Vi si vedeva solo di tanto in tanto il passaggio delle solite ombre che correvano all'impazzata, in un affaccendarsi disperato.
Nel silenzio alto dell'ora tarda, dietro quei vetri lucenti sulla facciata bianca di luna, sembrava indovinarsi delle invocazioni deliranti, dei singhiozzi soffocati, delle braccia supplichevoli stese verso il cielo sereno. Un usignuolo si mise a cantare all'improvviso da un terrazzino tutto verde di pianticelle odorose, nel silenzio della luna alta, dimenticando forse in quell'ora la sua prigione, pei cespugli del bosco nativo. Di quarto d'ora in quarto d'ora l'orologio squillava lentamente, dall'alto della torre.
La quiete greve della notte sembrava pesare anche su quella casa desolata. Il lume vegliava sempre tristamente nella camera silenziosa. Solo le ombre desolate si agitavano più frettolose e più smarrite, e nell'angolo dove ogni sera si ravvivavano i lumi, luccicavano adesso due fiammelle funebri. Verso mezzanotte si era udito bussare alla porta, e per le stanze si era notato un via vai. Poi tutto si era raccolto in quell'attesa sconfortata. La luna ora lambiva il pavimento, mentre i lumi si spegnevano. La brina sgocciolava ghiacciata sui vetri. A un tratto, in quella semioscurità, successe un correre affannato, un affaccendarsi di gente smarrita, colle mani nei capelli, uno sbattere d'usci. Poi la camera gialla si illuminò vivamente sulla facciata di tutta la casa nera.
L'alba imbiancava pallida e piovigginosa; allora si vide per la prima volta, dopo tanto tempo, la finestra della camera gialla spalancata, e le due candele che ardevano immobili al capezzale del letto bianco. Più tardi vennero degli estranei che andavano e venivano per la stanza, indifferenti, col cappello in capo. Uno che fumava un sigaro alla finestra, si chinò a fiutare il garofano rugginoso che penzolava; aveva una faccia pallida da malato o da prigioniero, colle gote azzurrognole di una folta barba accuratamente rasa.
Di poi quella finestra rimase chiusa e buia la notte; e le altre accanto si aprirono ogni mattina a lasciare entrare l'estate che veniva. E la sera perfino vi si affacciavano timidamente delle giovanette vestite di nero, che ascoltavano in silenzio la canzone nuova, il suono del pianoforte di sotto, e il chiacchiericcio dei vicini.
Una mattina di settembre si videro tutte le finestre spalancate, e le stanze vuote, anche quella gialla, che si era spogliata delle meschine tende bianche, e mostrava una gran macchia di un giallo più carico al posto del letto che non c'era più. Quelle povere masserizie erano sgomberate silenziosamente nella notte, colla triste famigliuola timida. Una vecchia serva venne a pigliare il vaso di garofani, mentre il padron di casa andava guardando per ogni dove coi muratori, gridando e bestemmiando. Egli additava le macchie della vecchia tappezzeria gialla, e i mattoni rotti del pavimento, sputando pel disgusto su quei guasti; tanto che la vecchiarella se ne andò a capo chino, portandosi sotto lo scialle il vaso di garofani come una reliquia.
I muratori si misero a scrostare e martellare da per tutto. E da mattina a sera udivasi la sega del falegname che strideva. Nell'ultima camera avevano alzato un gran ponte, e attraverso quei trespoli si vedevano pendere i brandelli della carta gialla. Dopo vennero pittori, tappezzieri, e le persone ch'erano sloggiate un mese prima non avrebbero ritrovato più le memorie delle loro ore d'angoscia in quelle stanze tappezzate di nuovo e ridenti. Il lume vegliava un'altra volta sino a notte tarda nell'antica camera gialla, dietro le tende di trina foderate di seta celeste; ma le due ombre che si vedevano sempre accanto, cercandosi, correndosi dietro, si confondevano con molli ondulazioni, si univano in una sola; e la mattina si vedeva pure qualche volta una testolina bionda e rosea, che sollevava la tendina allato a una testa bruna e sorridente. Nella sala attigua, sotto un grande specchio dorato che rifletteva la luce di una lumiera velata da un paralume color di rosa, si udivano alle volte le note allegre di un pianoforte, nello scrosciare della pioggia notturna.
Quando giunse la primavera, e l'usignuolo tornò a cantare fra il verde del terrazzino, e le ragazze al lume di luna, i due innamorati presero il volo come due farfalle, e non si videro più. Al settembre la casa mutò d'aspetto, e nella camera azzurra venne a stare un gran letto matrimoniale, che tutte le mattine prendeva aria onestamente dalla finestra spalancata. La casa risonò da mattina a sera del gridìo dei bimbi, e degli strilli del neonato che la mamma allattava a piè del letto. Il marito tornava la sera stanco, colla faccia disfatta, e litigava tutto il tempo colla moglie e coi figliuoli. Poi rimaneva a scartabellare dei conti sulla tavola sparecchiata, sino ad ora tarda, colla fronte fra le mani, sotto il lume che agonizzava. La mattina usciva a buon'ora col passo frettoloso. Di tanto in tanto si udiva una scampanellata furiosa in anticamera, e la madre correva a chiudersi in camera, facendo segno al suo ragazzo di dire che non c'era, coll'indice sulle labbra. Il bimbo tornava, dopo un lungo ciangottare, a parlar colla mamma, la quale riaffacciava la testa allo sbattere violento della porta che faceva tintinnare il campanello; e l'uomo che se ne era andato così in collera, si fermava in mezzo alla strada, a spiare la finestra chiusa. Alle volte la povera donna era costretta a mostrarsi, per calmare il visitatore che non voleva sentir ragione, giungendo le mani in croce, con gran gesti che volevano esser creduti. Tutte le finestre spalancate lasciavano diffondersi pel vicinato indifferentemente pianti di bimbi e liti di genitori. Un giorno, verso mezzodì, venne un vecchietto col cappello bisunto e un fascio di cartacce in mano, seguìto da due uomini malvestiti, i quali si misero a frugare dappertutto, scrivendo dei fogliacci in fretta. La famigliuola li seguiva di stanza in stanza tristamente. La roba fu portata via, alcuni giorni dopo, e delle poche masserizie rimaste caricarono un carro, e se ne andarono dietro a quello, il padre prima, coll'ombrello sotto il braccio, e la moglie dietro coi bambini in coda e il poppante al collo, senza neppur voltarsi a guardare quelle finestre che rimasero spalancate notte e giorno, per mesi e mesi, come se il padrone avesse voluto farne svaporare il tanfo di miseria che vi si era rinchiuso.
Poi vi tornarono dei mobili eleganti, e delle stoffe ricche appese alle finestre. Non vi si udirono più né strilli né schiamazzi; ma un silenzio beato dappertutto; i lumi sembrava s'accendessero da sé, fin nella camera azzurra che aveva una luce velata d'alcova. Non vi si vedeva nessuno; soltanto a notte alta, una testa che faceva capolino timidamente, e guardava nella via, socchiudendo adagio adagio le persiane; e la luce che passava fra le stecche ne indorava i capelli biondi, poi si stampava sul muro della casa dirimpetto in strisce lucenti, come un faro. Dopo alcuni minuti un passo frettoloso e guardingo si udiva nella via, l'ombra della testa bionda appariva rapidamente dietro le persiane, e la finestra si chiudeva. Una sera, nell'alto silenzio, squillò all'improvviso una scampanellata minacciosa. Si videro delle ombre correre dietro le tende all'impazzata, e le stanze illuminarsi rapidamente una dopo l'altra. Indi un silenzio d'attesa profondo, nel quale risonarono a un tratto delle strida di terrore e degli urli di collera.
I vicini corsero alle finestre, col lume in mano. Ma il quartiere era tornato silenzioso, soffocando i dolori o le collere che racchiudeva fra le sue tappezzerie sontuose. Le finestre rimasero chiuse per un gran pezzo, e allorché si riaprirono, entrarono nelle stanze i muratori che demolivano la casa, per far luogo alla strada nuova, la quale passava di là.
Giorno e notte, dal muro sventrato, si vedevano le stanze nude e abbandonate, colle pitture del soffitto che pendevano, le gole dei camini squarciate e nere. La carta gialla ricompariva sotto la tappezzeria lacera, il segno del letto e le macchie scure, i chiodi sul camino a cui era appeso il grande specchio dorato, il campanello ciondoloni sull'uscio della scala spalancato. Il vento vi faceva turbinare la polvere, la pioggia le inondava, il sole vi rideva ancora sulle pitture, gialle, verdi, azzurre; la luna e la luce dei lampioni vi entravano ogni notte; si posavano sulla macchia unta del letto, sui fiorami dorati del salottino misterioso, scendendo sempre, di mano in mano che il piccone dei muratori si mangiava le rovine.
# I RICORDI DEL CAPITANO D'ARCE
# I ricordi del capitano d'Arce
D'Arce, cullato dal rullìo del bastimento, aveva posato il bicchierino sulla tavola, affissando l'orizzonte mobile attraverso il cristallo del finestrino, quasi vedesse ancora ciò che stava narrando.
– No, neanche la punta di un dito. Adesso è storia vecchia... e anche triste!... Non ci siamo neppur detto di amarci... quello che si chiama amare... Mi piaceva assai, ecco. Andavo da per tutto dove sapevo d'incontrarla, alla Villa, al Sannazzaro, al concerto serale dello _Châlet_. Mi sentivo battere il cuore e inciampavo nelle seggiole appena scorgevo da lontano i nastri rossi del suo cappellino. Mi rassegnavo al cipiglio e all'accoglienza glaciale del Comandante, solo per vedere i begli occhi grigi di lei che mi cercavano nella folla. Essa mi salutava con un sorriso appena accennato: sapete, quel sorriso che vedete soltanto voi, quella fiamma lieve e rapida che illumina a un tratto un bel viso delicato, e vi dice: – Grazie!... – Ma amore, no. Perché c'era di mezzo Alvise Casalengo, mio camerata, mio compagno d'armi e di scuola. – Adesso è andato a finire nella Navigazione Generale, _requiescat_ anche lui! – Ma allora era il mio Pilade, troppo Pilade, ahimè, perché potessi fingere d'ignorare quello che sapevano tutti, sebbene Alvise, com'è naturale, non me ne avesse fatta mai la confidenza. Appunto, giusto per rappresentare la parte di uno che non vuole sapere, _filavo_ anch'io il mio briciolo di corte alla signora Ginevra Silverio, la moglie del mio Comandante, in quei due mesi di licenza che avevo passato a Napoli: una corte modesta e superficiale, da non passare il guanto, quel tanto d'omaggio ch'era indispensabile di tributare alla moglie del mio superiore, bella, elegante, un po' civetta pure, dicevano; ma civetta con tanta naturalezza e tanta grazia che quasi non se ne accorgeva. Essa s'era lasciata corteggiare anche da me perché non stonassi nel coro, perché tutti le facevano la corte, perch'ero intimo di Alvise, perché le piacevo, infine. Ciò che era venuto in seguito, ciò che mi sembrava a volte vederle balenare negli occhi e sentirmi tremare nella voce... Sapete come avviene... gli ostacoli, i riguardi umani, la diffidenza del marito, la stessa sicurezza leale di Alvise... Tante punture deliziose, un'attrattiva di sacrificio, un profumo soave di frutto proibito, più velenoso di quelli rubati nell'orto coniugale... In conclusione, ditemi un po', adesso che ne parliamo coi gomiti sulla tovaglia, qual merito ne ho avuto agli occhi di quell'animale che ha piantato amici e spalline per fare il cabotaggio da Palermo a Genova? Il guaio era che il Comandante se la pigliava con l'intero genere umano, causa la pulce che Alvise gli aveva messo nell'orecchio – un pasticcio dell'ordinanza per cui c'erano state fra marito e moglie delle scene spiacevoli, convulsioni, lagrime, il dottore chiamato in fretta e in furia, di notte... Insomma quello che non sarebbe avvenuto, se il Comandante, credendo di far meglio, non avesse avuto la cattiva idea di prendere al suo servizio un cretino di nuova leva il quale non capiva nulla. Poi ogni cosa s'era chiarita per il meglio. Alvise, com'è naturale, era rimasto _a latere_ del Comandante, e quella bestia dell'ordinanza, in punizione, sacco e branda, e imbarcarsi subito. I cocci rotti avevano dovuto pagarli gli altri, gli amici di casa, il Comandante stesso, pover'uomo, diventato un orso, un Otello, una bestia feroce. Ti rammenti, Serravalle, quando la signora Ginevra ti si svenne o quasi nelle braccia, ballando in casa Maio? Era tanto delicata, poveretta! E le piaceva tanto il ballo, che suo marito, per la tranquillità dell'alcova coniugale, si rassegnava ad essere di tutte le feste, insieme a lei.
Ma con che viso ci veniva, quell'uomo! Come faceva cascar le braccia ai poveri ufficialetti che gli arrivavano freschi freschi dalla Spezia o da Livorno, e che s'immaginavano di disarmarlo pigliandolo colle buone! Anch'io, purtroppo, ero nella lista dei sospetti. Non so per qual motivo – perché ero più gentile e premuroso degli altri, perché gli ero simpatico, perch'ero amico d'Alvise, fors'anche... Giudizi umani! Il fatto è che nell'animo del Comandante ero un uomo perduto. Tante cose me l'avevano fatto capire: quel diavolo d'uomo aveva un modo di piantarvi gli occhi in faccia per dirvi buongiorno, che v'imbarazzava realmente. E le ingiustizie del superiore, le punizioni e gli arresti che piovevano come gragnuola, l'ordine d'imbarco comunicatomi per telegrafo, quando si sapeva che la squadra sarebbe rimasta a Genova un'altra settimana! Anche lei, povera donna, sembrava consegnata, colla sentinella alla porta, un genovese cane il quale si piantava rispettosamente per mandarmi via, se tentavo di rompere il blocco in un giorno della settimana che non fosse il martedì, il giorno di ricevimento della signora Ginevra, il giorno di tutti e di nessuno. Allorché l'avevo pregata di accordarmi un'entrata di favore, l'avevo vista così imbarazzata, così esitante... Ecco, se avessi voluto permettermi un'indiscrezione col mio amico Alvise, sarebbe stata quella di chiedergli in un orecchio: – Come diavolo fai?...
Era una povera vittima, quella disgraziata! una schiava legata alla catena corta. Chi l'avrebbe immaginato, di voialtri, quando la vedevi arrivare, col nasino palpitante e la febbre negli occhi, e una voglia di divertirsi fino nelle scarpette che si sarebbero messe a ballare da sole? Ma una paura del marito con tutto ciò! Bastava un'occhiata di lui per farle gelare il sorriso con cui vi si abbandonava nelle braccia, anelante, facendosi vento presto presto, smarrita da un capogiro delizioso. E le carezze timide colle quali cercava di sedurre quel cerbero, l'aria inquieta con cui si abbandonava a certe graziose imprudenze, guardandosi intorno per non esser sorpresa da lui, o gli fissava in volto i begli occhi sorridenti per cercare d'indovinare che vento tirasse, le piccole astuzie, le bugiette dietro il ventaglio, i complotti colle amiche per strappare al marito il permesso di un'ultima polca. Giacché la poveretta sapeva quel che le sarebbero costati poi a quattr'occhi quelle audacie disperate, quei colpi di testa ai quali cedeva con tutto il sangue al viso – delle audacie innocentissime. Noi altri uomini non sappiamo mai quanto coraggio ci vuole a fare certe cose.
Immaginate adesso un uomo che vi tira a bruciapelo l'ordine d'imbarco dopo una di quelle sere... innocente com'ero... e la povera signora Ginevra anch'essa!... Nulla di nulla, vi giuro! Neanche una parola, neanche un dito... Se ce ne fu il pericolo, dopo... un momento solo... la colpa fu tutta sua, di lui!...
D'Arce vuotò d'un fiato il resto del cognac, e posò il bicchierino sulla tavola, stringendosi nelle spalle come un uomo che ha navigato per tutti i mari, ne ha viste di tutte le razze e di tutti i colori, e non si meraviglia più di nulla.
– Però non potevo abbandonare Napoli e l'Italia senza andare a salutare la signora Ginevra, tanto più che non avevo potuto vedere neppure il lembo del suo vestito, quand'ero andato a fare la mia visita di congedo, in gran tenuta, fra le dieci e le undici. Lui sì, ce l'avevo trovato il signor Comandante, straordinariamente rabbonito dalla mia partenza, e mi aveva accomiatato con belle parole: – Faccia buon viaggio, e metta il tempo a profitto. So da buona fonte che li terranno un pezzo imbarcati, e avranno tempo di studiare e di farsi onore. Il mare è una gran scuola e un gran corroborante per la gioventù.
Grazie tante! Ma il buon viaggio volevo che me lo desse lei, la signora Ginevra. Non potevo rassegnarmi a tutte quelle belle cose che mi aveva detto suo marito, senza vederla un'ultima volta, e sentire anche quel che ne pensava lei. La mia stessa innocenza mi dava ai miei occhi una specie di salvacondotto per andare a trovarla. Per altro m'ero proposto di essere prudente ed audace come un vero innamorato. E contavo sul gran da fare che c'era al Comando, appunto per quella benedetta partenza. La sera, appena sbirciai il mio superiore che svoltava l'angolo della piazza... – due ore di guardia col naso incollato ai vetri del Caffè d'Europa, amici miei, temendo ogni momento di veder capitare Alvise, che volentieri avrei voluto sapere a casa, magari agli arresti, magari colla febbre. – Vedevo il mio amico in ogni soprabito gallonato che incontravo, lungo la strada, rasente al muro, e il cuore mi batteva un po'... Quando fui poi in via Partenope... Il cerbero che custodiva la porta della signora Ginevra mi lasciò passare senza alzare gli occhi dal _Pungolo_ , o credette forse che venissi per un affare di servizio, o si lasciò ingannare dalla somiglianza dell'uniforme... prendendomi per _quell'altro_... Sì in quel momento mi faceva un certo effetto di esser scambiato con un altro. Pensavo ad Alvise, che andava e veniva senza tante difficoltà, e che sarebbe rimasto a Napoli!...
Entrava appunto un bel chiaro di luna dai finestroni colorati, e passava per la strada il ritornello della canzone in voga che solevano suonare allo _Châlet_. Tutte le piccole seduzioni che vi formano le grandi, sapete!... Avevo il cuore alla gola nel bussare all'uscio della signora Ginevra, forse perché ella stava al terzo piano... o perch'ero giovanissimo, allora... Il fatto è che mi sentii penetrare lo squillo acuto e vibrante del campanello sino al cuore, come un sussulto, come una puntura, direi, ripensando ad Alvise... Al mio superiore, no, non ci pensai, altro che per almanaccare un pretesto, pel caso che mi avesse fatto trovare un marinaio comandato di sentinella all'uscio della moglie anche a quell'ora...
Ma invece venne ad aprire Gioconda, quella bella giovane che aveva il viso come il nome, vi rammentate? Essa mi aveva visto spesso venire, nei bei giorni in cui non avevo ancora perso la stima del Comandante, e mi accolse con un graziosissimo sorriso: il medesimo sorriso della sua padrona, indulgente e grato verso le debolezze umane, il sorriso che comprendeva e perdonava, e voleva farsi perdonare ciò che doveva dirmi: – La signora era un po' sofferente, stava già per andare a letto...
Era scritto, vi dico! Mentre mi rassegnavo a tornarmene via, triste come la morte, e indugiavo a scusarmi per l'ora indebita, adducendo la partenza immediata... l'assenza lunga, e questo e quell'altro... – intanto le vedevo negli occhi una gran simpatia, alla buona giovane. – In quel momento il campanello elettrico squillò di nuovo, premuroso e carezzevole, uno squillo che veniva dalle stanze interne stavolta, e diceva: Sì! sì! sì!...
– Se vuol passare un momento in sala, farò a ogni modo l'imbasciata...
Ho anch'io adesso i galloni di Comandante, e molti anni di più sulle spalle, ma ancora, vedete, mi sembra di sentirmi battere il cuore nel soprabito attillato di guardia-marina, rammentando quell'istante in cui vidi comparire sull'uscio del salotto _lei_ , tutta sorriso, nella bocca, negli occhi, nel fruscìo del vestito, quel sorriso carezzevole e buono con cui accoglieva i suoi amici e che ho ancora dinanzi agli occhi, quando vado a pregare sulla sua tomba, poveretta!
D'Arce riempì di nuovo il bicchiere, sforzandosi di mostrarsi disinvolto, ripreso, suo malgrado, dalla commozione di quei ricordi.
– La vedo ancora, seduta su quel canapè basso e largo come un letto. Aveva delle calze di seta nera, delle calze terribili, amici miei, sotto quel vestito bianco, tanto che ella se ne accorse, e ritirò adagio adagio i piedini, facendosi rossa. Proprio una bambina, vi dico! civetta, innocente nella sua civetteria come l'aveva fatta sua madre, e con una paura del marito, in quel momento, che le faceva tendere l'orecchio e troncare il discorso di tratto in tratto. Anch'io mi sentivo assai sconvolto... Allora scappammo a parlare tutti e due in una volta, come cavalli spaventati, battendo la campagna, con una vivacità che voleva sembrar sincera. – Io non avevo voluto partire senza andare a salutarla. – Essa non aveva voluto lasciarmi partire senza dirmi addio. – Partire, lasciarsi... – In fondo a ogni parola c'era sempre quella nota, sempre quel tono triste, in sordina, in note tenute, in tutte le note, all'infuori della tua, mio povero Alvise, che dormivi lealmente fra i due guanciali della tua felicità, o piuttosto che perdevi al Circolo, in quel momento stesso, lieto del proverbio che lusingava il tuo amor proprio. – E le nostre parole dicevan tutt'altro, dicevano tutt'al più di viaggi e paesi lontani, di orizzonti sconosciuti, o delle memorie che si portano via, e dei luoghi cari che non si vorrebbero lasciare... – Felice lei che andrà così lontano, per tanto mare, per tanto mondo! Come vorrei volare anch'io, come vorrei venire! – Felice lei piuttosto, che rimane in questa città di cui il cuore porta via tanti ricordi... in questo nido di cui gli occhi non si saziano di baciare ogni angolo e ogni cosa!... – Questo dicevano i sorrisi vaghi, gli occhi umidi, erranti per quel salotto di cui tu conosci ogni gingillo, di cui ogni gingillo ha contato le tue ore felici, fortunato Alvise! – voi! – voi! – voi! – Ma non una parola d'amore, torno a dirvi. S'indovinava, era sottinteso, in ogni sillaba, in ogni frase, discorrendo di amici e di conoscenti... anche di Alvise – ella per provarmi ch'era lontano, tanto lontano dal suo salotto e dal suo pensiero! – io per rallegrarmi della sua assenza – per rallegrarcene intimamente tutt'e due, come eravamo lieti dell'assenza del Comandante... il quale però avrebbe potuto ascoltare tutto ciò che si diceva, lei ed io, senza dover snudare il brando, senza che l'angelo custode della sua casa avesse avuto motivo di tapparsi le orecchie.
In quella squillò di nuovo il campanello dell'anticamera, forte, improvviso, minaccioso: una scampanellata da padrone, di quelle scampanellate che vi pigliano pei capelli, e vi fanno saltare in aria. Ella impallidì visibilmente, e s'alzò di botto, come fuori di sé, agitando istintivamente la mano in un gesto vago. E tutto a un tratto mi si abbandonò fra le braccia, quasi stesse per svenire, cogli occhi smarriti, il seno palpitante... balbettando: lui! lui!
Proprio lui che l'aveva voluto, non è vero? Una povera donna il più delle volte si butta nel precipizio pel timore dell'abisso! Non ascoltava più, non capiva più che così facendo si accusava della colpa di cui eravamo innocenti... Innocenti dinanzi agli uomini e dinanzi a Dio! Essa era caduta come una morta sul canapè, fissando gli occhi spaventati sull'uscio, quasi aspettando di veder comparire di momento in momento il suo giudice e il suo giustiziere... Aspettai anch'io, in piedi, abbottonandomi macchinalmente l'uniforme, come si aspetta in un duello la pistolettata dell'avversario... cinque minuti... dieci... un'eternità. Nulla, non era stato nulla. La cameriera venne a dire poco dopo che eran venuti a cercare il padrone per un affare di servizio.
Accidenti al servizio! La povera signora mi sfuggì di mano come un'anguilla, e non volle più saperne di ripigliare il duetto, proprio quando avevo tante altre cose da dirle, quando il suo viso pallido e i suoi occhi stralunati mi davano le vertigini, mentre respingevami colle mani tremanti, balbettando: – Andatevene! andatevene!...
Soltanto mi dava del voi; mi dava le mani tremanti e gli occhi che si smarrivano nei miei, bramosi e spaventati...
Nient'altro, amici miei... Una donna che ha paura, capite... La paura me l'aveva data un momento e la paura me la ritolse.
# Giuramenti di marinaio
– Giuratemi!... giurami!
Chi non avrebbe giurato, al vederla così pallida sotto i nastri rossi del cappellino, al vedere i begli occhi lucenti e il sorriso triste che mi cercava come un bacio? – povera e cara Ginevra, innamorata sino ai capelli, in un _fiat_ , da un momento all'altro, dacché le avevo confessato d'amarla, in segreto, senza speranza, da circa due mesi! – Anch'essa! anch'essa! Peccato che avessimo aspettato l'ultimo momento a dircelo! – Almeno voleva lasciarmi negli occhi, nel sangue, nell'anima, la sua immagine, il suo profumo, le ultime sue parole. – Lì, lì, e lì! in tutto voi, fin nel vostro vestito, dovunque sarete, sempre! – Era venuta per questo alla Villa, a quell'ora. – Non sapete quel che ci è voluto! – In ogni suo accento, nel suono della voce, nel muovere delle labbra, c'erano tali carezze che penetravano in me come una gran dolcezza, e come altrettante punture anche, di tratto in tratto, allorché pensavo ad Alvise che dicevano suo amante. – E gelosa, sapete!... di tutte!... di tutte le donne che avete conosciuto... La Seraffini, dite? o la Maio... a costei le facevate la corte! Non negate. V'ho conosciuto in casa sua. Il guaio è che l'avrete compagna di viaggio sino a Genova! Giuratemi!... Neanche una parola!... almeno a lei... almeno a quelle che conosco!... Pensate a me, d'Arce! Pensate che vi veggo, laggiù, dovunque sarete, che vi seguo col pensiero, dal momento che metterete il piede sul battello, nella cabina, a tavola... Colei ci verrà pure, a tavola, dovesse rendere l'anima a Dio, per farvi ammirare le sue smorfie e il suo vestito da viaggio...
Ella guardava tristamente il bel mare azzurro che doveva separarci per tanto tempo, fra poche ore, e aveva gli occhi gonfi di lagrime, e mi abbandonava la mano, senza curarsi della gente che poteva vederci – per altro erano delle coppie mattutine che venivano a cercare le ombre discrete della Villa, e avevano altro pel capo anche loro – senza pensare al pericolo che correva, senza pensare a quell'orco di suo marito... senza pensare ad altri. E mi si abbandonava tutta, con quella manina tremante di cui parevami di sentire le carezze e la febbre attraverso il guanto di Svezia; e intrecciava le sue dita alle mie, e si attaccava a me, voleva legarsi a me, per sempre – l'una dell'altro – col cuore gonfio ambedue di amore eterno, di costanza e di fedeltà – io a dispetto dei miei venticinque anni – ella col marito sulle spalle... ed Alvise, e tutti gli spergiuri latenti in una bella donna che ride volentieri, e ama sentirsi dire che il suo sorriso fa perdere la testa al prossimo... Allora balbettai:
– Anche voi!... anche tu... giurami!...
Ella non rispose, colle mani nelle mie, gli occhi negli occhi, e una fiamma rapida le salì al viso: – Che posso farci? che posso farci? – voleva dirmi, povera donna. Ma a un tratto mi lesse in viso il nome di un altro, l'immagine odiosa del mio amico Alvise che tornava a mettersi fra di noi. – Oh! – mormorò, scolorandosi rapidamente. – Oh, d'Arce!
Chinò il capo, passandosi le mani sul volto, e non disse altro. Aveva una peluria bionda che moriva dolcemente sulla bianchezza immacolata della nuca. Le dolci parole, il delirio, la frenesia che mi si gonfiarono in cuore allora per chiederle perdono! Come avrei voluto buttarmi a' suoi piedi e abbracciare i suoi ginocchi, i ginocchi che si accennavano vagamente fra le molli pieghe del vestito bigio!... Essa continuava a scuotere il capo, con un sorriso dolce e malinconico, e riprese:
– Quanti orrori vi avranno narrato sul conto mio... le mie buone amiche... lui stesso, fors'anche! Non negate... è inutile. Voglio che sappiate tutto... oramai, sul punto di lasciarci forse per sempre!... Come a un fratello... come in punto di morte... Mi crederete, d'Arce? mi crederete?... Sono stata un po' leggiera... un po' civetta anche, mettiamo... Ecco, vi dico tutto! In casa mia poi, bisogna sapere quante noie! Che scene e che musi lunghi per un misero ballonzolo, fra quattro gatti... per andare una sera a teatro... Non sono né vecchia né gobba infine. Mio marito invece vorrebbe tenermi sotto chiave nella santabarbara della sua nave. Pedante, sospettoso, uggioso! Una cosa tremenda, caro mio! Allora, capite bene... se bisogna nascondergli le cose più innocenti... la colpa è tutta sua... E una povera donna... a meno di finir tisica... Sì, parola d'onore, tante volte ho sputato sangue. Chi sa se mi troverete ancora quando tornerete in Italia, povero d'Arce!... Vi ricorderete sempre di me, dite? Verrete a trovarmi al camposanto?
Trasse pure il fazzolettino dalla tasca del petto, e se lo recò alla bocca, tossendo un po', con certe piccole scosse che facevano sollevare gli omeri delicati sotto la giacchetta attillata, e le inumidivano gli occhi di un languore sorridente, e le facevano il viso tutto color di rosa. No, no, non volevo sentirla parlare così! L'avrei difesa da quelle malinconie, fra le mie braccia, stretta stretta. Ella schermivasi gaiamente; minacciava pure col fazzolettino... – Badate!... Che matto!... Siamo due matti!...Avete sempre quel brutto sospetto? No, sentite, voglio dirvi tutto. È meglio che sappiate tutto da me stessa... pel caso che egli vi abbia fatto le sue confidenze... _quell'altro_... giacché siete suo amico... Sì, lo so... voialtri uomini siete discreti... Lasciamola lì! È vero che mi ha fatto un po' di corte, come tanti altri... più degli altri anche... E me la son lasciata fare. Mio marito... me lo ha messo fra i piedi lui stesso, il vostro amico, col pretesto di farne il suo ufficiale d'ordinanza... E gli ha attaccato il suo male pure... le sue esigenze e le sue gelosie. Dite la verità, vi avrà fatto delle scene anche a voi, Alvise? Un bel divertimento, quei musi lunghi! E senza averne il diritto, vi giuro! Mi credete, d'Arce? mi credete? Vedete adesso come sono venuta a voi!... Lo sapete... da due mesi... i miei occhi che vi dicevano... – Poi, a voce più bassa, accostando il viso al mio, figgendomi gli occhi nell'anima, con un sospiro: – Tua! Soltanto tua!... Mi credi?
Li avessi visti ai suoi piedi, in quel momento, il marito, e _quell'altro_ , mi avessero detto che anche loro... Avrei giurato che mentivano. Mi turbava però il rimorso delle infedeltà che le avevo fatto... prima di conoscerla... e anche dopo... Sì, delle vertigini... qualche momento di oblìo... Ero arrivato a farle di queste confessioni, in quel punto, nel caldo della passione... Volevo dirle tutto, per ispirarle la mia fede, perché non avesse a dubitare anch'essa, mentre saremmo stati tanto lontani!... – Ah, sentite, è una cosa terribile! Volersi tanto bene... proprio all'ultimo momento... volersi così! E neanche la punta di un dito!... Non mi guardate a quel modo, per l'amor di Dio!... Proprio un amore senza macchia e senza paura, questo nostro!... Ah! quel sorriso che mi fiorirà sempre in cuore! Quella fossetta che fate sulla guancia, ridendo!... Un amore siffatto non deve aver paura di nulla... e di nessuno... del tempo che passa...
– Che ora sarà adesso? – chiese a un tratto lei.
Erano circa le due. Essa s'alzò in piedi sgomenta. – Dio mio! così tardi! Ah, povera me! – Poi mi stese la mano e volle pure cavarsi un po' il guanto, buona e cara Ginevra, perché le baciassi il polso sulla nuda carne, lì, dove la piccola vena azzurra avrebbe voluto portarmi su su pel braccio, e le labbra volevano struggersi. – Addio! addio! – Per ricordo strappò una foglia dal cespuglio, dandomene la metà; l'altra se la nascose dentro il guanto, proprio dove si era posata la mia bocca. E nel viso affilato, negli occhi, nella voce, la poveretta aveva il medesimo struggimento che sentiva, pareva che non potesse staccarsi da me. Dovette fare uno sforzo – come uno strappo, nell'ultima stretta di mano – e se ne andò frettolosa, pensando ch'era tardi. Ho ancora nelle orecchie il fruscìo della sua sottana di raso. Povera Ginevra, come doveva avere il cuore gonfio anche lei! E le sarebbe toccato dissimulare poi col marito e con tutti gli altri! Almeno io... Io mi posi a sedere dove essa era stata, andai a rintracciare il ramoscello dal quale aveva strappato la fogliolina. Feci insomma tutto ciò che fanno gl'innamorati in casi simili. Infine dovetti accorgermi che si faceva tardi e che avevo ancora la valigia da terminare.
La prima persona che vidi sul battello, al momento d'imbarcarmi, fu Alvise, il buon Alvise che era venuto a salutarmi, e mi stendeva la mano, a mia confusione. Gliela strinsi con un po' di rossore al viso, ma grato e commosso, quasi mi avesse recato qualcosa della donna che amavamo entrambi. Non c'era nulla di male, se l'amava anch'esso, giacché lei non poteva soffrirlo, e mi preferiva a lui, e si lasciava rubare a lui. Per nascondere il mio imbarazzo gli domandai se ci fossero già dei passeggieri a bordo. – No, non molti – rispose lui. – La signora Maio, una simpatica compagna di viaggio.
La signora Maio risaliva sul ponte in quel momento; c'incontrammo insieme alla scaletta. – Oh, d'Arce! – Colei è un vero demonio, poiché al vedermi quella faccia i suoi occhi si misero a ridere da soli sotto il velo blu; e non la finiva più colle domande: – Dove andavo – se mi era toccata una buona destinazione – se sarei stato un pezzo laggiù – se mi rincresceva di lasciare l'Italia – il bel cielo di Napoli – gli amici...
Ah, Ginevra! Buona Ginevra! Che pensiero gentile!... che piacere mi hai fatto!...
Era proprio lei, la buona Ginevra, che inaspettatamente veniva a dare il buon viaggio alla sua cara amica che odiava, come Alvise era venuto per me. – Per voi! per vedervi ancora un'ultima volta! – dicevano i suoi occhi nel rapido sguardo che mi rivolse. E bastò per farmi rizzare le orecchie sul vero motivo che aveva condotto Alvise a bordo, e farmi allungare tanto di muso. Però essa era meno imbarazzata di me, che dovevo esser pallido in modo ridicolo. Filava imperturbabile il cinguettìo delle donne che non vogliono dir nulla, con la sua amica, con Alvise – a me rivolse appena qualche parola. – Ah, va via anche lei? Partono tutti! Cosa hanno al Ministero che vi mandano tutti via? – Poi fu colta d'ammirazione pel berrettino da viaggio della signora Maio, un cosino di stoffa eguale al vestito, ch'era un amore, posato bravamente sui bei capelli castani, avvolti nella garza che dava una straordinaria finezza al bel visetto ardito e al mento spiritoso. Si mise ad accomodarne le pieghe con un buffetto che sembrava una carezza, dietro le spalle della sua amica, e intanto mi lanciò un'occhiata tremenda. – L'amica prestavasi discretamente alla manovra, col tatto di una donna che sa vivere e lasciar vivere, tutta per lei, affabilissima anche con Alvise, dimenticando quasi che io fossi lì, come un intruso in quel terzetto spensierato che lasciava suonare la campana della partenza senza badarci. Infine la ragazza che andava in giro col piattello a raccogliere i soldi pei virtuosi che ci avevano strimpellato l'augurio di buon viaggio, il cameriere che spingeva verso la scaletta i venditori di cannocchiali e di pettini di tartaruga, fecero capire ch'era il momento di separarci. Le due amiche si buttarono le braccia al collo. Alvise s'ebbe pure la sua stretta di mano all'inglese dalla signora Maio, la quale trovò un mondo di saluti da lasciargli, per lui, pei suoi amici, per tutto il genere umano, occupandolo, impadronendosene, pigliandoselo, tutto per sé, tenendolo sempre per mano, mentre Ginevra stringeva la mia forte forte – fu l'unico segno – e le labbra che tremavano, il sorriso che spasimava, e l'occhiata lunga... Poi la rivolse sull'amica, scintillante, e quasi minacciosa.
– Buona Ginevra! – osservò la Maio, rispondendo al saluto che essa continuava a mandare dalla barchetta, mentre si allontanava in compagnia di Alvise. – E pensare che le toccherà pigliarsi delle osservazioni da quell'orso del Comandante, se egli arriva a sapere...
La gentile signora volle ancora restar lì, appoggiata al parapetto, perché la nostra amica potesse continuare a salutarci, rispondendo al saluto col fazzoletto anche lei, di tanto in tanto, sbadatamente e guardando altrove. Poi mi lasciò solo, e scese nella cabina, allorché il fazzolettino della barchetta poté seguitare a sventolare da lontano senza compromettersi. Caro fazzolettino che tremava nella brezza, e palpitava verso di me, e moriva nella caligine della sera, sul fondo già scuro del bel lido che cominciava a formicolare di lumi, a destra verso Portici, a sinistra per la Riviera. Quante volte avevo colà cercato i nastri rossi del tuo cappellino, amor mio, e i tuoi occhi bramosi mi avevano detto: – Sì, sì, lo so!...Io pure!... – Tu pure pensi a me in questo momento, e cerchi il lume del mio bastimento fra gli altri lumi che si allontanano dal porto, mentre Alvise ti dà la mano per aiutarti a scendere a terra, seccatore! Egli può ancora udire lo scricchiolìo delle tue scarpette che si affrettano verso una carrozzella, e vedere il tuo piedino che si posa sul montatoio. Qual via farai per andare a casa? San Ferdinando... Chiaia... Le vetrine scintillanti del Caffè d'Europa, dinanzi a cui tu passi come una visione... Gli oziosi che stanno a vederti dal marciapiedi! Quante volte ti ho aspettata anch'io, lì!... Lo sai che ti vedo... e ti accompagno cogli occhi, io pure... passo passo, come tu promettesti di pensare a me?... Come ero felice di sentirti parlare, di sentirti dire che volevi seguirmi col pensiero, col cuore, ogni momento, dacché avrei messo il piede sul ponte, nella cabina, a tavola!...Povera e cara Ginevra! ti seccava che ci dovesse venire quell'altra, a tavola! Ti seccava, come mi secca che Alvise ti abbia accompagnata... Eri gelosa... E senza motivo, credi! Colei ha capito subito che sono ben preso, sino ai capelli, tutto tuo!... Non è mica una sciocca la signora Maio!... E a tavola non vorrà perdere il tempo a farmi ammirare le sue smorfie, come le chiami, cattiva! Non vorrà che io rida di lei sotto i baffi... Ed io non voglio ch'essa rida di me, se non mi vede a pranzo, se le lascio immaginare che io stia qui a _pascermi di lai_... com'ella suol dire quando il suo musetto sardonico vi mette tutti i diavoli in corpo.
La signora Maio però non era scesa a tavola. Il posto di lei rimaneva vuoto, a destra del capitano. Ma l'udivo muoversi nella cabina, dietro le mie spalle, con un fruscìo d'abiti che mi turbava, a volte sommesso, quasi timido e pudibondo, a volte alto e brusco, come agitato da un'improvvisa fantasia. Che diavolo faceva la bella signora? Si sentiva male? Stava per coricarsi? Non la finiva più di sgusciare delle sottane e di sfibbiare dei ganci?... Il vestito, no... Quello non era il _frù-frù_ vivo della seta.. Era piuttosto il fruscìo molle della biancheria più intima. Pareva di sentirne il profumo all'ireos. Il fatto è che mi guastava il pranzo, mi dava delle distrazioni, una tensione d'udito in cui sembravami di vedere ogni parte del suo vestiario, a misura che le passava per le mani, di vederla nelle bottiglie e negli specchi dirimpetto, colle braccia nude, pettinandosi per la notte. – Brutta notte che avrei passato con quella cabina attaccata alla mia! – Povera Ginevra, le parlava il cuore! – Talché non volli aspettare neppure il caffè, e andai sul ponte a fumare un sigaro... e pensare _a lei_...
– Bravo, d'Arce! Venite a farmi compagnia, – udii una voce che mi chiamava da poppa. Proprio la Maio, che desinava tranquillamente, al lume della bussola, col piatto sulle ginocchia.
– Come... voi qui! – mi scappò detto.
– Grazie! Credevo che aveste già notata la mia presenza a bordo, ingrato! – rispose sorridendo e mordendo una fetta di pera.
– Mi era parso di sentire... Chi c'è dunque nella vostra cabina?
– La cameriera, credo. Starà mettendo in ordine la mia roba. Pensate che devo starci quattro o cinque giorni in quella gabbia!
– Tanto meglio!
– Tanto meglio, sia pure, giacché siete in vena d'amabilità. Intanto mi tocca far penitenza, come vedete...
– L'avrei fatta anch'io volentieri con voi, se avessi saputo...
– Oh, voi... è un'altra cosa. Prima di tutto siete corazzato... sul mare; e poi vi sono i regolamenti, che so io, tutti quegli ostacoli che avete immaginato voialtri... a bordo. Mentre io... povera donna... Mi è riuscito intenerire il cameriere... con un po' di buona volontà... È una vergogna! In tanti anni che ho l'onore di appartenere alla marina di Sua Maestà... per via di mio marito, non sono arrivata a farmi il piede marino, come dite voialtri; e se non voglio morir di fame bisogna prendere delle precauzioni. Volete prenderne anche voi? Lì, in quel sacchetto, c'è della menta di Van-Pol eccellente. Fumate pure, sapete che la sigaretta non mi dà noia. Non ci conosciamo da oggi, mi pare! Anzi, se volete darmene una anche a me...
Mentre allungava il musetto color di rosa per accenderla, quasi volesse baciarmi, mi parve di vedere un altro punto luminoso nei suoi occhi, un balenìo che diceva: Traditore! Ma si tirò subito indietro, per farmi un po' di posto nel seggiolino pieghevole al quale aveva appoggiato i piedi, avvolgendosi nel suo mantellone da viaggio.
Invece, come attratto, mi accostai a lei, guardandola dal basso, col sorriso sincero di quei momenti, dicendole colla voce un po' roca:
– Sapete che mi hanno dato la cabina accanto alla vostra?
– Tanto meglio.
– Per voi, forse... Ma per un povero diavolo...
– Ah, la tentazione? Beveteci sopra un bicchier d'acqua. Del resto vi prometto che passerò la notte sopra coperta. Laggiù si soffoca... Il faro di Napoli! – interruppe a un tratto, additando un punto luminoso in fondo.
Sembrava un occhio che ci spiasse dall'orizzonte buio, ora tremulo, come velato di lacrime, ora raggiante all'improvviso. Sembrava che giungesse sino a noi, col mormorìo vasto e profondo del mare, l'eco della città, con sospiri soffocati, con voci misteriose, con canzoni malinconiche. La Maio s'alzò, vacillante pel rollìo del bastimento, e prese il mio braccio, appoggiandovi anche il petto nel fare qualche passo, sfiorandomi col vestito, col mantello grave che mi si avvolgeva alle gambe e mi legava.
– Non ci reggo, no, caro d'Arce! A momenti vi casco nelle braccia! – balbettò fra due scoppi di risa soffocati che risuonavano come una musica.
Infine si fermò presso la sponda, senza lasciare il mio braccio, col gomito sulla ringhiera, e il bel mento delicato sulla mano nuda, guardando sempre laggiù, verso il punto luminoso.
– Cara Napoli! A quest'ora i nostri amici saranno tutti allo _Châlet_. Vi rammentate le belle serate allegre?... Quando il marito di Ginevra non era di cattivo umore, povera Ginevra... Come è stata buona venendo a salutarmi sino a bordo! Tutta cuore... si farebbe in quattro pe' suoi amici... È per questo che ne ha molti... e devoti... voi, Alvise... Mi sembra di vederlo quel diavolo di Alvise, a combinare il giochetto per nascondere a quell'orso di marito l'innocente scappata d'oggi... d'accordo con Ginevra... Il solito giuoco di bussolotti... là, là, e là!...
Questa volta essa aveva il sorriso diabolico in bocca, mentre picchiava sul parapetto colla mano nuda. Era sempre stata la mia passione quella mano un po' lunga, un po' magra, che diceva tante cose e faceva perdere la testa. Mi chinai su di essa e la baciai.
Ritirò la mano, lentamente, senza dir nulla; ma il sorriso le morì sulle labbra che parvero tremare e scolorirsi.
– Ecco come siete, tutti quanti!... – mormorò dopo un momento, guardandosi intorno, e passandosi la mano sul viso.
Eravamo soli, nascosti dalla parete della scala; la presi per forza e la baciai sulla bocca avidamente, felice di sentire che già si abbandonava, come fosse la prima volta.
– Dite la verità – mi chiese poi. – Ve la siete fatta dare apposta la cabina accanto alla mia?
Alvise aveva ragione di dire che era una simpatica compagna di viaggio: allegra, graziosa, riboccante di spirito, e senza malinconie. Se qualche momento ne avevo io, delle malinconie, ripensando alle ultime parole della mia Ginevra, ai suoi begli occhi lagrimosi che mi chiedevano di esserle fedele, quest'altra metteva la miglior grazia a farmi tosto spergiuro... e contento. Una di quelle donne che non passano la pelle, ma che sanno accarezzarla. Discreta poi! Mai una allusione o una parola. Sapeva forse che il mio cuore era preso, e si contentava del resto. Talché continuai ad andare a trovarla anche dopo che fummo arrivati a Genova, mentre aspettavo l'imbarco per Montevideo.
– Sapete, povera Ginevra... – mi disse un bel giorno, leggendo una lettera che le era giunta allora da Napoli. – Pare che abbia avuto dei guai laggiù, per quello scapato di Alvise... S'è lasciata cogliere dal marito, la sera stessa che partimmo, vi rammentate?
A quella notizia dovetti fare un viso molto sciocco, poiché ella soggiunse, col suo ghignetto malizioso, stavolta:
– Ve l'aveva fatto anche lei, il giuramento del marinaio?
# Commedia da salotto
– Badate! Egli sa tutto!
La signora Ginevra era pallidissima lasciando cadere quelle parole a fior di labbra, rapidamente, mentre fingeva di rispondere con un sorriso al profondo inchino di Alvise Casalengo, allungandogli, nel passare, una stretta di mano breve e confidenziale. Egli, inquieto, cercò cogli occhi il marito di lei nell'altra sala.
Ma non poté chiederle altro. La folla li separò tosto. Ella, sorridente sempre, scollacciata sino al dorso, scintillante di gioie, aggiravasi fra i tavolinetti preparati per la cena, chinandosi a odorare i fiori, ad ammirare tutte quelle graziose ventoline colorate; rispondeva gaiamente ai saluti, agli auguri, alle strette di mano. In fondo alla sala, nel gran specchio inclinato sul caminetto, si mirò un istante ad assicurare la stella di brillanti che le tremolava fra i capelli, pallidissima, quasi la sfumatura livida che le accerchiava i begli occhi si fosse allargata a un tratto per tutto il viso delicato.
– Sola? – esclamò la contessa Maio. – Libera e sola? Che miracolo!
– Sì – rispose Ginevra collo stesso tono allegro. – Una volta ogni fin d'anno almeno!... Ho lasciato Silverio in anticamera... coll'Ammiraglio... Sono fuggita...
Le parole e le labbra ridevano. Ma gli sguardi erravano inquieti, come cercando ancor essi. Alvise, sempre vicino all'uscio, stava a discorrere col suo amico Gustavo, tranquillamente, lisciandosi i baffi tratto tratto per dissimulare una ruga sottile che gli si contraeva di tanto in tanto all'angolo della bocca, e l'ansietà acuta che balenava suo malgrado negli occhi, i quali volgevansi spesso verso il salotto d'ingresso. Dietro a un vecchietto calvo, dinanzi a cui tutti s'inchinavano, entrò il marito della bella Ginevra, col fiore all'occhiello, salutando gli amici, baciando la mano alle signore, solamente un po' duro e un po' rigido nel vestito nero, con un lieve aggrottar di sopracciglia appena incontrò lo sguardo fermo e rispettoso di Casalengo, il quale lo aspettava sull'uscio, piantandosi militarmente.
– Ah, lei, tenente?... Ha terminato quel rapporto?
Casalengo stava per rispondere, quando la signora Gemma, ad una parola dettale rapidamente sottovoce dalla sua amica Ginevra, la quale aveva seguito ansiosa quell'incontro, con occhi che luccicavano intensi, quasi tutti i suoi lineamenti si alterassero all'improvviso, mentre passava macchinalmente il fazzolettino sulle labbra, attraversò la sala rapidamente, per andare a impadronirsi del Comandante.
Poscia tornando trionfante al braccio di lui, le chiese:
– Hai caldo?
– No... Sì, veramente... Un po'...
– Sei pallida. Fa troppo caldo qui, cara Ginevra.
– No, no... Non importa...
La buona Gemma, intanto, aveva sequestrato il Comandante nel vano di una finestra, tenendolo a bada con delle chiacchiere, interrompendosi con delle risate argentine che squillavano in mezzo al brusìo della sala, facendo di tutto per sedurre quell'orso, saettando di tempo in tempo alla Ginevra un'occhiata lucente che voleva dire: – Cosa diavolo è successo? Indi prese il braccio dell'Ammiraglio e lo condusse verso il canapè, stordendo anche lui col suo cicaleccio allegro, continuando a guardar come distratta, come a caso, la sua amica e il marito di lei ch'era preso adesso nel circolo della contessa, voltandosi più guardinga verso il salotto dov'era andato a cacciarsi Casalengo insieme al suo camerata Gustavo. Infine Gemma abbandonò l'Ammiraglio alle altre signore, e passò nel salotto anche lei. Ginevra li vide che discorrevano animatamente con Casalengo. Egli coll'aria grave, rispondendo a monosillabi, Gemma diventata seria, con un interesse che tradivasi dai minimi gesti, per quanto fosse abituata a padroneggiarsi in pubblico. Gustavo s'era dileguato al par di un'ombra.
Una domanda a lei rivolta la fece trasalire in quel punto: Serravalle che le chiedeva un valzer e insisteva per averne la promessa: – Le fo paura? Non vuol vedermi neppure? È ancora in collera, dopo tanto tempo?
Essa lo guardò un istante come trasognata, battendo le palpebre, col bel sorriso pallido che stentava a rifiorire sui lineamenti disfatti: – Ah, lei?... No! Mai più... Del resto non si ballerà...
– Sì, sì, dopo cena, me l'ha detto la contessa... per cominciare l'anno nuovo... Cominci l'anno con una buona azione, lei!... Non ce n'è un'altra che balli il valzer come lei!... Dica di sì! dica di sì... un giro solo!... l'ultimo!...
– Mai più! mai più!... Sarebbe il primo dell'anno nuovo, se mai... Non voglio passare tutto l'anno a svenirmi nelle sue braccia... Sul serio, lei gira troppo in furia... Mi fa girare il capo. Si rammenta?
– Ah! per l'amor di Dio... Non me lo rammenti, piuttosto! Non me lo faccia perdere il capo, lei!... Ha detto di sì!... Consegno qui la sua promessa!...
Ella rideva tutta quanta, come una bambina, a scatti, con una fossetta sulla gota, con certi movimenti che facevano sbocciare gli omeri delicati dalla scollatura del vestito. Altri giovanotti le fecero ressa intorno, mentre Serravalle se ne scappava segnando nel taccuino il valzer che le aveva quasi strappato a forza. Ciascuno la supplicava d'accordargli un posto al suo tavolinetto, nel va e vieni degli invitati che sedevano a cena in piccoli gruppi di tre o quattro, con delle esclamazioni giulive, degli scrosci di risa, dei nomi barattati da un tavolino all'altro, un fruscìo di seta, un luccicare di gemme, delle spalle nude che si chinavano con movimenti graziosi. Ella tenendo testa a tutti quanti, schermendosi col ventaglio, ribattendo i frizzi e le galanterie, spiava sottecchi ogni atto, ogni gesto di suo marito e di Casalengo, il quale stava cercando il suo posto anche lui. I loro sguardi si evitarono d'accordo, non appena s'incontrarono, per caso. Il Comandante, dando il braccio alla contessa, le parlava nel viso, allegro e disinvolto anche lui. La signora Ginevra, ritta dinanzi al posto dove aveva letto il suo nome sul cartoncino litografato, cavava adagio adagio le mani scintillanti di anelli dall'apertura del guanto che le saliva sino al gomito, avvolgendoli mezzi intorno al polso. Gemma, che aveva potuto raggiungerla finalmente senza dar nell'occhio, le chiese sottovoce, brevemente:
– Cos'è stato?
– Nulla... Ti dirò poi...
Ella così dicendo s'era chinata a leggere i nomi dei suoi compagni di tavola. Ma scorgendo quello di Alvise di faccia a lei, un'attenzione delicata della contessa, che studiavasi di mettere insieme bene i suoi invitati, non seppe reprimere un moto come di sgomento.
– No, no... per carità...
Gemma colse a volo il significato di quelle poche sillabe: – Casalengo, faccia il piacere... venga qui, con me... Mi liberi da Sansiro, che è una vera persecuzione...
Sansiro, il quale dovette prendere il posto di Alvise Casalengo, di faccia alla signora Ginevra, fece un inchino troppo profondo, che gli valse un'occhiata fulminante di lei. Però in mezzo all'allegria generale lui solo rimaneva straordinariamente grave e taciturno, senza la più piccola freddura, senza permettersi con la bella Ginevra una sola delle spiritosaggini che facevano scappare le signore, quasi avesse voluto protestare col suo contegno contro l'accusa della signora Gemma. Affettava di volgere le spalle a Casalengo; chinava gli occhi sul piatto se la signora Ginevra volgeva i suoi verso il tavolinetto vicino. Mostravasi servizievole e premuroso; ma discretamente, con un certo sussiego, parlando poco e di cose serie. Bruni, che era il terzo, faceva lui per tutti e tre.
Nondimeno la festa languiva in quell'angolo della sala, malgrado gli sforzi di Casalengo che stuzzicava e tormentava peggio di Sansiro la signora Gemma. La povera Ginevra s'era fatta seria, quasi sentisse pesare di tanto in tanto sulla sua graziosa testolina gli sguardi acuti del marito, il quale dal canto suo battevasi i fianchi per tener desta l'allegria nel crocchio della contessa. Gli uomini fingevano di essere occupatissimi nel fare onore alla cena, le signore sfioravano appena un'ala di fagiano o accostavano il bicchiere alle labbra. Sembrava che un'invincibile musoneria si propagasse da quel cantuccio per tutta la sala, senza che una parola fosse stata detta, senza che un'indiscrezione fosse sfuggita, senza che un gesto avesse tradito il segreto, quasi l'istinto di tutti quei complici mondani li avesse avvertiti insieme del dramma che celavasi sotto il sorriso. Il Comandante, vuotando l'uno dopo l'altro dei gran bicchieri d'acqua, animava però da solo il circolo della padrona di casa, la quale coll'occhio vigile intorno, col sorriso amabile per tutti quanti, guardava di tratto in tratto l'orologio posto di faccia a lei sul caminetto. A un dato momento, quand'essa toccò il bicchiere del Comandante con un dito di _champagne_ spumante in fondo al suo, gli invitati si alzarono frettolosi. Degli augurii, dei baci, degli accenni, dei saluti s'incrociarono da un punto all'altro, da un tavolino all'altro. Un muovere di seggiole, uno scomporsi di gruppi, una cordialità generale e un po' chiassosa che voleva essere sincera. Dei sorrisi che si cercavano, e degli sguardi che si spiavano a vicenda. La signora Ginevra aveva chinato i suoi per tornare ad infilarsi i guanti. Gemma, nello scambiare con lei il bacio d'augurio, le disse all'orecchio:
– Bada, Ginevra! Non ti far scorgere. Hai tutti gli occhi addosso!
– Ah, Dio mio! Dio mio!
Poscia, mentre s'avviavano a braccetto verso il pianoforte, dove una folla di signore assediava l'Ammiraglio che sorbiva lentamente il caffè, essa balbettò:
– Tieni a bada mio marito... per carità... due minuti soli...
E siccome Gemma insisteva per sapere cosa fosse avvenuto, infine, aggiunse:
– Ti dirò poi... ti dirò poi...
L'Ammiraglio narrava una storiella allegra, con tutti i punti e le virgole, senza lasciarsi intimidire dal coro delle proteste, dalle esclamazioni di rimprovero, dai ventagli che lo minacciavano. Gemma facendo coro alle sue amiche, coll'indignazione anch'essa nella bocca sorridente, era riuscita ad insinuarsi fra il Comandante e l'uscio del salottino dove si fumava: – Che orrore!... Siete un orrore!... tutti quanti! Anche lei, Silverio! Sì, anche lei che trova da ridere a coteste infamie! – Col busto inarcato, volgendo indietro la testolina accesa, ella seguiva colla coda dell'occhio la sua amica che aveva l'aria di fuggire lei pure Gustavo e Serravalle troppo insistenti dietro di lei. – No, no, Ginevra! non stare ad ascoltarli!... Sono diventati impossibili!... tutti quanti!
Così dicendo tornò a prendere il braccio dell'amica, giusto sull'uscio del salotto in fondo al quale Casalengo stava fumando una sigaretta, appoggiato alla spalliera della poltrona.
– Che vuoi fare, Ginevra? No, per l'amor di Dio! Sta' attenta! Tuo marito ha un certo viso questa sera!
– Bisogna ch'io gli parli... assolutamente!... Non ho avuto tempo d'avvertirlo... Se mio marito riesce a trovarsi solo con lui prima che io l'abbia prevenuto nascerà qualche disgrazia!...
La poveretta era convulsa mentre balbettava quelle parole, sottovoce, coll'aria più indifferente che poteva, nello stesso tempo che accostava il capo ad ammirare la bella croce di brillanti sul petto dell'amica. – Ah, Dio!...
Suo marito entrava in quel momento nel salottino, diritto, calmo, arrotolando fra le dita una sigaretta. Poi si chinò per accenderla a quella di Casalengo, mentre la moglie in fondo alla sala, sentivasi venir meno, colla visione di quei due uomini che si trovavano faccia a faccia negli occhi stralunati. La contessa, che vedeva ogni cosa dal suo posto, si mosse subito, e passò immediatamente nella stanza dove fumavasi.
– Ah, Dio mio! – balbettò la povera Ginevra.
– Via, mia cara!... Vedi!... È lì la contessa. Non c'è pericolo pel momento...
Essa, interrottamente, con un soffio di voce, le labbra smorte e convulse, gli sguardi erranti qua e là, disse cosa era stato.
– L'ordinanza l'ha visto venire ieri sera... tardi... Ha detto ogni cosa a mio marito... Io non ho avuto tempo di suggerire una scusa _a lui_...
Intanto davano mano a sgombrar la sala per far quattro salti. I giovani aiutavano, allo scopo di impietosire la padrona di casa e strapparle un sì. Ma la contessa tappavasi le orecchie per non lasciarsi sedurre, ostinata, inflessibile, tossendo in mezzo al fumo delle sigarette, diceva sempre di no, ridendo e colle lagrime agli occhi.
– No, no... Dite anche di no, voialtri signori mariti!... Aiutatemi!... Lo faccio per voialtri... È tardi... Me ne dispiace, miei cari giovinotti, ma questo non era nel programma... Non voglio farmi tanti nemici... – Il Comandante Silverio l'appoggiava ridendo. Anzi, si avvicinò alla moglie, per farle osservare dolcemente ch'erano circa le due, che essa aveva l'aria un po' stanca, che si sarebbe affaticata troppo e sarebbe stata una vera imprudenza per lei così delicata... così cagionevole... Invano Gemma vi frapponeva le sue preghiere, il suo ventaglio, l'impegno con Serravalle. La sua amica, in un momento che nessuno poteva udirla, l'aveva supplicata:
– Non mi lasciare andare!... Ho paura!...
I giovanotti muovevano cielo e terra. Infine, come la vinsero, appena risuonarono le prime battute festanti del valzer, la bella peccatrice si lasciò prendere dal ballo, tutta, diventata tutt'altra donna da un momento all'altro, col viso acceso, gli occhi ebbri, il seno palpitante, spensierata, gaia, una bambina, dimenticando ogni cosa, passando da un ballerino all'altro senza un'esitazione o una preferenza. Quando incontrò la mano di Alvise, febbrile e parlante, nella contraddanza, essa gli porse due dita inguantate, come a tutti gli altri. Casalengo ballava anche lui disperatamente, senza riposarsi un minuto, senza lasciare il tempo a un pensiero o ad una parola molesta di intromettersi fra lui e le ballerine che andava invitando una dopo l'altra, quasi indovinando e obbedendo a una parola d'ordine. A un dato punto, nel bel mezzo d'uno sfrenato galoppo, la signora Gemma gli buttò sul viso poche parole rapide.
Le signore s'accomiatavano infine, ancora anelanti, un po' rosse, coll'allegria e l'eccitazione nelle parole e nel gesto. Alvise Casalengo, che era venuto a salutare fino in anticamera la signora Ginevra, disse tranquillamente al marito di lei che l'aiutava ad infilare la pelliccia:
– Comandante, per terminare quel rapporto che mi ha ordinato mi occorrono alcuni schiarimenti... Ero venuto a chiederglieli... ieri sera...
– Ah! – rispose Silverio piantandogli gli occhi in faccia. – Va bene. Mi spiegherà poi...
Alvise vide biancheggiare fugacemente le sottane di lei che montava in carrozza senza neppure osare di volgere il capo, e rimase inquieto sulla porta, lasciando spegnere il sigaro, colpito dallo sguardo del marito, il quale esprimeva chiaramente di non credere alle sue parole, e dal tono brusco di quella risposta che gli faceva immaginare ciò che sarebbe accaduto più tardi in casa Silverio.
Accadde che a quattr'occhi, nel disordine profumato dello spogliatoio, dove la Ginevra, poveretta, s'era lasciata prendere dalle convulsioni, discinta, coi bei capelli sciolti, fra le lagrime calde e le calde parole, e il dottore per giunta, chiamato in fretta e in furia, e ch'era lì sempre fra i piedi, a tastarle polso e ordinare calmanti, il marito dovette convincersi che Casalengo era proprio venuto a cercarlo per un motivo innocentissimo, e il giorno dopo, quando Alvise venne a prendere gli ordini come al solito, in tenuta bianca, un po' pallido soltanto per la stanchezza della notte, gli disse battendogli sulla spalla:
– Quel benedetto rapporto ci ha dato un gran da fare, a lei e a me! Se ne sbrighi in due parole, e mi dica subito quali schiarimenti le occorrono, senza bisogno di tornare a incomodarsi stasera.
# Né mai, né sempre!
Se un angelo del cielo fosse disceso a promettere sul serio la dolce lusinga che Casalengo credevasi obbligato di tubare tratto tratto all'orecchio roseo della signora Silverio, nei momenti buoni: – Per sempre uniti! – L'uno dell'altro! – Sempre! – Lei, no. Lei non ne diceva delle sciocchezze, neanche in quei momenti...
Ora poi, da che aveva corso il pericolo di vedersi cascare fra capo e collo tanta felicità, per l'imprudenza di un domestico – da che suo marito stava in guardia e minacciava una catastrofe, era diventata prudente, in modo da far disperare Casalengo, l'imprudente! – Ah, no, mio caro! Se sapeste, che paura!
La bomba scoppiò all'improvviso, quando meno la povera signora sentivasi disposta a dar fuoco alle polveri: uno di quei colpi di vento o di follia che vi fanno perdere la bussola. E Casalengo l'aveva persa davvero dietro a quella donna che rassegnavasi docilmente al supplizio di non riceverlo più da solo a solo – specie quando la incontrava al ballo o in teatro, e non poteva neppure metterle un bacio sull'omero nudo. Qualcosa gli diceva: Bada, essa non è più quella di prima. C'è qualcosa, un pensiero fisso, un segreto, _un altro_ , negli occhi che ti guardano, nelle labbra che ti sorridono, nel gesto, nel suono della voce. Proprio! il vostro peccato, che vi si rivolta contro, e vi punisce...
– Ginevra! È impossibile durarla così... quando si ama... se mi amate ancora...
– Ingrato! – ribatté lei, fermandosi un minuto solo, sull'uscio della sala da giuoco.
– Perdonatemi... Avete ragione... sempre. Ma mettetevi nei miei panni, s'è vero che mi amate...
– Lasciatemi! Lui s'è voltato a guardarci... Avete visto?
Aveva ragione, sempre, lei; anche quando rideva e civettava in mezzo a una folla di cicisbei per sviare i sospetti; mentre lui doveva tenersi in corpo il dubbio, la febbre, la gelosia, in fino! la smania di sapere e di toccare con mano la sua disgrazia, di stringersela fra le braccia, e di conficcarsela ben bene nel cuore – costretto a mostrarsi disinvolto anche lui, onde evitare il ridicolo, allorché finalmente ella volle offrirgli una tazza di thè, nel vano di una finestra.
– Grazie. Me la son meritata. È vero.
– Ma... secondo. Lasciatemi guardarvi in viso...
– Ah no! Non facciamo imprudenze! Io, per esempio, potrei vedere nel vostro qualcos'altro...
– Che cosa?
– Lui!...
– Lui, chi?
– Lui, _quell'altro..._ Vedete se sono buono!
Il poveretto arrivava a bruciarle sotto il naso il granellino d'incenso della gelosia amabile. Una cosa deliziosa. Ella, ridendo, diceva di no, di no, col sì negli occhi.
– Un altro, chi? Siete matto?
– Che so io... il sogno di stanotte, il chiaro di luna, la canzone che passa, l'ultima parola che vi è rimasta nell'orecchio, fra tante... forse senza che ve ne siate accorta voi stessa...
Casalengo si batteva i fianchi, non potendo combattere il rivale incognito ch'era inutile cercare, ch'ella non avrebbe confessato giammai, e che non osava forse confessare a sé stessa, ancora. Una voce gli diceva all'orecchio, a lui pure: È inutile, tutto ciò che farai aggraverà i tuoi torti di geloso che ha dei diritti, ed è diventato un ostacolo. Non potrai essere con lei né magnanimo, né dispotico, e neanche innamorato, quasi. Se minacci t'avvilisci, e se piangi sei ridicolo. L'ultimo di cotesti imbecilli che le fanno la corte ha un gran vantaggio su di te. Non puoi mostrarti a lei né umile, né minaccioso, né indifferente, né sospettoso. Comunque ella ti risponda, sdegnosa, o docile, o tranquilla, o timida, ti butterà egualmente in faccia un rimprovero, una accusa, una di quelle parole che rompono braccia e gambe, e fanno chinare il capo: – Seccatore! – Bisogna umiliarti colle finzioni, scendere alle indagini tortuose, rassegnarti al supplizio stesso che hai inflitto al marito di lei: la pena del taglione, il castigo di Dio, poiché c'è una giustizia lassù anche per queste cose: e diventare odioso come un marito, peggio ancora, perché tu sei legato a lei soltanto da quel vincolo ch'essa vorrebbe mettersi sotto i piedi. Tu non hai la scusa della famiglia e dello scandalo da evitare, quando non hai il coraggio di rompere quella catena; non hai il diritto e la legge, per costringere e dominare la donna di cui sei geloso; non puoi averla sotto gli occhi a tutte le ore per spiarla; non hai l'interesse per difenderti, né la scelta del momento per riconquistarla. Le stesse armi con le quali hai combattuto ti si ritorcono contro: le astuzie, i ripieghi inesauribili che ella sapeva trovare, il sangue freddo nei momenti difficili che ammiravi in lei, e il candore delle bugie che ti sembravano deliziose nella sua bocca... E l'ebbrezza della vittoria, poi! il ricordo di certi momenti che ti si ficca nelle carni col sospetto di un rivale latente fra te e lei...
Proprio un affare serio, anche per un uomo meno innamorato di Casalengo – giacché l'immagine di un rivale passato, presente o futuro c'entra un po' in tutti i romanzi del cuore. Una tentazione da farvi perdere il lume degli occhi.
– Sentite, Ginevra!... È assurdo... quando si ama... se si ama... non cercare... non trovare in tutta Napoli un cantuccio, un momento per ritrovarsi, come prima... fosse anche per cinque minuti soli... A meno che...
– A meno che, nulla! Lo sapete e avete torto.
Pure gli aveva accordato quell'appuntamento, proprio perché non ne aveva voglia, per lealtà, perché era un'imprudenza e un pericolo serio in quel momento, col marito che le stava alle costole, e sembrava fiutasse in aria qualcosa anche lui. Gliel'aveva accordato fors'anche perché indovinava i sospetti di lui, e sentivasi colpevole, in fondo in fondo. Le donne hanno di coteste delicatezze che noi uomini non arriveremo mai a comprendere.
– Ebbene, – gli disse, – giacché lo volete assolutamente... Sia pure. Ditemi quando e dove... Non importa. Cercate voi.
Casalengo aveva trovato: un alberguccio losco che essendo brutto assai sembravagli non potesse essere scoperto da altri. Essa ripeté:
– Sia pure... dove volete. Non importa.
Prese a due mani il suo coraggio e le sue sottane, e salì in punta di piedi quella scaletta sudicia, sfidando alteramente gli sguardi avidi e indiscreti del servitore bisunto, appena velata da un pezzetto di trina che si era cacciata in tasca, come non s'era curata del viso che aveva fatto la cameriera vedendola uscire a quell'ora e vestita così dimessamente, come s'era rassegnata all'insolenza del lazzarone che l'aveva scarrozzata sino al vicoletto oscuro, dopo mille andirivieni sospetti, ghignando e ammiccando alla gente che incontrava, per accusare il soffietto traballante sotto il quale tentava di nascondersi la povera signora messa così alla berlina, rinfacciandole al termine della corsa: – Cinque lire? A chi le date? Un servizio come questo!
Casalengo aspettava dietro la finestra, colle tendine calate, il cuore in sussulto, innamorato sino ai capelli, dopo tanto tempo che non si erano più visti... o quasi. Essa entrò senza esitare, pallidissima, premendosi il petto anche lei. Ritirò la mano che egli le aveva presa, e cavò dal manicotto una boccettina che fiutò a lungo, senza rispondergli, senza muovere un passo, guardandosi intorno cogli occhi lucenti: degli occhi in cui erano tante cose, all'infuori dello smarrimento e dell'abbandono che aspettava lui. Però, in quel momento Alvise vide soltanto lei, bella, bianca, bionda, odorosa, sola con lui. E la ringraziava colla voce tremante, col cuore traboccante di riconoscenza e d'ardore, col viso acceso, colle mani tremanti. Accarezzava il manicotto e i guanti di lei; le faceva dolce violenza per attirarla vicino a lui, sul canapè a grandi fiori gialli e rossi: – Cara Ginevra... Bella e buona tanto!... Finalmente!... Povera bimba... come le batte il cuore!... Qui, qui sul mio!...
– Ditemi, – rispose invece lei, sempre colla boccetta sotto il naso. – Non potreste aprire quella finestra?
– Ah! – esclamò Casalengo, lasciandosi cadere le braccia. – Ah!
Ella si pentì subito d'essersi lasciata sfuggire quelle parole che erano state una fitta al cuore del povero innamorato, e sedette rassegnata, scusandosi col dire:
– Ma si soffoca qui!...
– Perdonatemi... C'è un mondo di gente alla finestra dirimpetto... Non ho potuto trovare di meglio... per la vostra sicurezza...
– Vi ringrazio. Avete ragione.
Adesso rimanevano in silenzio l'uno rimpetto all'altra, imbarazzati e quasi cerimoniosi. Talché lei, buona in fondo, se ne avvide, e volle togliersi i guanti e la veletta, per compiacenza, cercando ove posarli. Poi, a buon conto, cacciò ogni cosa nel manicotto, che si tenne in grembo.
– Scusatemi, Alvise... Vi sembrerò strana... Sono tutta... così!...
Alvise continuava a tacere, seduto di faccia a lei, guardandola fissamente, tristamente. E nei suoi occhi un sentimento nuovo, una grande amarezza balenava. Infine, con voce mutata, nella quale tradivasi suo malgrado quell'angoscia, le disse:
– Ahimè, Ginevra... siete come una che non ama più!
Anch'essa allora alzò gli occhi splendenti, guardandolo fisso, con un sorriso amaro all'angolo della bocca.
– Avete ragione di dirmi ciò... adesso... e qui!...
– Ah! Non vedete quanto soffro? Non sentite che vi amo come un pazzo? Non avete indovinato tutte le torture?...
Vinto dalla commozione, dal desiderio, dalla passione, si lasciò trascinare a dirle tutto: le angoscie, i palpiti, il dubbio, le notti passate sotto le sue finestre, la febbre che gli metteva addosso solamente quella breve striscia del suo polso nudo, i castelli in aria, i sogni, le follie... tutto, tutto, proprio come un bambino: l'abbandono intero che tanto piace alle donne. Essa gli posò infatti le mani sui capelli, quasi per accarezzarlo, commossa di vedersi ai piedi la forte giovinezza di quel fanciullo di trent'anni, come abbandonandosi anche lei, per riconoscenza. Soltanto, vedendogli luccicare le lagrime negli occhi, tornò fredda come prima.
– No... ecco... Ho avuto una gran paura... Ecco cos'è...
– Paura di che, povera bimba?...
– Ma di lui, mio caro. Si fa presto a dire... Vorrei vedervici voi!
E anch'essa sciorinò allora tutto ciò che aveva patito e temuto, dal giorno che suo marito era entrato in sospetto. Non si riconosceva più quell'uomo. Un Otello addirittura! Dormiva col revolver sotto il guanciale. Una paura atroce, un batticuore continuo... Se incontrava lui, Casalengo... se non lo vedeva... temendo che un gesto o una parola lo tradisse... trasalendo a ogni lettera che portava la posta... se udivasi il campanello... Ogni cosa che la metteva sottosopra... l'umore del marito, il contegno dei domestici...
– Insomma una cosa da far venire i capelli bianchi, amico mio!
– Ebbene! – esclamò Casalengo raggiante, stringendole le mani da farle male, seduto ai piedi di lei, supplicandola cogli occhi innamorati, accarezzandola col sorriso ebbro. – Ebbene!...
– Ebbene, che cosa?
– Fuggiamo insieme!... lontano da Napoli!... in capo al mondo!... Troveremo pure un nido dove nascondere la nostra felicità!
Ella spalancò gli occhi, attonita, quasi le avessero proposto di condurla alla luna in pallone, d'andare a un ballo in veste da camera, di camminare a testa in giù. Sicché il lirismo e l'entusiasmo del povero innamorato caddero a un tratto. Ma lei, vedendolo così mortificato, ripigliò immediatamente, mettendogli la mano sulla bocca:– Zitto!... zitto!... per carità!...
Cercò di fargli intendere ragione, di farlo rientrare in se stesso, quel gran fanciullone, proprio colle buone, con dolcezza, abbandonandogli le mani anche, purché non ne parlasse più... Egli non ne parlava più infatti, baciava e ribaciava quell'epidermide fine e profumata, risalendo lungo il braccio, sollevandosi sulle ginocchia.
Allora la bella Ginevra tornò ad avere la paura di prima.
– Badate, Alvise!... Siete proprio sicuro che nessuno m'abbia vista?... Voglio dire che nessuno abbia potuto vedermi... mentre venivo?...
– Ma... certamente...
– Perché... m'è sembrato che qualcuno mi seguisse... una carrozzella, sì... dalla Villa sino a Foria... E anche nel salir la scala... Lui non pareva risolversi ad uscire. M'ha chiesto se andavo al concerto... Siete sicuro della gente di questa casa?
– Sicurissimo... Chi volete... Nessuno vi conosce...
Alvise non connetteva più, dal momento che quella manina gli si era posata sulla bocca. Cercava le parole, balbettava, tentava di rifarsi al punto di prima e di riguadagnare il tempo perso, indispettito di vederselo fuggire a quel modo, stupidamente, dopo tanti ostacoli e tante difficoltà per trovarsi un'ora insieme!... Ma lei però aveva il coraggio di pensare a tante altre cose in quel momento; badava a difendere la sua veletta e il manicotto!...
– No... davvero... Alvise... Ho paura!...
– Ah, sì!... la carrozzella... Foria... la scala!...
– Ecco! – rispose lei corrucciata. – Ecco come siete!
– Ma io sono come uno che ama, cara mia! Non ho i vostri _ma_ e i vostri _se_... E neanche voi li avevate, prima...
– Ecco! ecco! Me lo merito!
– Oh, Ginevra!... oh!...
Ella si era messo il fazzoletto agli occhi: un'altra gran tentazione, il profumo di quel fazzoletto, e le lagrime di quegli occhi! Alvise le afferrò di nuovo le mani, baciandole, baciando il fazzoletto, gli occhi, il vestito, fuori di sé, delirante, chiedendole se l'amava ancora, proprio, tutta tutta, se sentiva anche lei quello struggimento e quella frenesia. Essa diceva di sì, di sì, coi cenni del capo, col rossore del viso, col tremito delle mani, abbandonandoglisi a poco a poco, mutandosi in viso, fissandolo col turbamento delizioso negli occhi, balbettando anche lei, vinta alla fine:
– Non vedete... Non vedi... Sarei qui forse?... Vi pare che sia una cosa da nulla?...
– Sì, è vero! Perdonami, povera bimba! Bimbetta bella e cara!... Come batte quel cuoricino!... Anch'io, sai!... Ma è un'altra cosa... Non è vero?... Guardami! Sorridimi! È stato un grande affare, eh, questa scappata?... Un colpo di testa!... Non siam fatti per le tempeste grosse dell'amore! Preferiamo la maretta che ci culla e ci accarezza!... Non è vero? di', confessalo! Siamo un po' civettuole anche! Ci piace di vederci corteggiate e di far perdere la testa al nostro prossimo, eh?... Di'! di'!... Tutti coloro che ti corrono dietro e sospirano alla luna!... Confessalo! Confessati! Dimmi, chi è l'amante della luna adesso? colui che sospira di più per la mia Ginevra? Lo sai? te ne sei accorta? ti piace, di'... ti piace far disperare il prossimo tuo?...
Ella sorrideva proprio come una bimba, stordita, commossa, riconoscente di quella nuova adulazione, dicendo di no, di no, che amava il suo Alvise, lui solo! E gli buttò anche le braccia al collo. Tanto che lui non disse più nulla e ricominciò a parlare soltanto coi baci, dei baci che se la mangiavano viva, e le facevano mettere dei piccoli gridi soffocati:
– No!... no!... Davvero!... Zitto!... Sento proprio rumore. Lì!... nella scala, dietro l'uscio!... sentite?...
– Ah!... quella scala maledetta!...
Ma Alvise s'arrestò lui pure a un tratto, udendo realmente il rumore di un alterco sul pianerottolo, poiché il cameriere voleva guadagnarsi coscienziosamente la sua mancia, e difendeva energicamente l'ingresso del santuario. Una voce li fece allibire entrambi, la voce di Silverio. L'uscio sgangherato si spalancò a un tratto, e apparve lui, il marito, Otello, cieco di rabbia e di gelosia – e stavolta poi con ragione, almeno all'apparenza. – Il cuore le parlava, a lei!
Ciò che allora accadde può bene immaginarsi; perché anche dei gentiluomini, in certe occasioni, perdono il lume degli occhi tale e quale come dei semplici facchini. Una scena terribile e tale da guarire in un momento di ogni tentazione passata e futura la povera donna che faceva sforzi disperati per svenirsi. Mai più, mai più poté levarsi dagli occhi il gesto di Alvise che aggiustavasi la cravatta, cercando il cappello per uscire insieme al suo nemico mortale, e andare a tagliarsi la gola d'amore e d'accordo. Fuori di sé, derelitta, andò un'ora dopo a bussare alla porta di lui.
Alvise parve stupefatto.
– Voi!... qui!
– Oramai!... – balbettò ella smarrita. – Oramai... siete il mio amante...
– Ma no, amor mio!... è impossibile!...
– E dove volete che vada adesso?
– A casa vostra. Non temete. Vostro marito è un gentiluomo. Tutto è accomodato.
– Accomodato, in che modo?
– Non sarà fatta parola di voi nella questione fra me e vostro marito... Ci sarà di mezzo un'altra donna... una che non avrà nulla da perdere.
– Nessuno vi crederà.
– Non importa che credano. Ma bisogna che sia così. Vostro marito partirà immediatamente per un lungo viaggio... Voi sarete libera...
– Ah!...
– Credetemi!... – diss'egli stringendole forte le mani, quasi colle lagrime agli occhi. – Credetemi che darei tutto il mio sangue purché non fosse avvenuto tutto ciò!
Ella gli si buttò fra le braccia, piangendo tutte le sue lagrime, abbandonandosi interamente all'uomo che un'ora prima cercava un nido in capo al mondo per andare a nascondervi il loro amore e la loro felicità. Adesso invece cercava di calmare la povera Ginevra, preoccupato dei riguardi che doveva alla riputazione di lei, ai _ma_ e ai _se_ che le aveva rimproverato poco prima, cercando di farle comprendere le esigenze mondane che un'ora avanti voleva farle mettere sotto i piedi, un po' pallido, malgrado il suo coraggio provato, tutto un altr'uomo, imbarazzato, esitante, guardando l'uscio e l'orologio ogni momento, rispettoso e delicato, uomo di mondo sino ai capelli, è vero, ma un uomo di mondo cui sia caduta una tegola sul capo, e gli sia rimasta fra le braccia _una gatta da pelare_ , per usare la frase gentile che nessuno dice e tutti pensano in casi simili.
– Infine... – proruppe, – cara Ginevra... aspetto qualcuno... Non potete farvi trovare qui da questo qualcuno...
Il senso morale è industrioso in tanti modi. E non è a dire che Casalengo ne fosse peggio dotato degli altri. Quando il suo rivale se lo vide sotto la mira della pistola, con quella faccia, disse piano agli amici che l'assistevano: – Ecco un uomo morto.
Certo non mancò per lui, che gli piantò due pollici di ferro fra le costole, e lo mise a letto per un pezzetto. La signora viaggiò tutto quel tempo, almeno si disse. E se pure andò a trovare il suo amico, di nascosto, proprio da suora di carità, non se ne seppe mai nulla ufficialmente. Le lettere, per andare da lei a lui, facevano un lungo giro, coll'aiuto di un'amica fidata. Talché quando la signora Ginevra riaprì il suo appartamento in via Partenope, libera e sola, più bella e elegante che mai, fu una gara fra le signore e gli uomini in voga a darvisi ritrovo. Alvise vi andò cogli altri, all'ora del thè, un giorno che il salotto era pieno di gente, e la bella Silverio faceva gran festa a tutti.
– Ah, Casalengo! Bravo! Temevo che fosse partito, o che mi avesse dimenticata.
Egli vi ritornò altre volte, nei giorni di ricevimento e anche dopo. Si fermava allo sportello della sua carrozza, al passeggio; e andava a salutarla nel palchetto, al San Carlo. Era sempre uno degli intimi, come prima, il cavalier servente dell'elegante mondana, mentre il marito di lei viaggiava lontano, talché non c'era persona che sapesse vivere la quale invitando la signora Ginevra dimenticasse di invitare Casalengo, e viceversa. Proprio il nido d'amore, tappezzato da Levera, e col terrazzino sul golfo di Napoli per contemplare le stelle, e la luna di miele. Erano liberi, soli e senza alcun sospetto. Ma non era più la stessa cosa, o almeno non era più la stessa cosa di prima. Nella loro felicità aprivasi una lacuna, una crepa in cui s'abbarbicavano delle male piante che aduggiavano il bel sole d'amore e facevano impaccio alle parole e alle cose gentili. Lei, infine, non sapeva perdonare a Casalengo l'inchino profondo, l'aria troppo rispettosa con la quale veniva a salutarla, in teatro, al ballo, fra i suoi amici. Lui aggrottava le ciglia suo malgrado, tal quale come Silverio, se qualcheduno di essi mostravasi più appiccichino degli altri, più assiduo e premuroso degli altri verso di lei – tacendole le sue pene, oppure stordendola col cinguettarle alle orecchie delle sciocchezze che la facessero ridere. – Le conosceva anche lui le arti di cotesti seccatori... e anche lei un po' civettuola lo era stata sempre... per incoraggiare ogni sciocchezza che le tubassero all'orecchio.
– Una noia, cara Ginevra!... Non capisco come certuni si buttino addosso a una signora e le facciano gli occhi dolci per dirle magari: buona sera!
– Quello che facevate voi, mio caro... allora... nei bei tempi... Quando vi dicevo: Né mai, né sempre...
# Carmen
– No, non mi tentate, Casalengo! Sapete che mi chiamano Carmen! Il vostro amico è «biondo e bello e di gentile aspetto»; è ingenuo, timido e cavalleresco... ritorna adesso dagli antipodi... Insomma, mi piace assai. Non voglio conoscerlo. – Essa gliel'aveva detto!
Invece Casalengo credeva che scherzasse: leggerezza, vanità, orgoglio d'amante che fosse stato in lui; cecità di stolto che Dio voglia perdere; incanto di quelle labbra che avrebbero fatto commettere qualsiasi sciocchezza per vederle sorridere ancora in siffatta maniera; distrazione procuratagli dai monili serpentini che tintinnavano scorrendo giù pel braccio nudo, il quale levavasi minaccioso, col dito rivolto al cielo: – Guardate, Casalengo! C'è un Dio lassù per queste cose!...
Ma quando lui, col sorriso fatuo che gli segnava già le prime rughe sottili accanto agli occhi, s'ostinò a fare la presentazione: – Il mio amico Aldini...– Essa rispose semplicemente: – Gli amici dei nostri amici... – E stese la mano al nuovo arrivato con tanta cordialità, così lieta di scorgere nel giovanetto l'omaggio di un grande imbarazzo, che volle pure ringraziarne Casalengo con un'occhiata rapida: un'occhiata in cui era il sorriso del diavolo.
Aldini, che aveva sentito parlare sino a Zanzibar della gran passione per cui il suo amico Casalengo s'era giuocate le spalline di comandante, provava adesso una certa sorpresa dinanzi a quella donna che non aveva poi nulla d'estraordinario. Un viso delicato e pallido, come appassito precocemente, come velato da un'ombra, dei grandi occhi parlanti, in cui era della febbre, dei capelli morbidi e folti, posati mollemente in un grosso nodo sulla nuca, e il bel fiore carnoso della bocca – la bocca terribile – come dicevano amici e gelosi.
Ma lo turbava il profumo mondano, la carne mortificata dalla gran vita, che traspariva fra le trine preziose, il segno che il braccialetto le lasciava sulla pelle delicata – e gli dava un gran da fare per non mangiarsela cogli occhi. Ella se ne avvide, e mise cinque minuti buoni a infilarsi il guanto, in premio dell'ammirazione muta che le tributavano gli occhi sinceri del giovinetto, i rossori fugaci, le parole mozze... Da abbracciarlo, lì, dinanzi a tutti quanti! E gli lasciò in pegno il ventaglio, tornando a ballare il valzer – un legame, lo scettro della sultana.
– Eccoti comandato... servizio particolare! – gli disse Casalengo ridendo. – Se avevi qualche impegno, ti scuserò io, caro Riccardo...
– No! Oh no! – esclamò Aldini, stringendo forte il ventaglio colle due mani.
Adesso osservava alla sfuggita, con una curiosità inquieta e rispettosa, il suo amico Casalengo, la forte giovinezza di lui come curva sotto un giogo, il sorriso distratto sulle labbra riarse, le frasi stonate, il pensiero fisso, l'ardore segreto, la ruga impercettibile e quasi nascosta fra le ciglia, gli sguardi erranti, suo malgrado, attratti dalla donna amata che gli fuggiva dinanzi nelle braccia di un altro, raggiante, e gli buttava in faccia il sorriso, il profumo, il vento dell'abito, la nudità delle spalle, tutte le seduzioni, i fantasmi dell'amore e della donna, quali erano passati dinanzi agli occhi a lui pure, Aldini, nelle calde fantasticherie dell'adolescenza, discorrendo laggiù della maliarda la quale prendeva lui pure adesso, con una parola, con un nulla, legandolo, incatenandolo a sé con quel ninnolo che gli aveva messo fra le mani, come un fanciullo che si voglia tenere a bada.
– Ah, ma sapete! È proprio carino il vostro amico Aldini!
– Ve l'avevo detto, – rispose Casalengo un po' ironico.
Ella si strinse nelle spalle con un movimento che gli mise sotto il naso i begli omeri nudi.
– Badate però. È un ragazzo... un ragazzo pericoloso.
– Ah, così? – disse lei.
E Carmen volle farne l'esperimento, povero Aldini. Tanti altri, ora vinti e intossicati per tutta la vita, l'avevano chiamata con quel soprannome di guerra e di malaugurio, ch'era la punzecchiatura delle sue amiche gelose, e la carezza o la maledizione degli incauti che si lasciavano prendere al fascino del suo sorriso dolce e buono – la più strana cosa, su quella bocca di vampiro. Poich'essa faceva il male con una incoscienza ch'era la sua maggiore attrattiva; vi metteva una sincerità, quasi una lealtà che le faceva perdonare i suoi errori, come il gran nome che portava le faceva aprire tutte le porte. E una squisita eleganza, una grazia innata fin nelle bizzarrie, un'ingenuità provocante fin nella stessa civetteria, l'aria di gran dama anche in un veglione, avida di piaceri e di feste, quasi divorata da una febbre continua di emozioni e di sensazioni diverse, una febbre che la consumava senza ravvivare il suo bel pallore diafano, né le sue labbra dolorose, ma che però la lasciava spesso in una prostrazione desolata, le dava delle ore di stanchezza e di uggia, di cui i suoi adoratori pagavano la pena: ore tremende – in cui non c'era altro da fare che prendere il cappello e andarsene – dicevano i forti, quelli che avevano pianto poi dietro l'uscio di lei. – Gli altri, coloro che cercavano di spiegare le sue follie, se non di scusarle, dicevano ch'era ammalata, ch'era matta – tutti i d'Altona erano morti tisici o dementi – che aveva provato dei gran dolori e dei gran disinganni, ch'era ferita a morte, condannata senza speranza, e voleva vivere vent'anni in venti mesi.
– Gliel'ha detto anche a lei, il mio amico Casalengo, che mi chiamano Carmen? – chiese ella ad Aldini, col sorriso mordente, la prima volta che un'ondata di folla glielo mise di nuovo faccia a faccia, all'uscire dal Sannazzaro.
Ma gli stese la mano senza rancore. Poscia, mentre aspettava la carrozza, stretta nella pelliccia, e con quell'aria di stanchezza e di noia che faceva scappare la gente, soggiunse:
– M'accompagni. Servirà ad insegnarle la strada... quando vorrà venire a farmi una visita. Troveremo qualche amico a casa... degli amici suoi e miei, per prendere il thè insieme... se non ha paura che l'avveleni come la Lucrezia Borgia di stasera... una Lucrezia tremenda, da morir di noia!...
Fu in tal modo che lo prese, – come, per fargli posto nel legnetto, aveva preso e raccolto a due mani il suo vestito, – e lo avvolse fra le pieghe di esso, e lo stordì col suo profumo, allorché la pelliccia, scivolandole giù per le spalle, gli buttò al viso e alla testa la trasparenza di quegli omeri rosei – senza volerlo, quasi senza avvedersene, in quell'ora di uggia e d'umor nero che l'avrebbe fatta dar della testa nell'imbottitura del _coupé_ , e che egli le leggeva sul viso smorto, mentre guardava distrattamente attraverso il cristallo, ai bagliori fugaci che gettavano le vetrine scintillanti dentro la carrozza che correva su per Toledo – senza dirgli una parola, né rivolgergli un'occhiata, quasi non pensasse più a lui, o subisse ancor essa lo strano imbarazzo di quell'incontro, di quel silenzio, dell'oscurità che li avvolse tutti e due a un tratto nello stesso mistero e nella stessa tentazione, appena il legno svoltò pel corso Vittorio Emanuele – o sapesse che ciò doveva bastare a mettergli nel cuore, a lui, nelle carni, incancellabile, la febbre di quell'occasione che fuggiva rapida, la sete di quelle labbra di donna che si celavano nell'ombra, il turbamento di quella sfinge che rimaneva per lui impenetrabile, nello stesso tempo che gli palpitava allato. – Degli angeli godono così di sfiorare la colpa colle loro ali candide – ed essa non era un angelo, no, povera signora! Talché quando lo presentò ai suoi amici che l'accoglievano festanti: – Il tenente Aldini! – con un'aria di trionfo, quasi avesse detto: – Ecco il Figliuol Prodigo! – era così pallido e stralunato, il povero Figliuol Prodigo, e come abbagliato dalla piena luce del salotto, o dalla fiamma ch'essa gli aveva accesa in cuore! Ed essa aveva davvero qualcosa dello spirito del male, in quel momento, nel sorriso ironico, nell'aria strana, nel pallore marmoreo del volto, nell'allegria forzata colla quale davasi tutta ai suoi ospiti, lottando di brio e d'arguzia, servendo il thè, dimenticando completamente Aldini in un cantuccio, faccia a faccia con un album di ritratti nel quale cercava di nascondere il suo imbarazzo.
– Che cosa vi ha fatto quel povero giovine? – le chiese sottovoce Casalengo, mentre inchinavasi a prendere una tazza di thè dalle sue mani.
– Tutti m'avete fatto! – rispose lei nel medesimo tono di scherzo.
Ed era forse la verità, il grido di rivolta del suo cuore ulcerato, il senso di disgusto che aveva trovato in fondo al bicchiere, l'amarezza che l'aveva colta allo svegliarsi dai sogni d'oro – quando aveva visto il pentimento mal dissimulato dell'uomo a cui aveva tutto sacrificato – quando era stata ferita dall'insulto che nascondevasi sotto il madrigale dei galanti resi audaci dalla sua caduta – quando l'era mancata sin l'alterezza e l'illusione del sentimento puro, della fede giurata, pel tradimento altrui, ed anche pel proprio. – Non valeva di meglio, no, essa ch'era stata debole nell'ora stessa in cui _un altro_ le era infedele. Tanto peggio! Tanto peggio per tutti, anche per lei, che sentiva rifiorire il bel fiore azzurro dentro di sé. Non le avevano detto che i fiori durano un giorno, e che solo sinché odorano esistono? Era tornato spesso in quella casa di cui essa gli aveva insegnato la via, il Figliuol Prodigo, timido e rispettoso, ma preso proprio sino ai capelli, innamorato come un pazzo, di un amore bizzarro che si pasceva di chiaro di luna e di passeggiate sotto le finestre. – L'aveva visto tante volte, lei, prima d'andare a letto, nel buio della strada! Ed era strano come ciò la facesse sorridere di piacere, le facesse cacciare il viso infocato nel guanciale, con una muta carezza.
Era una voluttà sottile e penetrante, il gusto di un'infedeltà che non poteva dar ombra a Casalengo; ma così dolce, quando beveva il bacio dagli occhi ingenui d'Aldini, e sentivasi ricercare avidamente da quell'adorazione bramosa, tutta, il seno palpitante, mentre ballava con lui, e le braccia che avrebbero voluto avvincerlo, al sentire come gli batteva il cuore contro il suo, il cuore che gli si dava, e la bocca, e la persona intera – e neppur tanto così, nondimeno! Né una parola e neanche un dito! – Una volta sola, smarrita, in quelle ondate di sangue che la musica e il valzer le mandavano alla testa... – No, Riccardo, così... mi fate male!...
Insomma, era scritto lassù. Ella non avrebbe voluto, no, davvero, per timore del poi, per timore di lui e di sé stessa... e di Casalengo pure, giacché non era cattiva in fondo. Ma allorché volle proprio, coll'anima e col corpo... Tanto peggio! Almeno non volle essere né ipocrita né egoista. Aveva sempre pagato del suo la festa, in moneta di lagrime e di onte segrete; e non doveva nulla a nessuno, neppure al Casalengo, cui aveva dato il diritto di mostrarsi geloso sacrificandogli tutto quando non l'amava più.
Come Aldini ricevette l'ordine d'imbarco, e minacciava di dare la dimissione, di tagliarsi la gola, un mondo di cose, ella gli disse:
– No, Riccardo. Verrò con voi... dovunque...
Una proposta che lo sbalordì, povero Aldini, quasi presentisse già il momento in cui doveva pesargli come una catena, quella dolce compagna che gli buttava le braccia al collo. Ma allora vide soltanto le belle braccia delicate che l'avvincevano, e le labbra fragranti che gli si promettevano per sempre. Ella forse, sì, ebbe la visione di quel giorno, nella nube che le misero agli occhi innamorati le lagrime di tenerezza.
– Sì, viaggerò anch'io. Non ho nulla che mi trattenga qui... No... no... lo sapete!... Né altrove, in nessun luogo... Ho buttato al vento il mio fazzoletto... per lasciar fare al destino... Non per voi, siate tranquillo. Sono ricca e padrona di me. Sarò libera... fra breve... non dubitate. Lasciate fare a me... che non farò del male né a voi né ad altri. M'hanno sempre detto che i viaggi di mare gioverebbero alla mia salute. E poi, non vi terranno sempre imbarcato, mio povero Riccardo... Vi lasceranno mettere piede a terra, di tanto in tanto... per dimostrare alle belle straniere che ci abbiamo dei begli ufficiali a bordo delle nostre navi... per proteggere delle connazionali color di filiggine o color di cioccolatte... Ebbene, io sarò laggiù ad aspettarvi, dove indicherà il telegrafo o il giornale. Vi farà piacere di trovar lì una tazza di thè e un cappellino da cristiani, non è vero? E senza pesare tanto così su di voi! senza nuocere alla vostra carriera... Non avranno da dire né i regolamenti, né il servizio, né i superiori, e neanche le conoscenze che raccatterete per via, quando vi manderanno troppo lontano, o dove non sarò certa di trovare un caminetto e dei fiori freschi... Vedete che non fo la brava, e non vi prometto mari e monti... Liberi e felici come due uccelli dell'aria! Soltanto, quando anche questa bella volata nell'azzurro ci stancherà... o ci verrà a noia... a voi o a me... poiché tutto finisce... Quando vorrete maritarvi, o amerete un'altra... Sì, sì, ragazzo mio, un bel giorno rideremo di queste belle parole che ci fanno piangere adesso... Ma non importa, se adesso sono sincere... Quando vi parrà che io vi sia d'inciampo nella carriera o nella vita, e vorrete riprendere tutta intera la vostra libertà, ditemelo francamente... Come io dirò francamente a un'altra persona che voglio riprendere la mia libertà, oggi stesso... Non v'inganno e non inganno, vedete, Riccardo! Non sono peggiore di quella che sembro... Ma non ci diamo la pena e il tormento di mentirci, mai! Mi promettete?... mi prometti?
– Oh, amore! amore bello! – esclamò Aldini fuori di sé, tentando di prendersela fin da quel momento fra le braccia avide.
– No! – rispose lei, mettendogli le mani sul petto. – Non ancora... Quando sarò libera... e tua!
Casalengo fu ripreso bruscamente da un accesso dell'amore antico, appena essa gli fece capire che il suo era morto, lì, presso quel tavolinetto, dove l'avevano strascinato un pezzo, per abitudine e per dovere, nella mezz'ora prima di pranzo che il suo amico, sempre galante e gentiluomo, non mancava mai di dedicarle. Ora egli sentivasi mordere al cuore dal pensiero che un altro le facesse tremare la voce ed il cuore come un tempo aveva fatto lui, come sembravagli di provare ancora dentro di sé in quel momento – e che fosse stato sempre così, e che dovesse durare eternamente, anche per lei...
Ella prese un fiore che si piegava avvizzito nel vasetto d'argento, e gli disse tristamente:
– Vedete questa rosa che mi avete donata ieri?
Casalengo chinò la fronte sulla mano, e tacque un istante.
– Partirete? – domandò poi.
– Sì.
– Per dove?
Ella non rispose.
– Volete darmi almeno quel fiore? – chiese tristamente Alvise.
Ella esitò alquanto, prima di rispondere.
– Grazie!... Voi sapete vivere...
Egli si alzò in piedi, leggermente pallido, stretto nel vestito che gli dava ancora la sua aria militare, ma perfettamente padrone di sé, col sorriso un po' ironico dei suoi bei giorni.
– E lasciar vivere... sì, ho imparato a mie spese. Mi permettete di darvi un consiglio, in nome di questa benedetta esperienza?
– Dite.
– Partite sola... e più tardi che potete.
Ella arrossì sino ai capelli.
– Non dubitate. Ci avevo pensato... pel vostro amor proprio.
– No, mia cara, per voi stessa, quando ritornerete, e avrete bisogno dei vostri amici. E inchinandosi a baciarle la mano, aggiunse con un sorriso pallido:
– Voglio rimanere vostro amico... se volete... se sapete...
# Prima e poi
– No – m'avete detto. – Non sciupiamo il bel sogno d'oro, Riccardo!
Ah, voi non sapete cos'è quel sogno d'oro nei vostri occhi che cercano i miei, e il fascino che metteva allora nel vostro pallido sorriso la triste scienza del _poi_!
Tutto, tutto l'ho assaporato quel terribile fascino – nel dolce lividore che i baci altrui v'hanno lasciato sulle palpebre, nella rugiada di cui sono ancora umide le vostre labbra, nel molle abbandono con cui vi appoggiavate al parapetto del battello, nel gesto carezzevole della vostra mano che additava Capri, laggiù, in fondo, a Casalengo – lui che non trema, né impallidisce più nel parlarvi.
No, non voglio pensare a lui. Mi sembra d'impazzire. Avete indovinato quanto ho sofferto in quell'eterna gita di piacere? E anche voi! Ho sentito tremare la vostra mano mentre vi aiutavo a scendere nella barca. Oh, Ginevra, quando vi siete abbandonata trasalendo contro il mio petto nel buio della Grotta Azzurra!... Che m'importa di Casalengo, che m'importa del _poi_ , che ve ne importa anche a voi, poiché le vostre pupille s'intorbidano e si smarriscono figgendosi nelle mie?...
Sentite, ieri sera son tornato da voi, sapendo che vi avrei trovato _quell'altro_ e che non mi avreste ricevuto. Gioconda m'ha detto infatti: – La signora non c'è. – E s'è fatta rossa, vedendomi così pallido.
Avevo visto del lume nel vostro salotto. Mi son fermato nella via sino alle undici per vederlo ancora e sentirmene ardere gli occhi ed il sangue – sino all'ora in cui l' _altro_ se n'è andato. Ho cercato di indovinare se l'amate ancora, dal suo passo e dalla sua andatura. Se avessi visto quel lume nella vostra camera da letto mi sarei ucciso.
Oggi avete risposto alla domanda insidiosa della vostra amica Gemma con uno scherzo amaro: – Né mai, né sempre! – Ah, com'era dolorosa la vostra gaiezza in quella gita di piacere! e quanto avete dovuto amare quell'uomo, per non voler più amare!
Ho sentito parlarne sin laggiù, in capo al mondo, dove l'avventura di Alvise Casalengo metteva in rivoluzione il quadrato degli ufficiali, e il vostro bel nome correva come un bacio sulla bocca dei giovani allievi. Voi mi avete preso sin d'allora, colla curiosità o la vaga gelosia che m'ispiravate, quando pensavo a voi che non conoscevo, nelle lunghe vigilie di quarto, sotto le stelle di un altro emisfero. M'avete preso colle vostre bianche mani, dandomi il ventaglio da tenere, la prima volta che c'incontrammo, vi rammentate? Voi, mondana, non immaginaste neppure ciò che poteva essere una vostra parola o un semplice gesto pel giovane selvaggio che vi arrivava da Zanzibar già innamorato e pauroso di voi, quanta avida e gelosa penetrazione fosse negli occhi che divoravano la vostra bellezza offerta alteramente, il sorriso noncurante col quale ne accoglievate l'omaggio, l'abbandono ch'era nel concedervi ai vostri ballerini, il suono della voce con cui parlavate ad Alvise – e in cui _sentivo_ le dolci parole che gli avrete dette – l'ebbrezza che provai io stesso la prima volta che mi deste del _voi_ , quasi m'aveste già dato qualcosa della vostra persona. Vi rammentate? quel giorno che sorprendeste il primo lampo di follia e d'adorazione nei miei occhi, e vi faceste di porpora, odorando il mazzo di fiori che vi aveva mandato Casalengo, per coprirvene il seno?... Così m'avete preso, per _sempre_! Non ci credete voi a questa parola? Perché avete chinato il capo quando vi ho confidato tremando il mio segreto? e avete lasciato la vostra mano nella mia? Quante cose mi avete dette senza parlare, in quell'angolo del salotto che son rimasto a guardare dalla strada, stanotte! Quante cose vi ho detto chinando la fronte sul vostro ritratto che sorride dalla cornicetta di _strass_ posata sul tavolino. Così mi pareva di veder brillare e sorridere a _quell'altro_ i vostri occhi in quelle tre ore orribili che ho passato sotto le vostre finestre. Quando m'è sembrato di vedere Alvise dietro i vetri, quando vi siete avvicinata a lui, forse per porgergli una tazza di thè, forse per guardare nella via, e le vostre due ombre si sono confuse insieme... Mi avete visto voi, Ginevra, laggiù, sotto la pioggia, coi piedi nel rigagnolo? Vi siete rammentata allora del dubbio atroce che doveva torturarmi, e che cercate di scacciare, ogni volta, quando posate la mano sul mio capo, pallida anche voi della mia angoscia, e balbettate: No!... no, Riccardo, vi giuro?...
Vi credo, voglio credervi, ho bisogno di credervi. Perché dunque? perché mi fate soffrire a questo modo? Perché temete di sciupare il bel sogno d'oro? Oh, se sapeste come l'ho visto dietro le cortine color di rosa, che sembravano agitarsi e palpitare allorché siete passata nella vostra camera da letto, e animarsi di un incarnato più vivo quando vi siete avvicinata allo specchio, e velarsi di un'ombra pudica, dove passava la carezza dei vostri movimenti! Poi quella stessa ombra ha trasalito quasi, e s'è dileguata a un tratto dalla finestra del vostro spogliatoio, ed è solo rimasto il chiarore diffuso del globo roseo che veglia sui vostri sogni dolci e sulle vostre palpebre chiuse! Oh, struggersi e morire su quelle palpebre chiuse – perché non abbiate a temere il _poi_ – perché duri sempre il bel sogno d'oro! Sempre! sempre! Il _poi_ non esiste, quando si ama. Non esiste il domani, non esiste quel ch'è stato ieri, non penso più a Casalengo. Penso a voi, e vi amo, e vi voglio, come se tutta la mia vita e l'universo intero fossero in questo momento e in questo desiderio.
Ahimè, Riccardo, il bel sogno d'oro è finito, da che vi siete svegliato nelle mie braccia.
Non ve ne voglio, e vi prego di non volermene. Soltanto non ostiniamoci a chiudere gli occhi, con questo bel sole che deve accompagnarvi nella vostra traversata.
Buon viaggio, amico mio. Vi scrivo seduta a quel medesimo tavolinetto della veranda su cui posavate la vostra tazza, quando venivate a prendere il thè nel mio salotto. La signorina del N. 17 continua a strimpellare quel valzer che vi metteva di cattivo umore – _Dolores_ , mi sembra – e anche a me, quando vi vedevo così uggito. Ma adesso, non so il perché – forse il bel sole, dopo questa eterna notte in cui m'è parso d'impazzire, forse il vostro ricordo, come che sia – mi mette in cuore delle ondate di dolcezza malinconica, specialmente alla ripresa delle prime battute che piacevano anche a voi, alle volte, nei momenti buoni. Ho ancora dinanzi agli occhi il movimento del vostro capo che segnava il tempo – il bel tempo e le buone risate che si facevano, allora...
Dove vi raggiungerà questa lettera, a Lima, al Messico? Vorrei che vi portasse il sorriso che vi piaceva tanto, una volta, e che non aveste a temere di trovarvi né lagrime né piagnistei, prima d'aprirla. Le arie di salice piangente non mi vanno. Anzi! M'avete sempre detto che son venuta al mondo ridendo... e civettando. È vero, sì. Com'ero felice di vedervi fare il muso lungo! M'avete amata pazzamente e lealmente. Che Dio ve lo renda coll'amore delle altre, di tutte quelle a cui sorriderete e a cui piacerà il vostro sorriso. M'avete dato il bel fiore azzurro del vostro cuore e della vostra giovinezza. Quante volte ci siamo inebriati insieme del suo profumo, tenendoci per mano, fra gente nuova e paesi sconosciuti, sotto le alte stelle a cui davamo dei nomi dolci, appoggiando al vostro braccio la mia persona stanca e addolorata d'aver tanto amato – e non voi soltanto. – Vedete che vi dico tutto, e non mi faccio migliore di quel che sono. Voi mi avete amata forse per questo; e non mi amaste più quando sentiste ch'ero tutta vostra, tutta, tutta, Riccardo! senza pensare al _poi_ che doveva venire tosto o tardi – e ch'è venuto.
Ora ho civettato e riso coi vostri amici, con tutti quelli che mi conducevate in casa per aiutarvi a passare le sere insieme a me. – Hadow specialmente, che ha i più bei denti di cristianità e mi faceva perdere la testa colla sua gaiezza. Voi non ve ne siete neppure accorto, ahimè!
Poi che siete partito ho paura di Hadow, e partirò anch'io, appena mi sarò rimessa del tutto, per tornare in Europa. Questo cielo implacabilmente azzurro m'acceca e mi fa male. Gioconda, che sta preparando i bauli, ha trovato degli oggetti che avete dimenticato qui: una scatola da sigarette, un fazzoletto colla vostra cifra. Vi porterò ogni cosa a Napoli, dove vi ho conosciuto, e dove ho lasciato degli altri amici come voi. Ve lo restituirò poi laggiù, il fazzoletto, «terso di lagrime» quando vi rivedrò, se vi rivedrò, e tornerete da me, come gli altri amici. Adesso mi sento abbastanza forte per affrontare il viaggio di ritorno. M'avete perdonato le pene e le noie che vi ho date da Genova sin qua? Come siete stato buono e affettuoso con questa povera ammalata! – malata di corpo e d'anima. – Quanto m'avete resa felice, e come m'avete guastata! Ieri sera, quando ci lasciammo, «ho fatto i capricci» proprio come una bimba viziata. Non me ne do pace, no, Riccardo! Gioconda pretendeva che avessi la febbre, che dovessi prendere del laudano, del cloralio, che so io, alle quattro del mattino, figuratevi! Ah, che misera cosa non potere cambiar d'umore come si cambia di vestito, e avere dei nervi che fanno la festa mentre si ha voglia di dormire! La buona dormita che vorrei fare sino a Napoli, tutta d'un fiato, senza sogni e senza sentirmi vivere, e svegliarmi laggiù, nel paese che ride e canta, senza pensare a quel ch'è stato ieri o a quel che sarà domani! Quando ci rivedremo, laggiù, se ci rivedremo, voglio che mi troviate savia, grassa e prosperosa come quella bionda vergine ch'è venuta a far la tisica, qui all'albergo, e la vocina sottile per cantare le arie del Tosti, svenendosi sul piano. Voglio che torniamo a ridere, senza musi lunghi, e senza «dolci languori negli occhi desiosi». Oh, no! A che pro adesso? Noi ci siamo detto tutto. E le parole amare che rimangono all'ultimo... No, Riccardo! quelle no! Ieri sera eravate nervoso anche voi. La mano che vi ho stesa nel dirvi addio, la mano _che ci parlava_ altre volte, e vi diceva tante cose, non ha saputo trattenervi. Ho persa anche la fede in quel povero neo che vi faceva perdere la testa a voi una volta, e che non ha saputo dirvi nulla neppure esso, ahimè!
Ecco ora che fo la sfacciata per non sembrarvi noiosa, perché l'ultima immagine mia, l'ultimo ricordo che vi lascio sia buono, dolce, affettuoso e piacevole. Sarà forse l'ultima civetteria che rimane, dopo _la fine._ Vorrei che mi vedeste ancora come vi son piaciuta, quando vi son piaciuta, senza menzogne, senza reticenze, senza veli, tutta per voi, anima e corpo, _tutta una cosa con voi_ , come quando si ama bene e molto – fin sopra ai capelli – direte voi. E la prova è che abbiamo vuotato il sacco della felicità, voi forse più in fretta, io certo con maggior spensieratezza, poiché dovevo sapere come vanno a finire queste cose, io che son più vecchia di voi. – Ho cent'anni da ieri in qua, amico mio. – Ma non mi pento di avervi lasciato sfogliare pazzamente «le rose del cammino» perché ce n'erano tante, e così belle, che sembrava non dovessero terminare giammai; e vi ho aiutato anch'io a sfogliarle, sorridendo e chiudendo gli occhi, come fo adesso, per non sentirne le spine. Se mentre vi scrivo per l'ultima volta non ho saputo nascondervi tutte quelle che mi son rimaste nelle mani, perdonatemi. Non è come cavarsi un guanto, capirete! Ma «è pena così dolce» che tornerei a chiudere gli occhi, e a buttarmi a capofitto nelle spine. – Non con voi, Riccardo. Con voi il bel sogno d'oro è finito, e bisogna metterci sopra la croce delle orazioni funebri.
Il salice piangente stavolta son proprio io, la Ginevra vostra di un tempo.
# Ciò ch'è in fondo al bicchiere
Quando la signora Silverio tornò insieme al marito – da Nuova York, da Melburne, chi lo sa? – tutti videro ch'era finita per lei, povera Ginevra. Metteva del rossetto; portava ancora la pelliccia nel mese di maggio; veniva a cercare il sole e l'aria di mare alla Riviera di Chiaja, dalle due alle quattro, nella carrozza chiusa, come un fantasma. Ma ciò che stringeva maggiormente il cuore era la macchia sanguigna di quell'incarnato falso nel pallore mortale delle sue guance, e il sorriso con cui rispondeva al saluto degli amici – quel triste sorriso che voleva rassicurarli.
Anche il Comandante non si riconosceva più: aveva la barba quasi grigia, le spalle curve, e delle rughe che dicevano assai su quella faccia abbronzata d'uomo di mare. Indovinavasi ciò che avessero dovuto fargli soffrire i farfalloni che svolazzavano un tempo intorno alla sua bella Ginevra, adesso che non era più geloso di lei, ed era tornato a prendersela sotto il braccio pietosamente, chinando il capo a tutti i suoi capricci, quasi sapesse che la poveretta non ne avrebbe avuti per molto tempo...
Dopo era ripartito subito, per ordine superiore, dicevasi; e dicevasi pure che l'ordine d'imbarcare l'avesse chiesto colla stessa sollecitudine con cui un tempo aveva desiderato di non lasciare la moglie e il Dipartimento di Napoli. Essa, disperatamente, s'attaccava alla vita colle manine scarne, povera donna, e affaticavasi a menare a spasso i suoi guai e i suoi terrori segreti, ai balli, in teatro, come ripresa dalla febbre mondana – e forse era la stessa febbre che la teneva in piedi, sotto le armi, torturandosi delle ore dinanzi allo specchio, per strascinarsi poi col fiato ai denti sino al suo palchetto, o per passare soltanto da una sala da ballo. – Ma così felice, sotto la carezza dei binoccoli che si puntavano sul suo petto anelante, e sembravano scaldarle il sangue nelle vene! Così grata a quell'anima buona che venisse a farle un briciolo di corte! – Senza cadere in tentazione, no! La tentazione ormai era lontana, e le aveva lasciato i lividori sulle carni. – Tanto che sorrideva al marito, quando egli era ancora lì, come a dirgli: – Vedi, che male c'è?...
Aveva preso un quartiere in via di Chiaja, per stare notte e giorno in mezzo al rumore e al movimento della città; perché gli amici venissero a trovarla più facilmente, all'uscire dal teatro o prima di pranzo, e riceveva specialmente il mercoledì sera. Suo marito stesso me ne aveva fatto cenno al caffè, prima di partire, dimenticando le sue prevenzioni contrarie e forse anche i suoi sospetti: – Venga a trovarla, povera Ginevra. Le farà tanto piacere.
Ella accoglieva con gran festa tutti quanti. Appena mi vide, mi corse incontro col suo bel sorriso che innamorava, stendendomi le mani. Era proprio tornata la bella signora Silverio che ci faceva perdere la testa a tutti noi della Regia Marina, quando i disinganni e le amarezze non avevano ancora spento il suo bel sorriso civettuolo, e messo qualcosa di duro nella linea delle sue labbra. – Ho lasciato tutto lì, le noie, le cose tristi! – pareva dire; e faceva un gesto grazioso col braccio esile, accennando lontano, allorché tornavano nel discorso i ricordi malinconici.
Al primo vederla, sotto il gran paralume chinese vicino al quale stava più volentieri, non mi parve nemmeno tanto patita. Dei pizzi superbi davano una certa vaporosità alla sua figurina snella, e dei grossi filari di perle le coprivano interamente la scollatura del vestito. Ripeteva sovente: – Adesso sto bene. Son guarita interamente.
Sorrideva anche delle sue paure. Soleva rammentarle soltanto per far capire che le avevano lasciato una grande indulgenza per tutte le debolezze e tutti gli errori umani. – E i tradimenti anche! – mi disse, spalancando gli occhioni, e accennando col muover del capo e col sorriso che mi accusavano. – Sapete che sono stata molto male, caro d'Arce? Ho creduto di fare il gran viaggio! Torno da lontano, adesso... di laggiù, dove si sa tutto, e tutto si perdona!...
Si volse a cercare la sua amica Maio, e la pregò lei stessa di offrirmi il thè. Da lontano vidi i suoi occhi fissi su di noi, nel breve istante che scambiammo un profondo inchino cerimonioso. Poi la bella Maio tornò a raccogliere gli omaggi altrui come una regina. Quando andai a posare la tazza vuota sul tavolinetto, al quale la signora Ginevra appoggiava di tanto in tanto la mano, coll'aria un po' stanca e affaticata, ella mi chiese a bruciapelo, fissandomi in viso quegli occhi luminosi:
– Così? Non avete più nulla da dirvi, né voi né lei?
– Ahimè, no.
– Oooh! – esclamò ridendo, – oooh!...
E inzuccherò senza pietà il thè dell'Ammiraglio.
La contessa Ardilio le offrì di aiutarla. Ella accettò subito per venire a sedere accanto a me su di un canapè d'angolo.
– Abbiamo molte cose da dirci; ma è meglio non parlarne, è vero? A che serve oramai? Siamo perfettamente ragionevoli tutti e due... Allora quando seppi il torto che avete fatto alla parola datami... il giuramento del marinaio, vi rammentate?... – E sorrideva, povera Ginevra. – Però non ve ne volli... né a voi, né a lei... Ebbi dei torti anch'io... Ma voi sapevate che non ero libera...
Allora mi parlò francamente di Alvise, il solo che non potesse farsi vivo fra i suoi amici. – Anch'io ho bisogno di perdono, lo so!... Ora tutto ciò è passato... lontano tanto! Vedete come ve ne parlo?...
Tornava a fare quel gesto vago, tirando in su i guanti lunghissimi. Tutta la sua civetteria riducevasi adesso a una cura gelosa di nascondere le sue povere carni mortificate. E di colui pel quale aveva sentito forse più trionfante la vanità della sua bellezza, quando appariva in una festa, colle spalle e le braccia nude, soltanto per lui, discorreva adesso tranquillamente, con una certa amara disinvoltura. Solamente non lo chiamava più pel suo nome di battesimo:
– Povero Casalengo... Un buon amico e un uomo di mondo... Dei pochi che sappiano pigliarlo com'è, il mondo!...
Rammentava ancora gli altri, passando in rivista delle memorie che accendevano dei punti luminosi nelle sue pupille. D'un solo non fece motto, forse perché era ancora troppo presente dinanzi ai suoi occhi, quando parevano oscurarsi a un tratto, e pareva come delle ombre livide le lambissero il viso emaciato.
Ma tornava subito gaia e sorridente, occupandosi dei suoi invitati, facendosi in quattro per pensare a tutti. Si avventurò sino all'uscio del salotto ove fumavasi, col fazzoletto alla bocca, con quella gaiezza che rendeva così ospitale la sua casa.
– No, no, mi piace anzi! Fumerei anch'io, se non mi facesse tossire. – Avrebbe chiuso gli occhi, e si sarebbe lasciata soffocare per far piacere agli altri, ed avere tutte le sere la casa piena di gente sana e allegra che la facessero illudere d'esser sana e allegra lei pure. Aveva inchiodato Sansiro al pianoforte, e minacciava di fare un giro di valzer.
– No! con lei, no! giammai! – mi disse respingendomi con le braccia tese.
Sembrava proprio rivivere nel suo elemento, e parlava insino di «lasciarsi andare» a bere «qualcosa di forte» eccitandosi, colle guance già accese e il sorriso ebbro, lei che aspirava soltanto delle lunghe boccate d'etere «per tenersi su». Però, di tanto in tanto, alla sfuggita, guardavasi furtivamente negli specchi, e l'occhiata ansiosa, quasi smarrita, tradiva l'interno sbigottimento. Tutt'a un tratto, mentre mesceva il thè a dei giovanotti ch'erano giunti tardi, venne meno fra le braccia di Serravalle, tutta di un pezzo, come un cencio. Nondimeno, appena si riebbe alquanto, cercò di rassicurare amici ed amiche che le si affollavano intorno, volgendo la cosa in scherzo, bianca come il suo vestito, facendosi vento col fazzoletto, balbettando, col sorriso smorto:
– Ah!... la colpa è di Serravalle!... Non posso vedermelo accanto senza cadergli fra le braccia... È destinato, povero Serravalle!... Si rammenta, quella volta che si ballava insieme in casa Maio?
Fu l'ultima sua festa, povera donna. A poco a poco gli amici dileguarono quasi tutti; e ciò la rattristava assai, quantunque non lo dicesse. Chiedeva di loro ai pochi fedeli che continuavano a farle visita, di tanto in tanto. Un giorno che le recai il saluto di Alvise provò un gran piacere. – Ah, Casalengo... si rammenta!... – mormorò lieta.
Volle anche sapere a chi Casalengo facesse la corte, in quel tempo, e le sfavillavano gli occhi alle piccole maldicenze che si fanno sottovoce nei circoli mondani.
– Colui, sì!... sa vivere! – ripeté, e accennava pure col capo, assorta.
Mi era grata del tempo che rubavo «all'altra mia amica» per dedicarlo a lei, e mi chiamava «il suo buon fratello». – Fratello, non è vero? – ripeteva colla sua grazia maliziosa. E c'era quasi un rimasuglio di rancore involontario nella carezza della parola affettuosa.
Alcune volte, quando mi diceva quelle cose, specie sull'imbrunire, che provava una gran tristezza e mi aveva pregato di non lasciarla mai sola, al vedere i suoi occhi luminosi, il sorriso ancora dolce che le rianimava il viso e pareva dissiparne le ombre, mi sentivo riprendere irresistibilmente da quella moribonda, con un'immensa dolcezza amara.
Essa preferiva quell'ora, l'angolo del salotto riparato dal paravento chinese, la mezzaluce che dissimulava il suo pallore e il suo male. Era il suo pudore e l'ultima sua civetteria. Nell'ombra sentiva che il suo profumo e la sua voce ancora dolce mi parlavano meglio di lei, della Ginevra che avevo conosciuto un tempo.
– _Colei_ lo sa che siete qui... che fate un'opera buona... per meritarvi il paradiso?
Come diceva quelle parole! Come esse sonavano e penetravano! Come attiravano verso di lei quell'anelito frequente e quelle povere mani febbrili!
– No... non mi fiderei più degli amici... e delle amiche! Ho imparato a spese mie, caro d'Arce!
Una sera che aveva tossito più del solito, e parlava più triste, reggendosi il capo col braccio appoggiato al tavolino, mi disse guardandomi fisso, china verso di me, nello stesso tempo che schermivasi dalla luce colla mano aperta.
– Noi non siamo stati mai... nulla. Ecco perché mi siete rimasto fedele.
Le si era fatta la voce un po' roca. Tutto ciò che le veniva alla mente e sulle labbra aveva la stessa velatura stanca, e un abbandono che avvinceva me pure. Senza quasi avvedermene le avevo preso la mano, ed essa me la lasciò, calda ed inerte.
Allora, senza guardarmi, quasi senza volerlo, mi confidò il segreto di ciò che aveva sofferto laggiù, lontana da tutti, in paese straniero. Una storia semplice e dolorosa, senza dramma, senza neppure l'ombra di una rivale. Colui pel quale aveva abbandonata la sua casa e la sua patria non l'amava più: ecco tutto... – Amore... chi lo sa? Anch'io avevo amato Casalengo... o m'era parso, prima di lasciarlo per quell'altro... – Per una parola che ci suoni meglio all'orecchio, per un'occhiata che lusinghi il nostro vestito nuovo, per una frase musicale che ci faccia sognare ad occhi aperti... Ecco perché ci perdiamo, e ciò che forma quest'amore. Quando egli non ebbe più dinanzi altre seduzioni con cui confrontare la mia, quando non temé più altri rivali... Una mattina, sull'alba, tornò pallido e fosco. Aveva perduto. Giuocava da un pezzo, da che non mi amava più. E si voleva uccidere perché non poteva pagare... Non per me... Lui che aveva tutte le delicatezze, tutta la poesia, tutta la nobiltà dell'animo. E l'ultima rottura fra di noi, l'ingiuria che non poté perdonarmi, fu quando gli offrii d'aiutarlo, io ch'ero parte di lui, che vivevo soltanto per lui, che gli avevo sacrificato ben altro, che non sapevo cosa farmi del mio denaro... Mi lasciava appunto per questo, perché egli non ne aveva più. L'onore degli uomini è così fatto. Poi, quand'egli fu partito, colui che aveva detto di non poter vivere senza di me, lasciandomi sola e moribonda in un albergo... mio marito ebbe pietà di me – lui che non mi amava più e non doveva più amarmi... Pagò un altro debito d'onore anche lui...
Parlava calma, con un filo di voce, interrompendosi di tratto in tratto e lasciando morire in un soffio certe parole. Le passò sul volto un sorriso che la fece sembrare più pallida.
– Povero d'Arce! V'ho intronate le orecchie per narrarvi le solite storie. Cose che succedono a tutti... Lo sappiamo e torniamo a cascarci. Allora vuol dire che dev'essere così, non è vero? Anche voi...
Nel luglio e l'agosto stette meglio. Però non si lasciò indurre a mutar paese per qualche tempo. Il silenzio e la quiete della campagna le facevano paura. Volle piuttosto andare alla festa di Piedigrotta. S'era fatto fare apposta un vestito elegantissimo, e aveva combinato una carrozzata allegra, nella quale ero invitato io pure. – La Maio, no! – mi disse sfavillante. Tutto quel chiasso e quel movimento l'eccitavano assai.
Tornò stanchissima e si mise a letto per due o tre giorni. Dopo si strascinò ancora un pezzo fra letto e lettuccio. La tristezza delle giornate autunnali la pigliava lentamente. Se non mi vedeva all'ora solita, mi teneva il broncio, quasi avessi mancato a una tacita promessa. Faceva spesso dei progetti per l'avvenire; s'illudeva più facilmente, ora che le fuggiva la terra sotto i piedi, e che non aveva più la forza di strascinarsi sino al canapè. Così tenacemente s'attaccava al mio braccio, che le parlavo anch'io di Sorrento e di Nizza, col cuore stretto. Ella diceva di sì, di sì, tutta contenta, tornando ad affermare col capo, tornando a sorridere come una bambina.
Consultava insieme a me delle guide e dei giornali di mode, e aveva fissato l'epoca del viaggio: – Dopo il carnevale, appena tornerà la primavera. Tornerò a rifiorire anch'io, vedrete! Tutti v'invidieranno la vostra bella amica... Amica, veh!
Aveva ordinato degli abiti da ballo per quell'inverno. Si faceva bella ancora per me. Diceva «che erano le sue prove generali». Una sera si fece trovare in abito da ballo, presso un gran fuoco. Com'era contenta, povera Ginevra! Quel sorriso ingenuo nella bocca e negli occhi che le mangiavano il viso, mi mise un brivido nei capelli: lo stesso brivido che mi faceva trasalire quando l'udivo gemere sottovoce nella stanza accanto per abbigliarsi – e quel giorno che la cameriera mi chiamò spaventata, cercando colle mani tremanti la boccettina d'etere sopra la tavoletta. Essa, pure in quel momento, coprivasi colle mani il misero petto scarno...
Una volta mi disse: – Quanto saremmo stati felici... allora... di poterci vedere liberamente, come adesso!...
In dicembre peggiorò rapidamente. Non si alzò più dal letto; non parlò più di viaggi. Il parlare stesso la stancava. La baraonda e l'allegria fragorosa del Natale napoletano le davano noia. Sembrava distaccarsi a poco a poco da ogni cosa.
Però voleva ancora che andassi a vederla spesso, più che potevo, e lagnavasi che tutti l'abbandonassero. Stava poi ad ascoltarmi, immobile, guardandomi fisso. Alle volte i suoi occhi si offuscavano, quasi guardassero dentro sé stessa, o in un gran buio, e il viso le si affilava maggiormente, con un'espressione d'angoscia vaga. Dopo sembrava ritornare da lontano, con una cert'aria smarrita. Mi sorrideva dolcemente, quasi per scusarsi dell'involontaria distrazione, ma in modo che stringeva il cuore.
In quei giorni tornò a Napoli suo marito, chiamato per telegrafo. Essa volle festeggiare con lui l'ultima sera dell'anno, e invitò pochi amici. Le avevano apparecchiato un tavolino accanto al letto, e dei fiori, un gran numero di candele nella camera. Era raggiante, poveretta, e sembrava proprio una bambina, sparuta, fra le gale e i pizzi della cuffia e del corsetto. Ci salutava col capo ad uno ad uno, alzando verso di noi la coppa nella quale aveva fatto versare un dito di _champagne_ , e beveva cogli occhi alla nostra salute, senza accostarvi le labbra, come sapesse ciò che si trova in fondo al bicchiere, come anche i nostri augurii la rattristassero. Infine si lasciò vincere dalla comune gaiezza; parve che tornasse a sorridere a una vaga speranza, e sorrideva a tutti, a tutti noi, cogli occhi e le labbra, col viso pallido e magro.
Il capo d'anno le recai dei fiori, un gran fascio di rose che ero andato a cogliere per lei a Capodimonte. Ella si levò giuliva a sedere, e le volle sul letto, tutte. Ripeteva: – Quante! quante! – scegliendo le più belle, immergendovi le mani...
Era tanto contenta! Mi mostrò i regali che le avevano mandato gli amici, e le amiche... «tutti quanti!» La camera n'era piena, sulle mensole, sul canapè, da per tutto. Ella indicava ad uno ad uno il nome del donatore. Dalla gioia mi pose un braccio intorno al collo, dicendomi:
– Ma nessuno come voi!... nessuno! Voi siete il mio caro fratello, non è vero? E mi vorrete sempre bene così, sempre, sempre... perché non fummo mai altro!... Un momento... ci fu il pericolo... Vi rammentate? Ma era scritto lassù!... lassù!...
In quel momento portarono il regalo del marito: un magnifico abito da ballo che la cameriera spiegò trionfante sulla poltrona. Ella indovinò la delicata e pietosa intenzione d'illuderla che c'era nella scelta del dono, e ne fu scossa profondamente. Non disse nulla; gli occhi le si fecero più grandi e più lucenti, e tornò a coricarsi, tirandosi la coperta fino al mento.
Mi lasciò senza dirmi addio, povera e cara Ginevra! L'ultima volta che la vidi, in presenza del marito e di due o tre altri, ella sembrava già non fosse più di questo mondo. Non mi disse nulla; non sembrò nemmeno accorgersi di me. Stava zitta, chiusa, cogli occhi sbarrati e fissi. Il Comandante rispondeva per lei qualche parola, colla voce rauca, i capelli arruffati, la barba incolta, pallido anche lui, e col viso gonfio dalle notti insonni. Un momento appena, udendo la mia voce, ella volse su di me quegli occhi che non guardavano e non dicevano più nulla: e tornò a rivolgerli altrove, indifferente. Li attirava adesso soltanto una striscia di luce che moriva sulle tendine istoriate.
Fu l'ultima volta che la vidi. Dopo, l'uscio delle sue stanze rimase chiuso per tutti. Erano arrivati dei parenti da Venezia e da Genova. Gli amici erano tornati a chiedere di lei o a lasciare il loro nome alla porta: tutti coloro che avevano ballato in quella casa e vi avevano passato delle ore liete. Parecchi ci avevano perduto anche la testa, un tempo, e parlavano di lei che moriva, a voce bassa, prima di tornare al Circolo o al teatro, facendosi piccini dinanzi al marito che ripigliava il suo posto in casa sua, all'ultima ora, invecchiato in un mese, rispondendo alle condoglianze e alle strette di mano collo sguardo chiuso e la mano gelida.
Seppi ch'era morta dall'invito per assistere ai funerali. Nelle sale dove essa ci aveva ricevuti festante, era una gran folla, e molti fiori, come il primo giorno dell'anno, sulle mensole, sui tavolini, sul pianoforte. C'erano tuttora gli avanzi delle candele nei candelabri posti dinanzi agli specchi dove ella s'era guardata. Le sue amiche misero dei fiori sulla bara. La signora Maio soffocava i singhiozzi con un fazzolettino di pizzo.
Prima di morire aveva detto che voleva una semplice bara coperta di raso bianco, e una semplice lapide col suo nome. Non ci furono discorsi sulla tomba. La sua orazione funebre fu fatta da Casalengo, che venne a trovarmi la sera stessa, per parlarmi di lei.
– Povera Ginevra! e non disse altro.
# Dramma intimo
Casa Orlandi era tutta sossopra. La contessina Bice spegnevasi lentamente: di malattia di languore, dicevano gli uni: di mal sottile, dicevano gli altri.
Nella gran camera da letto, quasi buia in tutto il quartiere illuminato come per una festa, la madre, pallidissima, seduta accanto al letto dell'inferma, aspettava la visita del dottore, tenendo nella mano febbrile la mano scarna e ardente della figliuola, parlandole con quell'accento carezzevole, e quel falso sorriso con cui si cerca di rispondere allo sguardo inquieto e scrutatore dei malati gravi. Tristi colloqui che celavano sotto una calma apparente la preoccupazione di un morbo fatale, ereditario nella famiglia, il quale aveva minacciato la contessa medesima dopo la nascita di Bice – il ricordo delle cure inquiete e trepide che avevano accompagnato l'infanzia delicata della bambina – l'ansia dei presentimenti minacciosi che avevano quasi soffocato la maternità della genitrice e scusato i primi traviamenti del marito, morto giovane, di un male da decrepito, dopo avere agonizzato degli anni su di una poltrona. Più tardi un altro sentimento aveva fatto rifiorire la giovinezza della vedova, appassita anzi tempo fra quella culla minacciata, e quello sposo di già cadavere prima di scendere nella tomba: un affetto profondo e occulto, inquieto, geloso, che si mischiava a tutte le sue gioie mondane, e sembrava vivere di esse, e le raffinava, le rendeva più sottili, più penetranti, quasi una delicata voluttà che profumava ogni cosa, una festa, un trionfo di donna elegante. Adesso quell'altra nube paurosa, sorta a un tratto colla malattia della figlia in quel cielo azzurro, sembrava posare simile a una gramaglia sui cortinaggi pesanti del letto dell'inferma, e distendersi sino a incontrare degli altri giorni neri: la lunga agonia del marito, la faccia grave e preoccupata di quello stesso medico ch'era venuto quell'altra volta, il tictac di quella stessa pendola che aveva segnato delle ore d'agonia, e riempiva ora tutta la camera, tutta la casa, di un'aspettativa lugubre. Le parole della madre e della figliuola, che volevano sembrar gaie e tranquille, morivano come un sospiro nella penombra della vôlta altissima.
A un tratto il campanello elettrico squillò nella lunga fila di stanze sfavillanti e deserte. Un servitore silenzioso precedeva in punta di piedi il medico, vecchio amico di casa, il quale sembrava solo calmo, nell'attesa inquieta di tutti. La contessa si rizzò in piedi, senza poter dissimulare un tremito nervoso.
– Buona sera. Un po' tardi oggi... Finisco adesso il mio giro. E questa ragazza com'è stata?
S'era seduto di contro al letto; aveva fatto togliere la ventola dal lume, ed esaminava l'inferma tenendo fra le dita bianche e grassocce il polso delicato e pallido della fanciulla, ripetendo le solite domande. La contessa rispondeva con un lieve tremito nervoso nella voce; Bice, con monosillabi tronchi e fiochi, sempre fissando il medico con quegli occhi inquieti e lucenti. Nell'anticamera si succedevano gli squilli sommessi del campanello che annunziavano altre visite, e la cameriera entrava come un'ombra per annunziare all'orecchio della signora il nome degli amici intimi che venivano a chiedere notizie della contessina.
A un certo momento il dottore rizzò il capo.
– Chi è entrato adesso nella sala accanto? – domandò con una certa vivacità.
– Il marchese Danei, – rispose la contessa.
– La solita pozione per questa notte, – continuò il medico quasi avesse dimenticato la sua domanda. – Bisogna osservare a che ora cadrà la febbre. Del resto, nulla di nuovo. Diamo tempo alla cura...
Ma non lasciava il polso dell'inferma, fissando uno sguardo penetrante sulla fanciulla, la quale aveva chinato gli occhi. La madre aspettava ansiosa. Un istante le pupille ardenti della figlia si fissarono in quelle di lei, e Bice avvampò subitamente in viso.
– Per carità, dottore! per carità! – supplicava la contessa, riaccompagnando il medico, senza badare agli amici e ai parenti che aspettavano in sala chiacchierando fra di loro sottovoce. – Come ha trovato stasera la mia ragazza? Mi dica la verità!
– Nulla di nuovo, – rispondeva lui. – La solita febbriciattola... il solito squilibrio nervoso...
Ma quando furono in un salottino appartato, si piantò ritto dinanzi alla contessa, e disse bruscamente:
– La sua figliuola è innamorata di questo signor Danei.
La contessa non rispose sillaba. Solo impallidì orribilmente, e per istinto si portò le mani al petto.
– È un po' di tempo che lo sospettavo, – riprese il medico con certa rude franchezza. – Ora ne son certo. È una complicazione nella malattia, che per la estrema sensibilità dell'inferma, in questo momento, può farsi grave. Bisogna pensarci.
– Lui! – fu la prima parola che sfuggì alla madre, quasi fuori di sé.
– Sì, il polso me l'ha detto. Lei non aveva alcun indizio? Non ha mai sospettato qualche cosa?
– Mai!... Bice è così timida... così...
– Il marchese Danei viene spesso in casa?
La poveretta, sotto lo sguardo fisso e penetrante di quell'uomo che assumeva l'importanza di un giudice, balbettò: – Sì.
– Noi altri medici alle volte abbiamo cura d'anime, – aggiunse il dottore sorridendo. – Forse è stata una fortuna che quel signore sia venuto mentre io ero qui.
– Ma ogni speranza non è perduta, dottore? Per l'amor di Dio!...
– No... secondo i casi. Buona sera.
La contessa rimase un momento in quella stanza, quasi al buio, asciugandosi col fazzoletto il freddo sudore che le bagnava le tempie. Quindi ripassò per la sala, rapidamente, salutando gli amici con un cenno del capo, guardando appena Danei, ch'era in un canto, nel crocchio degli intimi.
– Bice!... figlia mia!... Il medico t'ha trovata meglio oggi, sai!
– Sì, mamma! – rispose la fanciulla dolcemente, con quell'amara indifferenza degli ammalati gravi che stringe il cuore.
– Di là ci sono degli amici... che sono venuti per te... Vuoi vederli?
– Chi sono?
– Ma... tutti. La zia, Augusta... il signor Danei... Possono entrare un momentino?
Bice chiuse gli occhi, come assai stanca, e nell'ombra, così pallida com'era, si vide un lieve rossore montarle alle guance.
– No, mamma. Non voglio veder nessuno.
Attraverso le palpebre chiuse, delicate come foglie di rosa, sentiva fisso su lei lo sguardo desolato e penetrante della madre. All'improvviso riaprì gli occhi, e le buttò al collo quelle povere braccia esili e tremanti sotto la battista, con un atto ineffabile di confusione, di tenerezza e di sconforto.
Madre e figlia si tennero abbracciate a lungo, senza dire una parola, piangendo entrambe delle lagrime che avrebbero voluto nascondersi.
Ai parenti e agli amici che chiedevano premurosi notizie dell'inferma, la contessa rispondeva come al solito, ritta in mezzo alla sala, senza poter dissimulare uno spasimo interno che di quando in quando le mozzava il respiro. Allorché tutti se ne furono andati, rimasero faccia a faccia Danei e lei.
Tante volte, durante la malattia di Bice, erano rimasti soli alcuni minuti, come allora, nel vano della finestra, scambiando qualche parola di conforto e di speranza, o assorti in un silenzio che accomunava i loro pensieri e le loro anime nella stessa preoccupazione dolorosa. Momenti tristi e cari, nei quali essa attingeva il coraggio e la forza di rientrare nell'atmosfera cupa e lugubre di quella stanza d'inferma con un sorriso d'incoraggiamento. Stettero alquanto senza aprir bocca, colla fronte sulla mano. La contessa aveva tale espressione di tristezza in tutta la persona, che Danei non trovava la parola da dirle. Finalmente le stese la mano. Ella ritirò la sua.
– Sentite, Roberto... Ho da dirvi una cosa... una cosa da cui dipende la vita di mia figlia...
Egli aspettava, serio, un po' inquieto.
– Bice vi ama!...
Danei parve sbalordito, guardando la contessa che si era nascosto il viso fra le mani, e piangeva dirottamente.
– Essa!... È impossibile!... Pensateci bene!...
– No... È un'idea che m'ha fatto nascere il suo medico... Ed ora ne son certa. Vi ama da morirne...
– Vi giuro!...Vi giuro che...
– Lo so, vi credo. Non ho bisogno di cercare perché mia figlia vi ami, Roberto! – esclamò la madre tristamente.
E si abbandonò sul divano.
Roberto era commosso anche lui. Tentò di pigliarle la mano un'altra volta. Ella la respinse dolcemente.
– Anna!...
– No... no! – rispose lei risolutamente.
E le lagrime silenziose pareva che le solcassero le guancie delicate come degli anni, degli anni di dolore e di gastigo che sopravvenivano tutt'a un tratto nella sua esistenza spensierata. Il silenzio sembrava insormontabile. Infine Roberto mormorò:
– Cosa volete che faccia?... dite...
Essa lo guardò smarrita, con un'angoscia indicibile, e balbettò:
– Non so!... non so... Lasciatemi tornar da lei... Lasciatemi sola...
Come rientrava nella camera dell'inferma, dall'ombra del cortinaggio gli occhi della figlia luccicarono ardenti, fissi su di lei, con un lampo incosciente che agghiacciò la madre sulla soglia.
– Mamma, – chiese Bice, – chi c'è ancora?
– Nessuno, figlia mia.
– Ah!... Statti con me, allora. Non mi lasciare.
E le teneva le mani, tremante.
– Povera bambina! Povero amore! Guarirai presto, sai! L'ha detto il medico.
– Sì, mamma.
– E... e... sarai felice.
La figlia le fissava sempre in viso quello sguardo.
– Sì, mamma.
Poi chiuse gli occhi, che sembravano neri nelle orbite incavate. Successe un mortale silenzio. La madre scrutava quel viso pallido e impenetrabile con uno sguardo ardente, arrossendo e impallidendo a vicenda.
A un tratto si fece smorta come lei, e la chiamò con un'altra voce:
– Bice!
Il suo petto si contraeva spasmodicamente, come se qualche cosa vi agonizzasse dentro. Poscia si chinò sulla figliuola, posando la guancia febbrile su quell'altra guancia scarna, e le mormorò nell'orecchio, con un soffio appena intelligibile:
– Senti, Bice... tu ami?...
Bice spalancò gli occhi all'improvviso, tutta una fiamma in volto. E con quegli occhi sbarrati e quasi paurosi, affascinati dagli occhi lagrimosi della madre, balbettò con un accento ineffabile d'amarezza, e quasi di rimprovero:
– Oh, mamma!...
Allora la sventurata, sentendosi penetrare quella voce e quelle parole sino all'intimo del cuore, ebbe il coraggio di aggiungere:
– Danei ha chiesto la tua mano.
– Oh mamma! oh mamma! – ripeteva la fanciulla con lo stesso accento supplichevole e dolente, stringendosi nelle coperte con un senso di pudore. – Mamma mia!...
La contessa, che sembrava anche lei nello smarrimento dell'agonia, balbettò:
– Però... se tu non l'ami... se non l'ami... di'!...
L'inferma ascoltava palpitante, ansiosa, agitando le labbra senza proferir parola, con gli occhi spalancati, enormi sul volto rifinito, che interrogavano gli occhi della madre. Tutt'a un tratto, come quella si chinava verso di lei, l'abbracciò stretta, tremando a verga, stringendola con tutta la forza delle sue povere braccia, con un'effusione che diceva tutto.
La madre, in un impeto d'amore disperato singhiozzava:
– Guarirai! Guarirai!
E tremava convulsivamente ancor essa.
Il giorno dopo la contessa aspettava Danei nel suo gabinetto, seduta accanto al caminetto, stendendo verso il fuoco le mani così bianche che sembravano esangui, cogli occhi fissi sulla fiamma. Quanti pensieri, quante visioni, quanti ricordi passavano dinanzi a quegli occhi! La prima volta che si era turbata al cospetto di Roberto – il silenzio ch'era caduto all'improvviso fra di loro – e le prime parole d'affetto che egli le aveva sussurrato all'orecchio, abbassando la voce ed il capo – il batticuore delizioso che soleva imporporarle le gote ed il seno, quando egli l'aspettava nel vestibolo dell'Apollo, per vederla passare, bella, fine, elegante, nella mantellina di raso bianco. – Poscia, le lunghe fantasticherie color di rosa, in quel posto medesimo, le gioie trepide e intense, le attese febbrili, nelle ore in cui Bice prendeva la lezione di musica o di disegno. Ora, allo squillare del campanello, si rizzò con un tremito nervoso; e immediatamente, mercé uno sforzo della volontà, tornò a sedere, colle mani in croce sulle ginocchia.
Il marchese si fermò esitante sull'uscio. Ella gli stese la mano che ardeva, evitando di guardarlo. Siccome Danei, non sapendo che pensare, chiedeva della Bice, la contessa rispose dopo un breve silenzio:
– La sua vita è nelle vostre mani.
– Per l'amor di Dio, Anna!... v'ingannate!... – rispose lui. – Bice s'inganna... Non può essere... non può essere!...
La contessa scosse il capo tristamente.
– No, non m'inganno! Me l'ha confessato lei... Il dottore dice che la sua guarigione dipende... da ciò!...
– Da che cosa?...
Per tutta risposta ella gli fissò negli occhi gli occhi arsi di febbre. Allora, sotto quello sguardo, la prima parola di lui, impetuosa, quasi brusca, fu:
– Oh!... no!...
Ella giunse le mani.
– No, Anna! Pensateci bene... Non può essere... V'ingannate... – ripeteva Danei, agitato anche lui violentemente.
Le lagrime le soffocarono la voce in gola. Poi stese le mani a Roberto, senza dir nulla, come nei bei tempi trascorsi. Soltanto, quel viso che gli esprimeva uno spasimo d'angoscia e una preghiera straziante, era diventato tutt'altro in ventiquattr'ore.
Roberto chinò il capo al pari di lei.
Erano entrambi due cuori onesti e leali, nel significato mondano della parola, nel senso di esser sinceri in ogni loro atto. Perché la fatalità facesse abbassare quelle teste alte e fiere, bisognava che le avesse messe per la prima volta di fronte a un risultato che rovesciava bruscamente tutta la loro logica, e ne mostrava la falsità. La rivelazione della contessa aveva colpito Danei di stupore. Adesso, ripensandoci, ne era spaventato; e in quel contrasto d'affetti e di doveri combattentisi sotto il riserbo imposto ad entrambi dalla rispettiva posizione che li rendeva più difficili, egli trovavasi imbarazzato. Parlò di loro due, del passato, dell'avvenire che gli faceva paura; cercando le frasi e le parole onde scivolare sui tanti argomenti scabrosi, per non urtare o ferire alcuno di quei sentimenti così delicati e complessi.
– Pensateci bene, Anna! Questo matrimonio è impossibile!
Essa non sapeva che dire. Balbettava solo: – Mia figlia! mia figlia!
– Ebbene... Volete che io parta... che mi allontani per sempre!... Sapete qual sacrifizio farei!... Ebbene, lo volete?
– Ella ne morrebbe.
Roberto esitò, prima d'affrontare l'ultimo argomento. Poi mormorò abbassando la voce:
– Allora... allora non resta che confessarle ogni cosa...
La madre s'irrigidì in una contrazione nervosa, con le dita increspate sul bracciuolo della poltrona. E rispose con voce sorda, chinando il capo:
– Lo sa!... Lo sospetta!...
– E nondimeno?... – riprese Danei dopo un breve silenzio.
– Ne sarebbe morta... Le ho fatto credere che s'ingannava.
– E lo ha creduto?
– Oh! – esclamò la contessa con un triste sorriso. – L'amore è credulo... Lo ha creduto!
– E voi? – chiese Roberto con un tremito che non poté dissimulare nella voce.
– Io ho già tutto sacrificato a mia figlia.
Poi gli stese la mano, e soggiunse:
– Sentite com'è calma?
– Siete certa che sarà sempre così calma?
Ella rispose:
– Sempre!
E sentì freddo nella nuca, alla radice dei capelli.
Si alzò vacillante, e si strinse il capo di lui sul petto.
– Ascoltate, Roberto, ora è la madre che vi abbraccia! Anna è morta. Pensate a mia figlia; amatela per me e per essa. Ella è pura e bella come un angelo. La felicità la farà rifiorire. Voi l'amerete come non avete mai amato... Dimenticherete ogni cosa... siate tranquillo!
Roberto, pallidissimo, non rispose verbo.
Il matrimonio della contessina Bice fu annunciato officialmente pochi giorni dopo che essa entrò in convalescenza. Amici e parenti venivano a congratularsi nello stesso tempo dei due fortunati avvenimenti. Il marchese Danei era uno sposo convenientissimo, e se qualche indiscreto arrischiò delle osservazioni sulla disparità degli anni – o altro – fu messo subito a tacere dal coro unanime delle signore che si sollevavano scandolezzate. La fanciulla risanava davvero, raggiante di vita nuova, colla sincerità, la credulità, l'oblio, l'egoismo della felicità, che espandeva nel seno della madre, la quale trovava la forza di sorridere. Il medico si fregava le mani, borbottando:
– Io non ci ho alcun merito. Fo come Pilato. Questa benedetta gioventù se ne ride della scienza. Adesso ecco le mie prescrizioni: – Recipe: L'inverno a San Remo o a Napoli. L'estate a Pegli o a Livorno. Una scappata a Roma, nel carnevale, e un bel maschiotto alla fine della cura.
La contessa, alla figliuola che avrebbe voluto condurla seco, aveva risposto:
– No. Io e il dottore non ci abbiamo più nulla a fare in questo viaggio. Tutta la mia pretesa è che siate felici.
E sorrideva agli sposi, col suo sorriso un po' triste. La figliuola, a volte, aveva inconsciamente degli sguardi acuti che correvano come un lampo dal fidanzato alla madre. A quelle parole, senza saper perché, l'abbracciava ogni volta strettamente, nascondendole il viso in seno.
La contessa aveva detto che quella sarebbe stata l'ultima sua festa; e le sue spalle bianche e delicate mostraronsi realmente un'ultima volta allo sposalizio, nelle sale scintillanti di lumi e affollate d'amici e parenti come nei giorni più tristi in cui erano venuti a chieder notizie della Bice. Roberto, allorché baciò la mano della contessa, non poté dissimulare un certo turbamento. Poscia quando l'ultima carrozza fu partita, e non rimase a piè dello scalone che il piccolo _coupé_ del marchese, e la carretta inglese che portava alla stazione il bagaglio degli sposi, mentre Bice era andata a cambiarsi d'abito, rimasti soli un momento, la contessa e Roberto:
– Fatela felice! – disse lei.
Danei era nervoso; abbottonava macchinalmente il soprabito da viaggio e tornava a cavarsi i guanti. Non disse nulla.
Madre e figlia s'abbracciarono teneramente, a lungo. Infine la contessa respinse quasi bruscamente la figliuola, dicendo:
– È tardi. Perderete il treno. Andate, andate!
La contessa Orlandi aveva tossito un poco quell'inverno, e di tanto in tanto aveva avuto bisogno del medico. Costui, onde non spaventarla, la sgridava, perché essa soleva passare la mattinata in chiesa – a salvarsi l'anima e perdere il corpo – diceva lui. Il buon uomo pigliava la cosa leggermente, per rassicurarla, ma in realtà era inquieto, e ingannandosi a vicenda con una finta gaiezza, pensavano entrambi a una minaccia più grave. Bice scriveva che stava bene, che si divertiva tanto, che era tanto felice, e più tardi accennò anche vagamente a un altro avvenimento che avrebbe affrettato il loro ritorno prima che finisse l'anno.
La contessa telegrafò di non farne nulla, di aspettare l'avvenimento là dove si trovavano, protestando che temeva per la figliuola lo strapazzo del viaggio. Piuttosto sarebbe andata lei stessa a raggiungerli. Però non andava mai, cercando mille pretesti, differendo di giorno in giorno quel viaggio, quasi le pesasse. I telegrammi si succedevano. Infine Roberto ebbe un dispaccio: – Arrivo stasera.
La prima persona che Anna vide sul marciapiedi della stazione, giungendo, fu Roberto che l'aspettava, solo. Ella si premeva con forza il manicotto sul cuore, quasi le mancasse il respiro. Il marchese le baciò la mano, sul guanto, e le diede il braccio, mentr'essa balbettava:
– Bice?... Come sta?
Fuori era fermo il piccolo _coupé_ del marchese, col servitore accanto allo sportello aperto. Ella esitò un istante, al momento di montare insieme a lui. Poi si strinse nel suo cantuccio, chiusa nella pelliccia, col velo sul viso.
– Bice sta bene, – rispondeva lui, – per quanto è possibile... Sarà tanto contenta! – Sembrava che cercasse le parole, col viso rivolto allo sportello, impaziente d'arrivare. Sfilavano le case e le botteghe illuminate. A un tratto successe l'oscurità, nell'attraversare una piazza. Tutti e due, istintivamente, si scostarono e tacquero.
Bice era corsa ad incontrare la madre, e le si buttò al collo con un diluvio di carezze e di parole sconnesse. Era sofferente, e Roberto le diede il braccio per salire le scale. La contessa veniva dopo, un po' stanca anch'essa, soffocata dalla pelliccia greve.
Allorché furono nel salotto, in piena luce, ella fu colpita dall'aspetto di Bice, dalla sua veste da camera larghissima, dalle mani venate d'azzurro, posate sui bracciuoli della poltrona dove s'era lasciata cadere come sfinita, ma raggiante di una serena felicità. Roberto si chinava per parlarle nell'orecchio. Senza avvedersene si appartavano entrambi spesso e volentieri, discorrendo sottovoce fra di loro, presso la fiamma del caminetto che li colorava di un'aureola rosata, lontani dal mondo, lontani da tutti, dimenticando ogni cosa...
Dopo il primo sbigottimento di quella sera, la contessa sembrava più calma. Allorché trovavasi sola con Roberto, e lui parlava, parlava, quasi avesse paura del silenzio, ella ascoltava col sorriso distratto, sprofondata nella poltrona, accanto al fuoco che lumeggiava d'azzurro i capelli neri, col fine profilo opaco inquadrato nella luce al pari di un cammeo.
Però una nube sembrava sorgere fra madre e figlia, nell'intimità della famiglia: una freddezza incresciosa e insormontabile che agghiacciava le affettuose espansioni: un imbarazzo che rendeva moleste le premure di Roberto per l'una o per l'altra, e spesso anche la sua presenza fra di loro – come un'ombra del passato che offuscava gli occhi della figlia, che faceva impallidire la madre, che turbava anche Roberto, di tanto in tanto. Una sfumatura d'amarezza accennavasi a volte nelle parole più semplici, nei sorrisi che si evitavano, negli sguardi che si cercavano sospettosi.
Una sera che Bice s'era ritirata prima del solito, e Roberto era rimasto nel salotto insieme alla contessa, per farle compagnia, il silenzio piombò all'improvviso, quasi minaccioso. Anna stava a capo chino, dinanzi al fuoco che spegnevasi, presa da un brivido, tratto tratto, e il lume posato sul caminetto le accendeva dei riflessi dorati alla radice dei capelli, sulla nuca delicata che sembrava accendersi anch'essa di fiamme vaghe. Come Roberto si chinò a prender le molle, essa trasalì vivamente, e si alzò di scatto per augurargli la buona notte, accusando un po' di stanchezza. Il marchese l'accompagnò sino all'uscio, in preda anche lui a un vago turbamento. In quella apparve Bice, come un fantasma, vestita del suo accappatoio bianco.
Madre e figlia si guardarono, e la prima rimase senza parola, quasi senza fiato. Roberto, il meno imbarazzato di tutti e tre, chiese:
– Che hai, Bice?
– Nulla... Non potevo dormire... Che ora è?
– Non è tardi. Tua madre stava per ritirarsi... dice di sentirsi stanca...
– Ah, – rispose Bice. – Ah... – E non disse altro.
Anna, ancora tremante, balbettò con un triste sorriso:
– Sì... sono stanca... Alla mia età... figliuoli miei!...
– Ah, – ripeté Bice.
Allora la madre, facendosi pallida come una morta, come soffocata da un'angoscia ineffabile, aggiunse con quello stesso sorriso doloroso:
– Non mi credete?... Non mi credi, Bice?...
E rialzando alquanto i capelli sulle tempie, mostrò che quelli di sotto erano tutti bianchi.
– Oh... È un pezzo... tanto tempo!...
Bice, con uno slancio affettuoso, le buttò le braccia al collo, e le cacciò la testa in seno, senza dir altro. E le mani della madre sentirono che tremava tutta quanta, ancor essa. Roberto, il quale sembrava sulle spine, s'era levato per andarsene, quasi vedesse di esser di troppo fra quelle due donne, e nell'istante in cui i suoi occhi s'incontrarono in quelli di Anna, arrossì, e parve divampare in quell'istante un ricordo del passato.
La contessa Anna passò due settimane in casa della figlia, dove si sentiva estranea, accanto a Bice, accanto a lui! Come erano mutati! Quando egli le dava il braccio per andare a tavola, quando la figliuola le diceva – Mamma! – senza guardarla, e arrossiva se parlava di suo marito! – Dimenticherete, siate tranquillo! – ella aveva detto a Roberto. E non avevano dimenticato del tutto, né l'uno né l'altra!...
Chiudeva gli occhi e rabbrividiva a quel pensiero... Qualche volta, all'improvviso, la sorprendevano anche degli impeti di collera, di un'altra gelosia pazza. Le aveva rubato perfino il cuore di sua figlia, colui! Tutto le aveva tolto quell'uomo!
Una sera si udì un gran trambusto per la casa. Cocchieri e servitori erano stati spediti in fretta; il medico e un'altra donna erano giunti premurosi, ed erano entrati subito nella camera di Bice. E nessuno era venuto a cercare di lei, sua figlia stessa non la voleva al suo capezzale, in quel momento. – No, nessuno aveva dimenticato! – Quand'egli venne ad annunziarle la nascita della sua nipotina, quell'uomo!... Quando lo vide così commosso e raggiante... – Non l'aveva mai visto così! – Quando lo vide al capezzale di Bice, che era supina sul letto, come fosse già morta, con una lagrima di tenerezza per lui soltanto negli occhi socchiusi... degli occhi che non cercavano che lui!... Allora sentì un odio implacabile contro quell'uomo che accarezzava la sua figliuola dinanzi a lei, e a cui Bice soltanto sorrideva, anche in quel punto.
Come misero il suo nome alla neonata, ed essa la tenne a battesimo, disse sorridendo: – Ora posso morire.
Bice andava rimettendosi lentamente. Però il suo organismo delicato vibrava ancora. Nei lunghi giorni di convalescenza le venivano dei pensieri neri, degli impeti d'irritazione sorda e irragionevole, degli scoramenti improvvisi, quasi tutti l'abbandonassero. Allora guardava muta, cogli occhi neri, e diceva al marito con accento indescrivibile:
– Dove sei stato? – Dove vai? – Perché mi lasci sola?
Ogni cosa la feriva; sembrava ingelosirsi anche di quel resto di eleganza ch'era sopravvissuto nella madre sua. Era arrivata a dirle, cercando di dissimulare la febbre che le si accendeva suo malgrado negli occhi: – Quando partirai?
La madre chinò il capo, quasi sotto il peso di un gastigo inevitabile.
Ma Bice tornava poi in sé, e pareva chiedere perdono a tutti colle sue parole e le sue carezze affettuose. Appena incominciò ad alzarsi da letto, la contessa fissò il giorno della partenza. Nel lasciarsi, madre e figlia, alla stazione, erano commosse entrambe, abbracciandosi senza dire una parola, all'ultimo momento, quasi dovessero lasciarsi per sempre. La contessa giunse tardi a casa sua, di sera, affranta, intirizzita dal freddo. La casa vuota e deserta era fredda ancor essa, malgrado il gran fuoco acceso, malgrado le lumiere solitarie, nelle stanze malinconiche.
La salute della contessa Anna declinò rapidamente. Da prima ne accusò la stanchezza del viaggio, le commozioni, la stagione rigida. Stette circa tre mesi fra letto e lettuccio, e il medico tornò a visitarla tutti i giorni.
– Non è nulla – ripeteva lei. – Oggi mi sento meglio. Domani m'alzerò.
Alla figliuola scriveva regolarmente, senza accennare però alla gravità del male che l'uccideva. Verso il principio dell'autunno parve migliorare davvero. Ma a un tratto peggiorò in guisa che i familiari si credettero obbligati di telegrafare al marchese.
Roberto giunse il giorno dopo, spaventato.
– Bice non sta bene, – disse al dottore che l'aspettava. – Sono inquieto anche per lei. Non sa nulla... Ho temuto che la notizia... l'agitazione... il viaggio...
– Ha ragione... Anche la salute della marchesa ha bisogno di molti riguardi... È una malattia gentilizia, pur troppo!... Io stesso non avrei preso su di me tale responsabilità... E se non fosse stata la gravità del caso...
– Molto grave? – chiese Roberto.
Il dottore scosse il capo.
L'inferma, appena le annunziarono la visita del genero, entrò in una grande agitazione.
– E Bice? – chiese appena lo vide. – Perché non è venuta?
Egli balbettava, quasi pallido quanto lei, sentendosi anch'esso un sudore freddo alla radice dei capelli.
– Siete stato voi... a dirle che non venisse?... – seguitava lei colla voce tronca e soffocata.
Egli non le aveva mai udito quella voce, né visto quegli occhi. Una donna, china sul capezzale, sforzavasi di calmare l'inferma. Infine essa tacque, abbassando le palpebre, stringendo forte le mani sul petto.
Volle confessarsi la sera stessa. Dopo che si fu comunicata fece chiamare di nuovo il genero, e gli strinse la mano, quasi per chiedergli perdono.
Nella stanza vagava ancora l'odore dell'incenso – l'odore della morte; soffocato di tratto in tratto da un odore più acuto di etere, penetrante, che pigliava alla gola. Delle ombre livide sembravano errare sul volto della moribonda.
– Ditele... – balbettò la poveretta. – Dite a mia figlia...
L'affanno la vinceva soffocandole le parole nella strozza, facendole stralunare gli occhi deliranti. Allora accennò che non poteva più, con un moto del capo desolato.
Di tanto in tanto bisognava sollevare di peso sui guanciali quel povero corpo consunto, nell'angoscia suprema dell'agonia. Ella però faceva segno che Roberto non la toccasse. Le si erano quasi sciolti i capelli, tutti bianchi.
– No... no... – furono le ultime sue parole che si udirono gorgogliare indistinte. Giunse le mani per chiudere la battista che le si era aperta sul petto, e così passò, colle mani in croce.
# Ultima visita
«Vorrei morir...»
Donna Vittoria cantava divinamente. Però gli amici che frequentavano la sua casa (casa Delfini era una specie di succursale del Circolo) l'udivano raramente. Essa pretendeva che il canto l'affaticasse; soleva dire ridendo che sarebbe morta di una malattia di petto. – Per questo motivo, allorché compariva ai balli o al teatro, nel turbinìo infaticabile della vita elegante, splendente di bellezza e scollacciata sino al dorso, su quel petto delicato ch'era rimasto una meraviglia dopo dieci anni di matrimonio, fioccavano i complimenti e i madrigali dei suoi adoratori. – Ne aveva tanti!... – essa diceva con quel sorriso che faceva palpitare il bel nasino arcuato – per far la guardia alla sua virtù, guardandosi in cagnesco fra di loro!... – Amici del marito (il solo del fior fiore del Circolo che non fosse obbligato a farsi vedere un momento nel salotto di lei) o delle sue amiche, le quali venivano a prendere il thè, a farsi ammirare, a darsi degli appuntamenti, a discorrere di tutto, fuorché di musica, ch'era la passione segreta di Donna Vittoria – il solo vizio che nascondesse agli amici – diceva lei – il suo egoismo e la sua civetteria – dicevano gli altri. Talché quella sera che si era lasciata piegare dalle calorose insistenze della cugina Roccaglia, era stato proprio un avvenimento, udire la sua voce un po' velata che accennava squisitamente quella musica, con un certo riserbo signorile, con una tinta di malinconia anche.
– Ah, sì! – esclamò galantemente il vecchio duca d'Orezzo. – Morire a quella maniera è una bella cosa!
Ella scherzava adesso gaiamente coi suoi intimi, che si affollavano intorno al pianoforte rimproverandole la sua ingratitudine. – Ah, valeva proprio la pena di esserle fedeli, tutte le sere, perch'ella fosse così avara della sua voce, soltanto con loro! – Anche lei, Ginoli, ha il coraggio di lagnarsene? – Io no. La musica mi fa male... quando le sento dire a quel modo «Vorrei morire!...» – Gli occhi di lei ridevano negli occhi del bel giovane biondo, che si accesero anch'essi un istante di una luce più viva, malgrado il loro riserbo mondano, com'era passata una carezza nel tono della voce che voleva sembrare disinvolta e scherzevole.
– Davvero... – soggiunse lei. – Alle volte, sapete... in certi momenti deliziosamente tristi...
Essa parlava gaiamente della morte nel fervore della festa, al ritmo del valzer di Chopin che l'eccitava vagamente, splendente di gemme e di bellezza, sotto gli occhi innamorati di Ginoli. All'uscire di casa Roccaglia, in mezzo alla scorta di galanti che si affrettavano a metterle la pelliccia sulle spalle, a darle il braccio, ad aprir lo sportello del legnetto tiepido e profumato come un nido, aveva sentito un brivido scenderle per le belle spalle nude, ancora ansanti pel valzer, sotto la lontra del mantello. Il suo medico, il medico delle signore eleganti, era venuto il giorno dopo a fare quattro chiacchiere, sprofondato nella gran poltrona ai piedi del letto, buttando giù svogliatamente prima d'andarsene, senza togliersi i guanti, due o tre lineette della sua bella scrittura da signora su d'un foglietto medioevo con la corona a cinque foglie.
Alla porta era una vera processione di carrozze, di amici, di servitori in livrea; tutti che lasciavano una parola, un nome, una carta di visita, di cui il portiere ogni sera recava in anticamera un vassoio pieno zeppo, colla lista fitta di condoglianze e di auguri, insieme al bollettino della giornata, redatto in guisa da poter passare sotto gli occhi dell'inferma, la quale voleva leggere ogni giorno i nomi di coloro che si erano ricordati di lei. Se ne parlava al Circolo, al teatro, come s'incontravano fra di loro, amici e conoscenti di lei, in visita, dal confettiere, allo sportello delle carrozze, a Villa Borghese. – La povera Donna Vittoria!... – Le visite si succedevano a casa Delfini: delle signore eleganti, degli uomini che venivano un momento a stringere la mano al marito di lei, delle coppie che vi si davano ritrovo, delle ondate di profumi leggieri e delicati che passavano nell'atmosfera greve, delle osservazioni brevi che si scambiavano i visitatori a bassa voce, nell'uscire, con un segno del capo, o della mazzettina, stringendo il manicotto al seno, o stringendosi nelle spalle. La sera miss Florence lasciava il romanzo che stava leggendo, e scendeva colla bimba nella camera della signora, la quale accoglieva entrambi con un sorriso pallido. La figliuola, una ragazzina bianca e delicata, con lunghe trecce color d'oro pendenti giù per le spalle, e la compostezza di una donnina, andava a baciare la mamma in punta di piedi, col passo leggiero di signorina ben educata. Le chiedeva della salute in inglese o in tedesco, secondo la giornata; poi le augurava la buona notte, e se ne andava dietro all'istitutrice, diritta e impettita. Però una mattina il dottore s'era fatto serio all'udire Donna Vittoria lagnarsi di un altro guaio serio, sopravvenutole nella notte: un dolore pungente che le attraversava il petto, dalle spalle al seno: – Come dicono che sia il mal d'amore!... – Donna Vittoria ne parlava in tono di scherzo, con una specie di febbre d'amore realmente negli occhi, sulle guance, e nella voce rotta. Il dottore la pregò di lasciarsi osservare, così, sollevandosi un poco, una cosa da nulla. Una cosa che le faceva un effetto curioso, a lei, al sentire contro la batista quel viso di uomo che pareva l'abbracciasse, e le faceva battere il cuore davvero, e la faceva scomporre in volto, senza saper perché, mentre si forzava ancora di ridere, fra due colpetti di tosse: – Proprio il mal d'amore, eh, dottore? – Egli non rispose subito, intento, coll'orecchio sulle sue spalle delicate che trasalivano e s'imporporavano. Poi aveva espresso il desiderio «di consultarsi con qualche collega sul metodo di cura», e s'era fermato un momento in anticamera a discorrere sottovoce col marito dell'inferma. Calava la sera, una sera tiepida di primavera. Per la via udivasi il rumore non interrotto delle carrozze che tornavano dal passeggio. Soltanto nella camera dell'inferma, che dava sul giardino, regnava un gran silenzio.
Quando la figliuola era andata ad augurarle la buona notte, secondo il solito, Donna Vittoria aveva trattenuta la ragazzina per mano, e le aveva detto, nella sua lingua nativa, poche parole che accusavano la febbre, col sorriso già triste nel viso color di cera. La bimba ascoltava seria e zitta, coi grand'occhi azzurri spalancati. Sino a tarda ora, come s'era sparsa la notizia del consulto tenutosi in casa Delfini, erano venuti degli amici di Donna Vittoria, che il marito di lei riceveva nel suo salottino da fumare – un salottino da scapolo, con delle figure scollacciate alle pareti, e dove scoppiettava una fiammata allegra – distribuendo dei sigari e delle strette di mano, discorrendo di ciò che avevano detto i medici, e di quel che dicevasi al Circolo e nei crocchi mondani. Qualche signora, venendo a chiedere notizie dell'amica, dopo il teatro, s'avventurò a cacciare un momento la testolina incappucciata in quel recesso profano, scandolezzandosi «degli orrori» che v'erano in mostra, sgridando Delfini e lasciandogli un saluto per «la cara Vittoria», empiendo le sale del fruscìo dei loro strascichi, e del gaio cinguettìo che fugava le idee nere. I domestici sbadigliarono un po' più del solito in anticamera, e sino a tarda ora lo stesso _coupé_ che aveva ricondotta la padrona dal ballo in casa Roccaglia stette attaccato a piè dello scalone, coi due fanali accesi che si riverberavano nell'acqua della fontana. Null'altro.
Ma la stessa notte l'inferma aveva peggiorato rapidamente. Il medico, chiamato in fretta e in furia sin dall'alba, si turbò in viso al primo vederla. Stette appena cinque minuti e promise di tornare fra qualche ora. Intanto fece prevenire il suo collega del consulto, suggerì alla cameriera di svegliare Delfini, che dormiva ancora, prescrisse un sacco d'ordinazioni che fecero perdere la testa ai servitori e alle cameriere. Per un momento la casa fu tutta sottosopra. Nel cortile c'era un va e vieni frettoloso di carrozze, coi cavalli fumanti e coi cocchieri ancora in giacchetta. Dei parenti giungevano a ogni momento, col viso lungo, parlando sottovoce. Il medico era tornato due volte. Verso le quattro, prima d'andarsene, aveva scritto un'ultima ordinazione sul tavolino dell'anticamera, volgendo le spalle all'uscio, dinanzi al servitore serio e grave, di già in cravatta bianca sino dalle dieci di mattina. Poi, il _coupé_ di Donna Vittoria era andato a prendere di corsa una lontana parente, mezza beghina, dinanzi al cui vestito dimesso, quasi umile, gli usci dorati si spalancarono premurosamente. Costei s'era assisa al capezzale dell'inferma, con un'aria d'intimità quasi materna, chiedendole come si sentisse, chiacchierando di cose diverse con la voce pacata delle donne che vivono nella pace della chiesa. Parlò di sé, dei suoi piccoli guai di tutti i giorni, del solo conforto che si trova nella religione. – Giusto incominciava allora la quaresima, l'epoca della penitenza, dopo i peccati del carnevale. A volte le malattie sono avvertimenti che dà il Signore perché ci si rammenti di Lui. Appunto perciò i buoni cristiani antichi usavano chiedere il Viatico appena s'ammalavano. Non è giusto aspettare l'ultimo momento per riconciliarsi con Dio. Già il miglior rimedio è una buona confessione, si era visto tante volte, con dei malati gravi...
Donna Vittoria, bianca come il merletto del guanciale su cui posava la testa, ascoltava senza dire una parola, spalancando gli occhi, quasi affascinata da un'orribile visione interiore, col viso già stravolto da un'angoscia suprema, agitando le mani, agitando il capo che non poteva trovar requie sul guanciale. Tutt'a un tratto si fece proprio cadaverica in volto, cercando di rizzarsi sulla vita, balbettando:
– No... più tardi... più tardi... Non mi fate questi discorsi... Non mi fate morir di spavento... Andatevene, zia!... andatevene!... Più tardi, poi...
La beghina se ne andò finalmente, stringendosi nelle spalle, brontolando delle parole oscure, accennando col capo al marito di Donna Vittoria che aspettava all'uscio, sbigottito anche lui. L'inferma gli fece cenno d'accostarsi, interrogandolo cogli occhi ansiosi, con un'espressione di rancore pure, in fondo a quegli occhi atterriti, chiedendogli perché avessero lasciata entrare quella donna... perché?... perché?... La voce le si era mutata a un tratto, come il viso, come gli occhi che fissava in volto a tutti quanti e domandavano ansiosi: – Sto proprio così male?... Cosa ha detto il medico?... Perché non mandate a chiamare il medico? – Ad un tratto si abbandonò sul letto supina, con un terrore immenso nel viso. – Ah... Dio mio!... così presto!...
Il triste annuncio giunse di buon'ora al Circolo. Ginoli teneva banco, aspettando che fosse l'ora d'andare a far visita in casa Delfini, come al solito, quando il duca d'Orezzo, che aveva preso posto fra i giuocatori un momento prima, ripeté la frase che correva da una settimana sulla bocca degli amici: – La povera Donna Vittoria!... – stavolta in tal tono che tutti quanti levarono il capo. Ginoli aveva voltato un nove. Allora gli stessi visi tornarono a chinarsi sulle carte, rannuvolati.
– Pur troppo! – rispose il duca alla domanda di Ginoli, che aveva dimenticato di ritirar le poste. – S'è già confessata...
Ginoli vinceva sempre con una vena implacabile che l'inchiodava al suo posto, e non teneva allegri neppure i suoi compagni di giuoco. Accusasse un cinque o chiamasse con un sette, tutte le follìe di un giuocatore inesperto che voglia fare lo spaccone, o che abbia perduta la testa, gli giovavano invece a sventare le astuzie dei suoi avversari, i quali non sapevano più a che santo votarsi, e maledicevano in cuor loro gli uccelli di malaugurio che vanno in giro a portare la disdetta e le cattive nuove. Santa-Sira, il quale aveva già le orecchie infocate, saettò di nascosto un'occhiataccia sul duca. Ma Lionelli, il quale aspettava la rivincita, e temeva che Ginoli lasciasse le carte, osservò garbatamente che in tal caso non conveniva andare in casa Delfini quella sera... per non disturbare... Altri approvarono, guardando alla sfuggita Ginoli a cui tremavano le mani nel dare le carte, e luccicavano delle goccioline di sudore sulla fronte, quasi perdesse tutto sulla parola; e Domitilla discretamente cambiò discorso, per riguardo a Ginoli che teneva il banco, e di cui conoscevasi la relazione con Donna Vittoria. Peraltro si facevano pochi discorsi, ciascuno avendo da pensare ad altro, con quella maledetta partita che s'era fatta più seria che non si credesse, e che sarebbe stata un disastro per qualcheduno, se Ginoli non fosse stato quel gentiluomo che era, e non avesse capito che gli conveniva continuare a giuocare, come facevano tutti gli altri amici di Donna Vittoria, per la riputazione di lei. Con una partita così grossa, nessuno avrebbe voluto tenere il banco per lui. – Tanto da lasciarmi tirare il fiato, – aveva egli detto sorridendo, quasi l'emozione della vincita fosse stata realmente tale da togliergli il respiro.
Finalmente, quando poté correre in casa Delfini, dopo una serie fortunata di zeri che gli riconciliò i suoi amici del Circolo, era circa mezzanotte. Domitilla aveva voluto accompagnarlo per salvare le apparenze. Salendo le scale gli disse: – Bada... sei ancora tutto sottosopra...
Nel salotto c'erano dei parenti, una signora attempata, amica di casa, che si era offerta di vegliare la notte, e due altri, marito e moglie, zii, per parte di madre, di Donna Vittoria. La zia parlava di cure portentose, di guarigioni insperate. Gli altri tacevano, senza ascoltare. La contessa Roccaglia parve molto sorpresa di veder comparir Ginoli, e rivolse la parola a Domitilla, per salvare le apparenze:
– Non sapevate... povera Vittoria!...
Allora Ginoli dovette ascoltare le osservazioni della zia, ch'era stata nella camera dell'inferma, e balbettare delle condoglianze comuni, dinanzi a tutti quegli occhi fissi su di lui. Di tanto in tanto passava un domestico frettoloso; una cameriera socchiudeva discretamente l'uscio delle stanze della signora. Un momento si vide far capolino anche il marito di lei, pallidissimo, che scomparve subito. Nel salotto discorrevasi a voce bassa, con parole tronche, con un vago senso di malessere e di fastidio reciproco. Lo zio guardava l'orologio tratto tratto. Poi succedevano dei lunghi intervalli di silenzio che pesavano su tutti, quasi d'attesa funebre. A un certo punto l'uscio si spalancò e comparve prima l'istitutrice, col fazzoletto agli occhi, reggendo la fanciullina che sembrava svenuta; e il padrone di casa attraversò il salotto barcollando, senza salutare nessuno, fissando soltanto uno sguardo singolare su Ginoli che aveva chinato il capo. Dall'uscio rimasto aperto udivasi il rumore di un affaccendarsi frettoloso, nelle stanze dell'inferma. La cameriera era venuta correndo a prendere un candelabro dal caminetto. Allora gli zii e la vecchia signora le erano andati dietro. Come Ginoli si era alzato anche lui, vacillante, pallido come un cadavere, quasi non sapesse più quel che si faceva, la contessa Roccaglia lo fermò sull'uscio, dicendogli piano:
– No... S'è confessata or ora... s'aspetta il Viatico...
Si udì il suono funebre di un campanello, e uno scalpiccìo di gente che saliva. Ginoli, dileguandosi come un'ombra, quasi inseguito dallo squillare di quel campanello, vide un'altra ombra in fondo all'anticamera, dinanzi a cui dovette chinare il capo, irresistibilmente.
# Bollettino sanitario
(Corrispondenza in 4ª pagina)
San Remo, 10 novembre
Sono qui da ieri sera. Venite.
_Viola_
San Remo, 21 novembre
VIOLA fa sapere alla sola persona dalla quale è conosciuta, che ella aspetta inutilmente da otto giorni.
San Remo, 8 dicembre
Perché non siete venuto, GIACINTO? Avete letto le mie del 10 e 21 novembre? Avete dimenticato la vostra promessa? Dove siete? Ho bisogno di voi.
San Remo, 16 dicembre
Mi sono ingannata; perdonatemi. Voi siete come tutti gli altri.
Sorrento, 22 dicembre
Io sono precisamente come tutti gli altri, cara signora VIOLA; anzi, come tutti quegli altri che hanno bisogno di pace, e a cui i medici prescrivono il riposo dell'anima e del corpo, e il clima di Nizza o di Napoli.
_Giacinto_
San Remo, 25 dicembre
Godeteveli. Parto domani. È inutile dirvi dove andrò, poiché è inutile che mi scriviate. Addio.
_Viola_
Sorrento, 20 gennaio
Alla signora VIOLA – non del pensiero. – Mia cara, giacché ai vostri occhi devo comparire assolutamente colpevole, eccovi la mia giustificazione: ve la mando come posso. Per altro, nessuno vi conosce, nemmen io, e voi non avete esitato per la prima a far correre le poste ai nostri piccoli segreti. Sono stato malato, molto malato; ho creduto di morire, e ho avuto paura. Vedete quanto io sia lontano dal mondo e dalle sue illusioni, se vi confesso anche cotesto! Ho vista la vita dall'altro lato. Se sapeste che rovescio! La giovinezza, il passato, voi! Quante cose si veggono nelle cortine stinte di un letto d'albergo, a cinque lire per notte, coll'odore delle medicine sotto il naso, e il russare dell'infermiera in un canto! Mi sembrava di non dovermi alzare più. Andavo cercando col pensiero tutto ciò che si era presa la mia vita, e non lo trovavo: il giuoco, gli amici, le amiche... E i sogni della giovinezza... Vi rammentate, quella prima sera che mi bruciaste l'anima colle lenti del vostro cannocchiale? Che miseria! E pensare che tutto ciò ora non mi fa battere il cuore come la voce grossa del dottore il quale mi misura la febbre col termometro!
Che cosa volete, cara VIOLA! Ritorno dal paese freddo delle ombre, dove anche il fiore del pensiero intirizzisce; e mi scaldo tranquillamente a questo bel meriggio d'inverno, come un ebete, con un _plaid_ sulle ginocchia, le orecchie ben calde dentro il mio berretto di lontra; e sorrido soltanto al sole che mi bacia le mani diacce, gialle, di un bel giallo d'oro, come i mucchi di luigi che illuminavano le nostre notti di Montecarlo, dove _quell'altro_ mi vinceva anche voi.
Vi rammentate, a Venezia? Avevate un colletto alto da uomo, un ferro di cavallo alla cravatta, un cappellino grigio, a tese piatte, con un ciuffo di piume di struzzo sul davanti: ricordi che mi sembrano gai e festosi in questa bella giornata d'inverno: – l'occhiata lunga e calda che mi lanciaste nel vestibolo, sirena! e la furberia con la quale vi nascondevate dietro le spalle oneste e larghe del vostro compagno, nel palchetto, per puntare il cannocchiale su di me! Quante belle cose ci dicevamo! Due o tre volte chinaste il capo e sorrideste: un sorriso che voleva dire tante cose: – Vi saluto! – Davvero? – Sì! – Venite? – che so io... forse non lo sapevate voi stessa. Io sorrisi e chinai il capo come voi. Che potevamo dire di più? Tutto l'amore umano non è in quel linguaggio senza parole? – Chi sei? – Mi piaci! – Mi vuoi? – Quel bel signore che vi dava il braccio non avrebbe potuto chiedervi né sentirsi rispondere altro da voi, neppure nel momento in cui posava la sua testa accanto alla vostra sul medesimo guanciale. Eppure, tutta la notte questa visione non mi fece chiudere occhio.
Lasciamo stare, lasciamo stare! Ecco che ricasco di nuovo nella fantasticheria erotica – la più malsana divagazione della mente, dice il mio medico. Ora non c'è nulla per me che valga una buona nottata di sonno profondo, collo spirito e il corpo nella bambagia tiepida delle coperte. Erano tante notti che non potevo dormire, mangiato dalla tosse, mangiato dalla febbre! Sentite, quando vi dicono che in cotesti momenti hanno pensato a voi, che siete stata il conforto, il sollievo, che so io, vi mentiscono come furfanti. In principio, forse, quando il male non ha compito il suo lavorìo, quando il medico non ha fatto il viso lungo, quando non si è visto passare lo spettro nero nelle prime ombre della sera... Allora, forse... quando il sangue ancora ricco dà con la febbre quella sensazione di benessere, si può pensare a _lei_ , alla donna, alla treccia bionda sul guanciale, alla mano bianca che apre dolcemente le cortine, agli occhi lucenti che aspettano... Così mi guardavate, dal fondo di quella loggia. – Che cosa ne avete fatto del vostro bel cavaliere? Sapete, ultimamente lo incontrai a Napoli. Non volle riconoscermi, e fece bene. Ho un sospetto che quell'uomo in dominò della _cavalchina_ fosse lui, e che abbia udito quando deste l'indirizzo al gondoliere...
Lasciatemi in pace, lasciatemi in pace, ecco quello che vi ho detto poi, nelle lunghe notti senza sonno e senza sogni. E vi ho detto anche peggio. Che ve ne importa? Che me ne importa? Io voglio dormire, voglio dormire soltanto. Voi siete bella, sana, giovane, ricca. Avete lì San Mauro ai vostri piedi, Giuliano che vi fa ridere, il duca che vi manda delle violette da Nizza. Lasciatemi in pace.
Vedete, è un'ora che vi scrivo. Il sole m'ha lasciato adagio adagio, e col sole le liete fantasie che suscitava la vostra memoria. Ora ho freddo, e la nebbia è calata anche su di voi. Che colpa ne ho io? Se vedeste com'è triste questo mare che illividisce, e questo verde che si fa scuro! Sento il bisogno del bel fuoco che scoppietta nel camino, e del buon brodo che fuma nella tazza. Se stanotte potessi dormire senza cloralio, quanto sarei felice! Vedete quanto poco ci vuole per avere la felicità? Il dottore m'assicura che sto meglio, e che forse fra un mese o due potrò lasciare Sorrento... Giacché dovete sapere che odio Sorrento, odio questo mare, questo cielo, questo verde implacabile, in mezzo al quale sono costretto a vivere, se voglio vivere. Ora difatti mi sento meglio, ho pensato a voi, ho riletto le vostre lettere, ho sentito rifiorire in me qualcosa del passato che credevo morto, e che mi rianima invece, e mi riscalda. Dunque anch'io posso rivivere? Allora, allora... No, non voglio pensare ad altro. Il medico dice che mi fa male. Il mio male siete voi. Non mi importa più di nulla, capite! Sentite... siete già in collera? Vi chiedo perdono. Sono un uomo dell'altro mondo: eccovi spiegato il motivo del mio silenzio. Non pensate più a me. Se mi vedeste ora, volgereste il capo dall'altra parte. Lasciatemi in pace.
Sorrento, 25 marzo
È proprio vero. Sto meglio, son quasi guarito, sapete? Il male non era così grave come si temeva. Chi ne sa nulla? Questi medici, dottoroni! non lo sanno neppur loro. Certo è che son guarito, guarito! Oggi ho fatto una lunga passeggiata a piedi. Che bel sole! che bel verde! Quella ragazza che mi vende le viole ha detto che non mi ha visto mai così di buona cera. Anche qui si fa la corte, come laggiù la fanno a voi, e non potete immaginare quanto sia ingenua e credula la civetteria dei malati. Le ho dato venti lire. Quanta gente si può far contenta con venti lire. Ho portato il _plaid_ sul braccio, tutto il dopo pranzo.
C'è un povero storpio che suona da un'ora il valzer di _Madama Angòt_ sotto le mie finestre. Sì, quella musichetta gaia può avere il suo merito anch'essa quanto il vostro Chopin e il vostro Mendelssohn. Le belle sere passate nel vostro salottino, guardandovi le mani e accarezzandovi i capelli! Non mi sgridate. Sono un gran colpevole che vi domanda perdono e viene a picchiarsi il petto dietro la vostra porta. Dove siete? Che avete pensato di me? Ero tanto lontano da voi, tanto! Ed ora desidero tanto di rivedervi! Basta, non ne parliamo. Non me lo merito, lo so. L'avete ancora quel serpentello d'oro al braccio? Come mi farebbe bene una bella chiacchierata con voi, di quelle chiacchierate che sapete fare, mezzo sdraiata sulla poltrona, e colle scarpette accavalciate l'una sull'altra! Sono circa sei mesi che non parlo. E vedete, che perciò chiacchiero, chiacchiero per lettera, e vi corro dietro con la mente, e con qualche altra cosa anche, qui nel petto... Se siete tuttora in collera, dovreste perdonarmi soltanto al pensare che, se voleste dirmi dove siete, verrei a piedi, come un pellegrino, a sciogliere il voto, foste anche in capo al mondo! Non mi sgomenterei, no! Ora son forte. Ah, com'è bella la vita!
Sì, vi avevo promesso: – «Quando mi permetterete di venirvi a trovare... dovunque sarete...» – Poi fui in collera con voi che m'avete lasciato partire. Quella sera che mi posaste la fronte sul petto, a Villa d'Este? Perché non siete venuta con me? Eravate tutta tremante. Mi amavate dunque? Perché non avete voluto che ci acciuffassimo pei capelli, io e quell'uomo? Che notte ho passata sotto le vostre finestre! Fu là che presi la tosse... E ve ne volli. Sì, sì, quando vi seppi partita, partita con colui, vi odiai, fui malato, volli dimenticarvi. Giuliano mi disse che San Mauro vi faceva la corte, e che il duca portava discretamente al collo la vostra catena. Che m'importa adesso? Io so che avete le mani bianche e che ve le siete lasciate baciare da me. So che a San Remo non siete più da un pezzo, e che mi avete aspettato colà, e che siete partita senza dire per dove. Ed io vi ho lasciata partire! Ero pazzo allora, o son pazzo adesso? Nessuno potrebbe dirlo. Quello che so di certo, è che in questo momento vorrei baciare ancora le vostre mani bianche.
Sorrento, 11 aprile
VIOLA cara! VIOLA bella! VIOLA bionda! Eccomi ginocchioni dinanzi a voi, con le mani in croce, la fronte sul tappeto. Lasciatemi baciare le vostre scarpette piccine! Sì, sì, lo so, sono molto colpevole. Non merito il perdono. Ditemelo, ma ditemelo voi stessa. Sono otto giorni che ho fatte le valigie, e che aspetto una vostra parola, dura, assai dura, che mi dica di venirvi a chiedere perdono. Pensare che forse eravate sola a San Remo, e che avreste lasciato l'uscio socchiuso... Ah, come darei della testa nella parete! Sono stato peggio di colpevole: sono stato uno sciocco. Non ci cascate anche voi, se mi amate ancora, per picca, per dispetto. Pensate che potremmo vederci, soli, dirci colla bocca tutto ciò che ci siamo detto quella sera alla Fenice col canocchiale! Vi dico delle cose pazze. Sono pazzo, vi giuro...
Sorrento, 16 aprile
GIACINTO supplica e scongiura a mani giunte VIOLA di fargli avere un rigo, una parola, qualunque sia, perché il silenzio implacabile di lei gli mette addosso tutte le febbri.
Sorrento, 29 aprile
Sentite, non ne posso più. Aspetterò qui la vostra lettera sino a domani. Domani, ultimo giorno d'aprile, non so quel che farò. Vi amo, vi amo, mi sento morire un'altra volta. Fatelo per pietà almeno, VIOLA! Stanotte ho tossito di nuovo e ho avuto la febbre.
Sorrento, 8 maggio
Ah, che siate proprio tale quale vi avevo giudicata! senza cuore, senza spirito, senz'altro che lo spumeggiare delle vostre trine e lo scintillìo dei vostri diamanti. Frivola e dura altrettanto! Vi odio, vi detesto! Voi mi fate morire, consunto da questa febbre che mi avete messa nel sangue, maledetta! Tenetevi il duca che v'insulta co' suoi doni. Tenetevi Giuliano, che si ride di voi. Tenetevi San Mauro che vi mette in un mazzo con le ballerine della Scala. Io vi ho buttato in faccia la giovinezza mia, che avete distrutto, la vita che mi avete succhiata coi baci, vampiro!
_Giacinto_
Genova, 8 maggio
Aspettatemi. Verrò.
_Viola_
Napoli, 14 maggio
No, no, mio caro GIACINTO. È meglio non vederci più. Sono stata a trovarvi, incognita; l'albergatore mi aveva aperta una finestra sul giardino, dove eravate a passeggiare. Come siete mutato, mio povero e caro GIACINTO!
VIOLA È MORTA.
# DON CANDELORO E C.i
# Don Candeloro e C.i
Don Candeloro era proprio artista nel suo genere: figlio di burattinai, nipote di burattinai – ché bisogna nascerci con quel bernoccolo – il suo pane, il suo amore, la sua gloria erano i burattini. – Non son chi sono se non arrivo a farli parlare! – diceva in certi momenti di vanagloria come ne abbiamo tutti, allorché gli applausi del pubblico gli andavano alla testa, e gli pareva di essere un dio, fra le nuvole del palcoscenico, reggendo i fili dei suoi «personaggi».
Per essi non guardava a spesa. Li perfezionava, li vestiva sfarzosamente, aveva ideato delle teste che muovevano occhi e bocca, studiava sugli autori la voce che avrebbe dovuto avere ciascuno di essi, _Almansore_ o _Astiladoro._ Quando declamava pei suoi burattini, nelle scene culminanti, si scaldava così, che dopo rimaneva sfinito, asciugandosi il viso, nel raccogliere i mirallegro dei suoi ammiratori sfegatati, come un attore naturale.
Di ammiratori ne aveva da per tutto, alla Marina, alla Pescheria, certuni che si toglievano il pan di bocca per andare a sentire da lui la _Storia di Rinaldo_ o _Il Guerin Meschino_ , e se l'additavano poi, incontrandolo per la strada, colla canna d'India sull'omero e la sua bella andatura maestosa, che sembrava _Orlando_ addirittura. Era un gran regalo quando egli rispondeva al saluto toccando con due dita la tesa del cappello. Se nasceva una lite in teatro, e venivano fuori i coltelli, bastava che don Candeloro si mostrasse fra le quinte, e dicesse: – Ehi ragazzi!... – con quella bella voce grassa.
Giacché s'era fatta anche la voce, come il gesto e la parlata, sul fare dei suoi «personaggi» e pareva di sentire un _Reale di Francia_ anche se chiamava il lustrastivali dal terrazzino.
Con queste doti innamorò la figliuola di un oste che teneva bottega lì accanto. La ragazza era bruttina, ma aveva una bella voce, e doveva avere anche un bel gruzzolo. – La voce è tutto! – le diceva don Candeloro sgranandole gli occhi addosso, e accarezzandosi il pizzo. – Grazia! Che bel nome avete pure! – Andava spesso a far colazione all'osteria per amore della Grazia, e le confidò che pensava d'accasarsi, dacché aveva voltato le spalle alla vecchia baracca del padre, e messo su il nuovo teatro che rubava gli avventori al SAN CARLINO, e al TEATRO DI MARIONETTE. Si mangiavano fra di loro come lupi, padre e figlio, e i suoi colleghi erano giunti ad ordirgli la cabala, e fargli fischiare la _Storia di Buovo d'Antona._ – Spenderò i tesori di Creso! – aveva fatto voto quel dì don Candeloro battendo il pugno sulla tavola. – Ma non son chi sono se non li riduco a chiuder bottega tutti quanti!
Lui con dei contanti avrebbe fatto cose da sbalordire. Insino il balletto e la pantomima avrebbe portato sul suo teatro; tutto colle marionette. – Ci aveva qualcosa lì! – e si picchiava la fronte dinanzi alla Grazia, fissandole gli occhi addosso come volesse mangiarsela, lei e la sua dote. Si scervellò un mese intero, col capo fra le mani, a cercare un bel titolo pel suo teatrino, qualcosa che pigliasse la gente per gli occhi e pei capelli, lì, nel cartellone dipinto e coi lumi dietro. – _Le Marionette parlanti!_ – Sì, com'è vero ch'io mi appello Candeloro Bracone! parlanti e viventi meglio di voi e di me! Non deve passare un cane che abbia un soldo in tasca dinanzi al mio teatro, senza che dica: – Spendiamo l'osso del collo per andare a vedere cosa sa fare don Candeloro!
L'oste veramente non si sarebbe lasciato prendere a quelle spampanate, perché sapeva che gli avventori serii preferiscono andare a bere il buon vino nel solito cantuccio oscuro; e del resto, lui voleva un genero con una professione da cristiano, come la sua, a mo' d'esempio, e non un commediante con la zazzera inanellata, che parlava come un libro e gli incuteva soggezione.
– Quello è un tizio che ci farebbe muovere a suo piacere come i burattini, te e me! – disse alla figliuola. – Bada ai fatti tuoi: le buone parole, qualche risatina anche, con gli avventori. E poi orecchie di mercante. Hai inteso?
Ma il tradimento gli venne da un finestrino che dava sul palcoscenico, al quale la ragazza correva spesso di nascosto a mettere un occhio, e dove si scaldava il capo con tutte quelle storie di paladini e di principesse innamorate. Don Candeloro, dacché s'era dichiarato con lei, lasciava socchiusa apposta l'impannata, e le sfuriate di amore, _Rinaldo_ e gli altri personaggi, le rivolgevano lassù; tanto che la ragazza ne andava in solluchero, e aveva a schifo poi di lavare i piatti e imbrattarsi le mani in cucina.
«– Non pur me, ma infiniti signori questo amore ha fatto suoi vassalli, principessa adorata!...»
– Tu non me la dai a intendere! – brontolava l'oste colla figliuola. – Che diavolo hai in testa? Mi sbagli il conto del vino... Gli avventori si lamentano... Questa storia non può durare.
La catastrofe avvenne alla gran scena in cui _la bella Antinisca_ ritorna alla città di Presopoli, e _Guerino_ «quando la vidde» dice la storia «s'accese molto più del suo amore». Smaniava per la scena, sbalestrando le gambe di qua e di là, alzando tratto tratto le braccia al cielo, squassando il capo quasi colto dal mal nervoso. Diceva, con la bella voce cantante di don Candeloro:
«– O Dio, dammi grazia ch'io mi possa difendere da questa fragil carne, tanto ch'io trovi il padre mio, e la mia generazione.»
E _la bella Antinisca_ , dimenandosi anch'essa, e lagrimando (si capiva dalle mani che le sbattevano al viso):
«– O Signor mio, io speravo sotto la vostra spada di esser sicura del Regno che voi mi avete renduto, per questa cagione vi giuro per li Dei che come saprò, che voi siete partito, con le mie proprie mani mi ucciderò per vostro amore, e se mi promettete, che finito il vostro viaggio ritornerete a me, io vi prometto aspettarvi dieci anni senza prender marito.» «– No per Dio, sarete vecchia» – disse il Meschino. «– Questo non curo, pur che voi giuriate di tornare a me, di non pigliare altra donna.» – (Veramente _la bella Antinisca_ aveva una voce di galletto che faceva ridere gli spettatori, giacché don Candeloro per le parti di donna aveva dovuto scritturare a giornata un ragazzetto che cominciava adesso a farsi grandicello, e per giunta recitava come un pappagallo, talché alle volte il principale, sdegnato, gli assestava delle pedate, dietro la scena). Allora _la bella Antinisca_ cadde d'un salto fra le braccia del _Guerino_ , piegata in due dalla tenerezza, e Grazia, arrampicata al finestrino, si sentì balzare così il cuore nel petto, che le sembrava proprio di essere nei panni dei due felici amanti, allorché il _Meschino_ , in presenza di _Paruidas, Armigrano_ e _Moretto_ , giurò per tutti i sagramenti di farla sua donna e legittima sposa.
– Quando saremo marito e moglie, le parti di donna le farai tu! – le aveva detto don Candeloro. E la ragazza, ambiziosa, si sentiva gonfiare il petto dalla gioia, a quelle scene commoventi che facevano drizzare i capelli in capo ad ognuno, e si vedevano degli uomini con tanto di barba piangere come bambini, fra gli applausi che parevano subissare il teatro. – Sì! sì! – disse Grazia in cuor suo.
Il babbo invece disse di no. C'erano continuamente delle scene fra padre e figlia; quello ripetendo che la storia non poteva durare, e minacciando la ragazza di tornare a maritarsi, e metterle sul collo la matrigna. Lei dura nel proposito: o don Candeloro, o la morte! Quando don Candeloro andò a far la domanda formale, vestito di tutto punto, l'oste rispose:
– Tanto onore e piacere. Ma ciascuno sa i fatti di casa sua. Sono vedovo, non ho altri figliuoli, e mi abbisogna un genero che mi aiuti...
– Allora vuol dire che non son degno di tanto onore! – balbettò don Candeloro facendosi rosso, e piantandosi di tre quarti, colla canna d'India appoggiata all'anca.
– Nossignore, l'onore è mio.
– L'onore è vostro, ma vostra figlia non me la date...
– Nossignore. Come volete sentirla?
– Va bene. Umilissimo servo! – conchiuse don Candeloro calcandosi con due dita la tuba sull'orecchio, e se ne andò mortificatissimo.
– Senti – disse poi alla Grazia dal finestrino. – Tuo padre è un ignorante che non capisce nulla. Bisogna prendere una risoluzione eroica, hai capito?
La ragazza esitava a prendere la risoluzione eroica di infilare l'uscio e venirsene a stare con lui, per costringere poi il babbo ad acconsentire al matrimonio. Ma don Candeloro aveva il miele sulle labbra, e sapeva trovare delle ragioni alle quali non si poteva resistere. Le diceva di fare nascostamente il suo fagotto... con giudizio, s'intende... – C'era anche la sua parte nei denari del padre, – e venirsene dove la chiamavano i cieli. – Non hai giurato per gli Dei di essere mia donna e legittima sposa?
Il vecchio però era un furbo matricolato, il quale cantava sempre miseria, e nascondeva i suoi bezzi chissà dove. Grazia non portò altro che quattro cenci in un fazzoletto, e quelle poche lire spicciole che aveva potuto arraffare al banco. – Come? – balbettò don Candeloro che si sentiva gelare il sangue nelle vene. – In tanto tempo che ci stai, non hai saputo far di meglio?...
Questo era indizio che non sarebbe stata buona a nulla, neppure per lui; e le questioni cominciarono dal primo giorno. Basta, era un gentiluomo, e la promessa di Candeloro Bracone era parola di Re. Il bello poi fu che lo stesso giorno in cui andarono all'altare, lui e la sposa, il suocero volle fargli la burletta di andarci lui pure, insieme a una bella donnona colla quale aveva combinato il pateracchio lì per lì. – Senza donne non possiamo stare né io né il mio negozio, cari miei, – gli piaceva ripetere, con quel sorrisetto che mostrava le gengive più dure dei denti, e faceva venire la mosca al naso. – State allegri e che il Signore vi prosperi e vi dia molti figliuoli. Alla mia morte poi avrete quel che vi tocca.
I figliuoli vennero infatti a tutti e due, genero e suocero, uno dopo l'altro. Ma l'oste prometteva di metterne al mondo quanto il _Gran Sultano_ , e di campare gli anni del _Mago Merlino_. Ogni volta che gli partoriva la moglie o la figliuola, invitava tutto il parentado a fare una bella mangiata.
Crescevano i figliuoli, e i pesi del matrimonio; ma viceversa poi diminuivano gli introiti e il favore popolare. Quella gran bestia del pubblico s'era lasciato prendere a certe novità che avevano portato Bracone il vecchio e il proprietario del SAN CARLINO. Adesso nei teatrini di marionette recitavano dei personaggi in carne ed ossa, la _Storia di Garibaldi_ , figuriamoci, ed anche delle farsacce con _Pulcinella_ ; e vi cantavano delle donne mezzo nude che facevano del palcoscenico un letamaio. La gente correva a vedere le gambe e le altre porcherie, tale e quale come le bestie, ché don Candeloro ne arrossiva pel mestiere, e preferiva piuttosto fare il saltimbanco o il lustrascarpe, prima di scendere a quelle bassezze. Per non recitare alle panche era arrivato a far entrare in teatro gratis dei vecchi avventori, fedeli alle belle _Storie d'Orlando_ e dei _Paladini antichi_ , coi quali almeno si sfogava dicendo vituperi dei suoi colleghi:
– Perché non mettere le persiane verdi alle porte, come certi stabilimenti?... Sarebbe più pulito. Dovrebbe immischiarsene la Questura, per Satanasso!
Però l'ignoranza e l'ingratitudine del pubblico gli facevano cascare le braccia. Non valeva proprio la pena di sudare coi libri, e spendere dei tesori per dare roba buona a degli asini. – Volete lavare la testa all'asino? – Gli stessi burattini recitavano svogliatamente, vestiti come Dio vuole. – Ci si perdeva l'amore dell'arte e d'ogni cosa, parola di gentiluomo! – Dov'erano andati i bei tempi in cui si facevano due rappresentazioni al giorno, la domenica e le feste, e la gente assediava la porta, quand'era annunziato sul cartellone un «personaggio» nuovo? Don Candeloro, colla barba di otto giorni e la zazzera arruffata, passava le giornate intere nella bettola del suocero, a dir corna dei suoi colleghi, o a litigare colla moglie, ora che in casa pareva l'inferno. Grazia, adesso che aveva visto cosa c'era dietro le belle scene impiastricciate, stava con tanto di muso a rammendar cenci anche lei, a stemperar colori, e rompersi braccia e schiena, vociando come un pappagallo per le _Artemisie_ e le _Rosalinde_ , dall'avemaria a due ore di notte; che specie quando il Signore le mandava dei figliuoli (e succedeva una volta all'anno) era proprio un gastigo di Dio.
– Tu non sai far altro, per Maometto! – le rinfacciava il marito furibondo.
L'oste dava soltanto buoni consigli: – Non vedete che gli avventori corrono al vino nuovo? Cambiate il vino. – Ma don Candeloro non si piegava. Piuttosto avrebbe tolto su baracca e burattini, e sarebbe andato pel mondo a far conoscere chi era Candeloro Bracone, giacché i suoi concittadini non sapevano apprezzarlo. La piazza «non faceva più» per lui! Se c'era ancora un po' di buon senso e di buon gusto dovevasi andare a cercarlo in provincia, dove non erano ancora penetrate quelle sudicerie. Finalmente spiantò davvero il teatro, mise ogni cosa su di un carro, e via di notte, per non dar gusto ai nemici. L'oste prese lui a pigione il magazzino per metterci delle botti, e allargare il negozio, ora che la figliuolanza era cresciuta.
– Te l'avevo detto, – disse alla Grazia. – Quello non è mestiere da cristiani. Se fossi rimasta a vendere del vino, non saresti ridotta adesso a far la zingara. Ben ti stia!
Don Candeloro viaggiò per valli e per monti, come i cavalieri antichi, con tutto il suo teatro ammucchiato in un carro, e la moglie e i figliuoli sopra. Il guaio era che non si trovava con chi combattere. Quei contadinacci ignoranti ed avari, sfogata la prima curiosità, voltavano le spalle alle «marionette parlanti» o s'arrampicavano sul tetto del teatrino per godersi la rappresentazione _gratis._ Arrivando in un villaggio, don Candeloro scaricava la roba sulla piazza, pigliava in affitto una bottega, un magazzino, una stalla, quel che trovava, e si mettevano a inchiodare e incollare tutti quant'erano. Le stagioni duravano otto, quindici giorni, un mese, al più. Dopo, si tornava da capo a correre il mondo, e in quel va e vieni la roba andava in malora; si mangiavano ogni cosa le spese d'affitto e di viaggio, con dei carrettieri ladri ch'erano peggio dei saracini, e non usavano riguardi neanche a Cristo. Don Candeloro, avvezzo ad essere rispettato come un Dio da simile gentaglia, voleva farsi ragione colle sue mani, in principio, sinché si buscò una grandinata di calci e pugni.
E ci dovette arrivare anche lui, Candeloro Bracone, a fare il pagliaccio se volle aver gente nel suo teatro, e a rappresentare la pantomime nelle quali pigliavasi le pedate nel didietro dal minore dei suoi ragazzi per far ridere «la platea». Quando vide che il pubblico non ne mangiava più in nessuna salsa delle «marionette parlanti», e ci voleva dell'altro per cavar soldi da quei bruti, ebbe un'idea luminosa che avrebbe dovuto fare la fortuna di un artista, se la fortuna baldracca non ce l'avesse avuta a morte con lui... – Ah, vogliono i personaggi veri?...
Un bel giorno si vide annunziare sul cartellone che la _parte di Orlando_ , nei _Reali di Francia_ , l'avrebbe sostenuta don Candeloro in persona «fatica sua particolare!». E comparve davvero sul palcoscenico, lui e tutta la sua famiglia, in costume, e armato di tutto punto: delle armature ordinate apposta al primo lattoniere della città, e che erano costate gli occhi della testa. Il pubblico sciocco invece, al vedere quei ceffi di giudei che toccavano i cieli col capo, e suonavano a ogni passo come scatole di petrolio, si mise a ridere e a tirare ogni sorta d'immondizie sui _Paladini_ , massime allorché ad _Orlando_ cadde di mano la spada, ed egli, tutto chiuso nell'armi, non poté chinarsi per raccattarla. Urli, fischi e mozziconi di sigari in faccia ai _Reali_. Un putiferio da prendere a schiaffi tutti quanti, o da passar loro la spada attraverso il corpo, se non fosse stata di latta, pensando a tanti denari spesi inutilmente.
Da per tutto, ove si ostinava a portare i _Paladini di Francia_ «con personaggi veri» trovava la stessa accoglienza: torsi di cavolo e bucce d'arance. Il pubblico andava in teatro apposta colle tasche piene di quella roba. Non li volevano più neanche «coi personaggi veri» i _Paladini_! Volevano le scempiaggini di _Pulcinella_ , e le canzonette grasse cantate dalle donne che alzavano la gamba.
– E tu fagliele vedere le gambe! – disse infine alla moglie don Candeloro infuriato. – Diamogli delle ghiande al porco!
Lui stesso, colle sue mani, dovette aiutare la Grazia ad accorciare la gonnella, litigando con lei che pretendeva di non esser nata per quel mestiere, e si vergognava all'udire i complimenti che il pubblico indirizzava ai suoi stinchi magri. – Per che cosa sei nata? per far la principessa? Il pane te lo mangi, però! – Lui invece era preso adesso dalla rabbia di mostrare ogni cosa, a quegli animali, la moglie, la figliuola ch'era più giovane e chiamava più gente. – Anch'io, se vogliono vedermi!... Voglio calarmi le brache in faccia a quelle bestie! – Faceva delle risate amare, povero don Candeloro! Cercava le farsacce più stupide e più indecenti. Si tingeva il viso per fare il pagliaccio. Sputava sul pubblico, dietro le quinte: – Porci! porci!
# Le marionette parlanti
_Si rappresenta_
_Come il_ MESCHINO _andò per le_ CAVERNE
_E trovò_ MACCO _in forma di_ SERPENTE
_Col quale parlò_
_E giunse alla_ PORTA _della_
Fata
_Indi farsa con_
Pulcinella.
Il cartellone portava dipinto il Meschino, armato di tutto punto contro un drago verde, il quale vomitava delle lettere rosse che dicevano: _Ebbi nome_ MACCO, _e andai facendo male sin da piccino_ : tutta opera di don Candeloro, il quale dipingeva anche le scene, suonava la gran cassa, vestiva i burattini e li faceva parlare, aiutato dalla moglie e dai cinque figliuoli, talché in certe rappresentazioni c'erano fin venti e più personaggi sulla scena, combattimento ad arma bianca, musica e fuochi di bengala, che chiamavano gran gente.
Diciamo cinque figliuoli, però uno di essi veramente era figlio non si sa di chi, raccolto da don Candeloro sulla pubblica via per carità, ed anche perché aiutasse a lavare i piatti, suonar la tromba e chiamar gente, vestito da pagliaccio, all'ingresso del teatro.
– Martino, fate vedere i vostri talenti, e ringraziate questi signori.
Martino voltava la groppa, si buttava a quattro zampe e imitava il raglio dell'asino.
Egli era il buffo della Compagnia, faceva il solletico alle donne, e andava a cacciare il naso fra le assi del dietro scena, mentre si vestivano per la farsa. Colla ragazza poi inventava cento burlette che la facevano ridere, e le mettevano come una fiamma negli occhi ladri e sulla faccia lentigginosa.
– Be', Violante, vogliamo rappresentare al vivo la scena fra _Rinaldo_ e _Armida_?
Una volta che don Candeloro lo sorprese a far la prova generale colla sua figliuola, la quale si accalorava anch'essa nella parte, e abbandonavasi su di un mucchio di cenci, quasi fossero le rose del giardino incantato, amministrò a tutti e due tal salva di calci e schiaffi da farne passare la voglia anche a dei gatti in gennaio. – Ah bricconi! Ah traditori! V'insegno io!... – La Violante ne portò un pezzo il segno sulla guancia. Ma ormai aveva preso gusto alle monellerie di Martino, sicché andava a cercarlo apposta dietro le quinte, fra le scene arrotolate, e i cassoni delle marionette, mentre lui smoccolava i lumi per la rappresentazione della sera, o soffiava sotto la marmitta posta su due sassi, nel cortiletto. Gli soffiava fra capo e collo dei sospiri che avrebbero acceso tutt'altro fuoco, pigliandosela colle stelle e coi barbari genitori. – Sta' tranquilla, – disse Martino, – sta' tranquilla che me la pagherà.
Adesso era lei che lo stuzzicava, vedendo che il ragazzo, ammaestrato dalle busse, stava all'erta pel principale, coll'orecchio teso e guardandosi intorno prima di allungare le mani verso di lei. Gli portava di nascosto i migliori bocconi; gli serbava, in certi posti designati, il vino rimasto in fondo al fiasco; per rivolgergli le parole più semplici, dinanzi ai suoi, faceva un certo viso come avesse l'anima ai denti, col capo sull'omero e gli occhi di pesce morto; pigliava il tono delle _Clorinde_ e delle _Rosamunde_ per dirgli soltanto: – Bisogna andare per l'olio, Martino. – Guarda che non c'è più legna sotto la mangiatoia...
E quando lavorava accanto a lui, sul palco, con le _Artemisie_ in mano, gli buttava sul viso le parole infocate della parte, cogli occhi neri che mandavano lampi, e le labbra turgide che volevano mangiarselo.
«– O Cieli! Chi mai vedo a me dinanzi!... Mio signore... mio bene!»
– Lavora! lavora, sgualdrinella! – borbottava don Candeloro, allungando delle pedate, quando poteva.
– Com'è vero Dio! t'ho detto che me la pagherà! – rispose Martino fra i denti più di una volta. – «Sì, principessa adorata...»
E gliela fece pagare, un giorno che il principale era andato avanti a _procurar la piazza_ , e la Compagnia e la baracca seguivano dietro su di un carro. Martino e la Violante finsero di smarrirsi per certe scorciatoie, in mezzo ai fichi d'India, e raggiunsero poi la comitiva in cima alla salita, scalmanati; Martino trionfante, quasi avesse vinto un terno al lotto, e la Violante che sembrava davvero una principessa, sdilinquendo attaccata al suo braccio, e lagnandosi di avere male ai piedi.
Chi si lagnò sul serio poi fu don Candeloro, che non poteva più maneggiare quel birbo di Martino, divenuto insolente e pigro, minacciando ogni momento di piantar baracca e burattini e andarsene pei fatti suoi.
– Ora che t'ho insegnato la professione, e t'ho messo all'onor del mondo!... ribaldo, fellone!...
Violante piangeva e supplicava l'amante di non abbandonarla in quel punto.
– Che vuoi? – disse Martino. – Sono stanco di lavorare come un asino pei begli occhi di non so chi. Ci levano la pelle. Non ci lasciano respirare un momento, neppure per trovarci insieme...
In tre mesi soltanto quattro volte, di notte, a ruba ruba, con una paura del diavolo addosso! Una sera che babbo e mamma avevano mangiato bene e bevuto meglio, la ragazza andò a trovare il suo Martino in sottana, che sembrava la _Fata Bianca_ , sciogliendosi in lagrime come una fontana.
– Che facciamo, Dio mio?... Tu dormi invece!...
– Eh? Che vuoi fare? – rispose lui fregandosi gli occhi.
– Non posso più nascondere il mio stato... La mamma mi tiene gli occhi addosso... Bisogna confessare ogni cosa... Tu che hai più coraggio...
– Io, eh? Perché tuo padre mi dia il resto del carlino? Grazie tante! Piuttosto infilo l'uscio e me ne vo. Se tu vuoi venire con me, poi...
L'idea gli parve buona e l'accarezzò per un po' di tempo.
– Io so fare il salto mortale, l'uomo senz'ossa, il gambero parlante. Tu sei una bella ragazza... Sì, te lo dico in faccia... Vestita in maglia, a raccogliere i soldi col piattello, la gente non si farà tirar le orecchie per mettere mano alla tasca. Andremo pel mondo; ci divertiremo, e ciò che si guadagna ce lo mangeremo noi due. Ti piace?
Mai e poi mai don Candeloro si sarebbe aspettato un tradimento così nero. Proprio nel meglio della stagione, quando il pubblico cominciava ad abboccare, e da otto giorni che erano arrivati in paese, e avevano piantato le assi nel magazzino dell'arciprete Simola, s'intascavano soldi colla pala, e ogni sera si cenava! Fu allora che Martino e la Violante, sentendosi la pancia piena, sputarono fuori il veleno, e gli appiopparono il calcio dell'asino, la sera che il pubblico affollavasi in teatro per la continuazione delle imprese di _Guerin Meschino_ alla ricerca della _Fata Alcida_ , e prevedevasi più di venti lire d'incasso.
La moglie di don Candeloro, che da qualche tempo aveva dei sospetti e teneva d'occhio la figliuola, la sorprese tutta sossopra, dietro a Martino, il quale insaccava della roba. Violante, colta sul fatto, le si buttò ai piedi piangendo, come la _Damigella di Pacifero Re del Porchinos_ , quando svela il suo fallo al genitore.
– Ah, scellerata! – strillò la madre. – Cos'hai fatto? Tuo padre ora v'accoppa tutt'e due!
Don Candeloro sopraggiunse in quel punto, facendo il diavolo a quattro appena intese di che si trattava. Sua moglie gridando aiuto, Violante buttandosi dinanzi all'amante per difenderlo eroicamente a costo dei suoi giorni, Martino arrampicandosi sull'intelaiatura delle quinte, con tanto di temperino in mano, i ragazzi strillando tutti in coro: una scena al naturale che chiunque avrebbe pagato l'ingresso volentieri per godersela. Don Candeloro però non dimenticò neppure allora né chi era né quel che aveva a fare.
– Zitti tutti! – gridò colla voce solenne delle grandi rappresentazioni. – Adesso apparteniamo al pubblico, che comincia a venire in teatro. Tu, Grazia, va' alla porta, se no entrano di scappellotto. Aggiusteremo i conti dopo, in famiglia.
Figuriamoci la povera madre che doveva sorridere alla gente incassando i due soldi del biglietto, con quel pensiero e quello spavento adesso!... Le prime scene poi, mentre aiutava il marito che aveva le mani legate dai burattini, e non poteva andare a prendere pel collo i due infami che non comparivano a tempo coi loro personaggi!...
– Che diavolo fanno? Adesso è _l'entrata di Alcida._ Com'è vero Dio, mi rovinano la meglio scena!...
Il pubblico, che non sapeva niente di tutto ciò, aspettava l'entrata della _Fata Alcida_ , la quale doveva sedurre il _Meschino_ per bocca della Violante; e lo stesso _Meschino_ era rimasto colle braccia in aria, dondolandosi sulla punta dei piedi, e guardando la gente coi suoi occhi di vetro, come a chiedere: – Che succede adesso?
Succedeva che dietro le quinte c'era una casa del diavolo. Si udiva correre e bestemmiare, e a un certo punto la stessa scena, che figurava una bellissima loggia tutta istoriata a colonne gialle e turchine, ondeggiò come sorpresa dal terremoto. _Guerino_ alzò ancora le braccia al cielo, tirato in su sgarbatamente, e uscì di furia, col manto rosso che gli si gonfiava dietro.
– Tradimento! Infami saracini! Voglio berne il sangue! – si udì gridare don Candeloro colla sua voce naturale.
Il pubblico si mise a strepitare. Dei burloni che avevano adocchiato qualche bella ragazza nei primi posti, cominciavano a spegnere i lumi. – Fermi! Ehi! Non facciamo porcherie! – gridavano altri. Nella baraonda si udì il correre dei questurini, che le orecchie esercitate riconobbero subito al rumore degli stivali.
– Musica! musica! Non è niente! niente!
Ma non ce ne fu bisogno. _Guerino_ tornò in scena, piegandosi in due ad inchinare gli spettatori, e dall'altra parte comparve immediatamente la _Fata Alcida_ ; «di tanta bellezza adorna che la sua faccia splendeva come un sole» come spiegava a voce don Candeloro, il quale accese in quel punto un po' di magnesio, che fece un bel vedere sull'armatura di latta del _Meschino_ , e il manto della fata tutto a draghi e biscie d'orpello.
– Bravi! bis! – gridarono i compari, che non ne mancavano.
Si sarebbe udita volare una mosca. Da un canto il _Guerino_ , che faceva orecchio di mercante alle seduzioni della _Fata_ , e lei che ostinavasi a riscaldare in lui «le ardenti fiamme d'amore» diceva colla sua stessa bocca, e con certi atti di mano anche, tanto che il _Meschino_ dimenavasi tutto con un suon di ferraccia, e lasciava intender chiaramente «che se Dio per la sua grazia non gli avesse fatto tenere a mente gli avvertimenti dei _tre santi Romiti_ di certo sarìa caduto». La gente si sentiva drizzare i capelli in testa. Uno di lassù, nei posti da un soldo, gridò inferocito:
– Guardati, Meschino! Tradimento c'è!
Però gli avventori soliti avevano notato che quella non era la voce della _Fata Alcida_ , e gli stessi gesti che faceva, di qua e di là, all'impazzata, non avevano niente di naturale. Per certo qualcosa di grosso doveva essere avvenuto dietro le quinte. Sicché da prima furono osservazioni e mormorii, e poi vennero le male parole. Infine allorché invece dei draghi e degli altri incantesimi che dovevano far nascere il finimondo, don Candeloro cercò di cavarsela con una manata di pece greca e picchiando su due scatole di petrolio per imitare il fracasso dei tuoni, scoppiò davvero l'inferno in platea: urli, fischi, bucce d'arance e pipe rotte, che pareva volessero sfondare il sipario. – Pubblico rispettabile, – venne a dire la moglie di don Candeloro più morta che viva, e con un occhio pesto, – ora viene una bella farsa tutta da ridere, nuovissima per queste scene. Onorateci e compatiteci.
Che farsa! La gente era lì dall'avemaria per godersi appunto la gran scena dell'incantesimo, e aveva speso i suoi denari per vedere «i personaggi» che si azzuffavano sul serio menando botte da orbi, e non don Candeloro, il quale fingeva di prendersi le legnate dal randello imbottito di stoppa e se la rideva poi sotto il naso. Parecchi si buttarono sulla cassetta. Ci fu un piglia piglia fra le guardie e i più lesti di mano. I comici saltarono giù dal palcoscenico, così come si trovavano, mezzo vestiti per la farsa, gridando e strepitando anche loro. Don Candeloro colla camicia di _Pulcinella_ , scappò a correre verso la campagna, al buio in cerca dei fuggitivi, giurando d'accopparli tutt'e due, se li pigliava.
– Li ho visti io, – disse un ragazzo: ce n'è sempre di cotesti. – Son fuggiti per di qua.
Martino e la Violante correvano ancora infatti, tanta era la paura. Allorché incontravano dei carri per la strada, Violante si buttava dietro una siepe, poich'era in sottanina bianca, così come aveva potuto svignarsela mentre vestivasi per la farsa. Martino, più furbo, fingeva d'andare pe' fatti suoi, o di allacciarsi una scarpa. Poi, quando furono ben lontani, si accoccolarono dietro un muro, e mangiarono del salame, che Martino, innamorato com'era, aveva pensato a mettere da parte. Violante, più delicata e sensibile, badava piuttosto a guardare le stelle, pensando a quel che aveva fatto.
– Dove si va adesso? – chiese sbigottita.
– Domani lo sapremo – rispose lui colla bocca piena.
Cominciava a spuntare il giorno. Violante non aveva portato altro che uno scialletto logoro, sulla sottanina, e tremava dal freddo.
– Hai paura forse? – chiese lui.
– No... no... con te, mio bene...
Le venivano in mente allora le parlate d'amore che aveva imparato a memoria pei burattini, allorché Martino rispondeva colla voce grossa e facendo smaniare d'amore _Orlando_ e _Rinaldo._ Così le damigelle e le principesse si lasciavano rapire dall'amante sui cavalli alati. Martino fermò un carrettiere che andava per la stessa via, e combinò di montare sul carro, lui e la Violante, pagando.
– Hai dei soldi? – chiese lei sottovoce.
– Sì, sta' zitta.
Dopo, per giustificarsi, si sfogò a dir male dei genitori di lei, che li facevano lavorare per nulla e si arricchivano a spese loro. – Infine, – conchiuse, – ho preso il mio. Tanto tempo che tuo padre non mi dava un baiocco.
Però la Violante non aveva appetito, sentendosi sullo stomaco la paura del babbo, e il peso di quell'azionaccia che Martino gli aveva fatto mettendo le mani nella cassetta. Lui invece era allegro come un fringuello; accarezzava la ragazza e faceva cantare i soldi in tasca; nelle strade maestre ci stava come a casa sua, e ad Augusta le fece far l'entrata in ferrovia come una principessa.
– Vedi! – le disse, pigliando i due biglietti di terza classe. – Vedi come tratto io!
Da principio non andava male. Violante era un po' goffa, un po' pesante; ma allorché girava in tondo su di un piede, o s'arrampicava sul dorso di Martino, scopriva tali attrattive che la gente correva in piazza a vedere, e metteva volentieri mano alla tasca. Martino chiudeva un occhio quando correvano anche dei pizzicotti, sottomano, mentre la ragazza girava contegnosa col piattello fra la folla. Pazienza! il mestiere voleva così. Oggi qua, domani lontani delle miglia. – Dove ti rivedranno poi gli sciocchi che si lasciano spillare i soldi per la tua bella faccia? – In compenso si mangiava e beveva allegramente, e lui andava a letto ubbriaco, sinché il diavolo ci mise la coda...
La Violante si ubbriacava pure agli applausi e alle esclamazioni salate del pubblico, sicché scorciava sempre più il sottanino, e rischiava di rompersi l'osso del collo nel fare il capitombolo. Per disgrazia s'accorse nello stesso tempo che bisognava slargare di giorno in giorno la cintura, e che le dolevano le reni nel fare le forze. Già quei baffetti gliel'avevano detto a Martino, che non l'avrebbe passata liscia. Sicché le rinfacciava che quando sarebbe divenuta grossa come il tamburone, il pubblico li avrebbe lasciati in piazza tutt'e due a grattarsi la pancia. Per giunta poi aveva dei sospetti su di un Tizio che correva dietro alla Violante, da un paese all'altro, e tirava a farlo becco.
Ne aveva avuti tanti la bella figliuola degli spasimanti che ustolavano dietro il suo gonnellino corto: militari, bei giovani, signori che avrebbero speso tesori! Nossignore! Ecco che ti va a cascare in bocca a quel disperato che portava tutta la sua bottega al collo, e girava anch'esso per il mondo a vendere spilli e mercerie di qua e di là. Per un palmo di nastro la brutta carogna si era venduta! Martino n'ebbe la certezza quando glielo vide al collo, e vide pure il merciaiuolo che lo pigliava colle buone anche lui, e gli pagava da bere per tenerlo allegro.
– Aspetta! – ghignava fra sé e sé Martino alzando il gomito. – Aspetta, che vogliamo ridere meglio quando verrà il momento che dico io!
Tollerò ancora un po', per necessità, finché la Violante poté aiutarlo a raccogliere soldi sulle piazze, odiandola internamente e dandole in cuor suo tutti i titoli che aveva imparato nei trivii. Poi, un bel giorno, accortosi che il merciaio allungava le mani sotto la tavola verso la Violante, mentre desinavano insieme come amici e fratelli all'osteria, fece una scena indiavolata, tirando fuori il coltello, minacciando gli amici che si frapponevano a metter pace.
– Che pace! Con quella canaglia? Voglio mangiargli il cuore a tutti e due! – sbraitò raccogliendo i suoi cenci, e tanti saluti alla compagnia!
Il povero merciaio, che si vide cadere sulle braccia la Violante più morta che viva, e gravida di sette mesi per giunta, protestò la sua innocenza, e se la diede a gambe anche lui, la stessa notte. Sicché la sventurata rimase senza amici e senza quattrini, in mezzo a una via, e dovette lasciare all'Ospizio di Maternità il frutto del suo bell'amore.
Così babbo don Candeloro, passando da quelle parti, raccolse di nuovo nell'ovile la pecorella smarrita, ché la misericordia paterna è grande assai, e la ragazza, nel teatro delle MARIONETTE PARLANTI, riusciva di molto aiuto, massime ora che la mamma cominciava a sentire gli acciacchi degli anni e della figliuolanza. Violante lavava, cucinava, aiutava i fratelli nelle prove, mentre il genitore smaltiva l'uggia al caffè. Le marionette in mano sua parlavano davvero. Se la mettevano poi a riscuotere i soldi, in maglia carnicina, la gente entrava in teatro soltanto per rasentarle i fianchi. Sembrava la _Fortuna_ delle «Marionette parlanti» come si suol dipingere, col piede sulla ruota e rovesciando il corno dell'abbondanza sul prossimo suo.
– Madre natura m'ha fatto così, – ripeteva dal canto suo don Candeloro nel crocchio degli amici, che si rinnovavano sempre in ogni paese e in ogni caffè nuovo, – il cuore largo come il mare e le braccia aperte...
Cogli anni era diventato filosofo. Aveva imparato a conoscere i capricci della sorte e l'ingratitudine degli uomini. Perciò pigliava il tempo come veniva, e gli amici dove li trovava. Si contentava di portare il corno di corallo fra i ciondoli dell'orologio, e un ferro di cavallo, del piede sinistro, inchiodato sulle assi della baracca.
Era andata su e giù quella baracca. Una volta, quando i figliuoli, fatti grandicelli, aiutavano anch'essi colle forze e nelle pantomime, le MARIONETTE PARLANTI contavano fra le prime di quante ne fossero in giro, e si stava bene. Poi i ragazzi erano sgattaiolati di qua e di là, in cerca di miglior fortuna o dietro la gonnella di qualche donnaccia dello stesso mestiere, e don Candeloro per aiutarsi era stato costretto a riprender Martino che aveva incontrato a Giarratana povero in canna, e ridotto a far qualsiasi cosa per il pane.
– Sono nato senza fiele in corpo, come i colombi, – disse allora don Candeloro. – Le anime grandi si conoscono appunto al perdono delle offese. Se mi prometti di non tornar da capo, ti piglio di nuovo in Compagnia, a quindici lire il mese, alloggio e vitto compreso.
– Sia pure, – rispose Martino che moriva di fame. – Lo fo per amor della Violante, che un giorno o l'altro deve esser mia moglie e legittima sposa. Ma intendiamoci, vossignoria, che non son più un ragazzo!... e se tornate a giocar di mano o a farmi patir la fame, ci guastiamo per l'ultima volta, com'è vero Dio!
Si rappattumarono anche colla Violante, per intromissione del babbo, il quale però prescrisse che dormissero lontani l'uno dall'altra, in omaggio al buon costume, finché fossero stati marito e moglie. Messosi così l'animo in pace, tornò agli amici e all'osteria, ora che al resto badavano gli altri. Nondimeno capitava spesso di dover sospendere le rappresentazioni per due settimane o tre a causa della Violante, la quale era costretta a tornare di tanto in tanto all'Ospizio di Maternità. Il fidanzato allora vomitava ogni sorta di improperii contro di lei, pigliandosela anche con la suocera, la quale non sapeva tenere gli occhi aperti come faceva lui, protestando di non averci colpa; e don Candeloro metteva pace e tornava a ripetere che quella storia doveva avere un termine, e che li avrebbe menati per le orecchie dinanzi al sindaco tutti e due, e l'avrebbe fatta finita.
Disgraziatamente i tempi non dicevano. Le marionette facevano pochi affari, e la Violante protestava che se Martino non arrivava a metter su teatro da sé, sinché doveva portar lei sola tutta la baracca sulle spalle, non voleva mettersi pure quell'altra catena al collo, e preferiva restar zitella come sant'Orsola. Lei invece sapeva ingegnarsi col suo pubblico, di qua e di là, e per mezzo delle beneficiate e dei regali riusciva a porre da parte qualche soldo. Don Candeloro vedeva già il momento in cui gli avrebbero dato il calcio dell'asino, come aveva fatto lui con suo padre.
– Così paga il mondo! Non tutti hanno il cuore a un modo!
E ci aveva pure un'altra spina nel cuore il povero vecchio, al vedere la condotta che teneva la figliuola, e rodendosi internamente contro quella bestia di Martino che non si accorgeva di nulla. Accettava, è vero, per amor della pace, le cortesie e gli inviti a cena dei protettori che la figliuola sapeva trovare in ogni piazza; si lasciava mettere in fondo alla tuba il cartoccio coi dolci o gli avanzi del desinare per la sua vecchiarella che aspettava a casa; ma stava a tavola di mala voglia, senza alzare il naso dal piatto, col cuore grosso. E vedendo Martino che macinava a due palmenti, cuor contento, quell'altro! gli dava fra sé certo titolo che non aveva mai portato, lui!...
– Ah, no! Non nacqui sotto quella stella, io!
# Paggio Fernando
– Paggio Fernando sarà lei! – esclamò il signor Olinto, puntando l'indice peloso. – Lei sarà un amore di _paggio_ , parola d'onore!
Don Gaetanino Longo, rosso dal piacere, seguitò a tormentare i baffetti che non spuntavano ancora, e balbettò:
– Se crede... se le pare...
– E come! e come! – Il capocomico, col pugno sull'anca e il busto all'indietro, colla tuba bisunta sull'orecchio, e il mento ispido in mano, saettando un'occhiata sicura di conoscitore di fra le setole delle sopracciglia aggrottate, continuava a dire:
– Ma sicuro! Lei ha il fisico che ci vuole! Faranno una bella _macchia_ insieme alla mia Rosmunda!
Allora scoppiarono i malumori e le gelosie fra i dilettanti raccolti intorno al biliardo nel Casino di conversazione. Si udì prima un'osservazione timida, come un sospiro; poscia il coro delle lagnanze: Perché è figliuolo del sindaco!... Perché torna dagli studi col solino alto tre dita!...
– Eh?... Che cosa?... Dicano, dicano pure liberamente. Siam qui apposta per intenderci... fra amici...
Si fece avanti un giovanotto magro e barbuto, sotto un gran cappellaccio nero, e cominciò:
– Io vorrei... Non dico per la distribuzione delle parti... Non me ne importa... Ma quanto alla scelta della produzione... Mi pare che sarebbe ora di finirla colla camorra...
– Eh? Che dice? Non le piace la _Partita a scacchi_ dell'avvocato Giacosa?... Lavoro applaudito in tutte le piazze!...
L'altro fece una spallata, e l'accompagnò con un risolino che diceva assai. Don Gaetanino, che pigliava le parti dell'avvocato Giacosa, come si sentisse già sulle spalle la responsabilità della parte affidatagli, tirava grosse boccate di fumo dal virginia lungo un palmo, col cuore alla gola.
– Vediamo. Mi trovi di meglio. Cerchi lei, signor... signor...
Il giovanotto s'inchinò; cavò fuori dal portafogli un biglietto di visita, e lo presentò con un altro inchino al signor Olinto.
– Ah! ah! corrispondente della _Frusta teatrale_ e dell' _Ape dei teatri_?... Felicissimo! Io non domando di meglio che contentare la libera stampa e la pubblica opinione... Vediamo, dica lei. Mi suggerisca, signor... – E tornò a leggere il biglietto di visita.
– Barbetti, per servirla.
– Signor Barbetti, dica lei... Se ci ha sotto mano qualche altra cosa che si adatti meglio al gusto di questo colto pubblico... Qualche lavoro di polso...
Barbetti si faceva pregare, masticando delle scuse, fingendo di ribellarsi all'amico Mertola, il quale moriva dalla voglia di tradire il segreto dell'amico Barbetti. Infine Mertola non seppe più frenarsi, e alzò la voce, scostandosi dall'amico, additandolo al pubblico per quel grand'uomo che egli era.
– Il lavoro di polso c'è... inedito... la sua _Vittoria Colonna_!... Gli è costata due anni di lavoro!...
– Ah! ah! – fece il capocomico. – Ah! ah! e me lo teneva nascosto, lei! Non sa ch'io sono ghiotto di simili primizie?
Barbetti s'arrese infine, e tirò fuori dal soprabitino un rotolo legato con un nastro verde.
– Adesso? – rispose il signor Olinto. – Su due piedi? Che mi canzona, caro lei?... Un lavoro di polso come il suo!... Bisogna vedere... bisogna studiare... Intanto dò un'occhiata...
Colla schiena appoggiata alla sponda del biliardo e il mento nel bavero di pelliccia, andava sfogliando le pagine, aggrottato, e borbottava:
– Bene, bene!... Effetto scenico!... Bei pensieri!... Stile elevato!... In questa parte la mia signora... Non le dico altro!...
– Con permesso! con permesso! – interruppe il cameriere del Casino, spingendosi avanti a gomitate. – Ecco qui don Angelino e il notaro Lello. Devo preparare il biliardo per la solita partita.
Il capocomico si cacciò la mazza sotto l'ascella, e raccattò gli scartafacci e i telegrammi sparsi sul panno verde.
– Va bene, va bene. Ne riparleremo. Intanto bisogna far girare la pianta.
Fu il più difficile. I giuocatori di tressetti rispondevano picche, e brontolavano contro quel forestiere che portava la jettatura. Seduta stante si dovettero ribassare i prezzi. Ma l'avvocato Longo, sentendo che c'era per aria un dramma dell'avvocato Barbetti, repubblicano e suo avversario nel Consiglio, una gherminella per togliere la parte di Paggio Fernando al suo figliuolo, dichiarò che non dava il teatro per rappresentazioni immorali e sovversive. Il signor Olinto, che andava mostrando la pianta del teatro col cappello in mano, gli disse:
– Ma che! Lei ci crede alla _Vittoria Colonna_? Una porcheria! Servirà per accendere la pipa. Lasci fare a me che so fare... Me ne trovo tra i piedi una ogni piazza, delle _Vittorie!..._
– Bene, faccia lei. Ma a buon conto sa che al sindaco spetta un palco, e un altro alla Commissione teatrale, senza contare il tanto per cento sull'introito lordo a beneficio dell'Asilo Infantile.
Le trattative durarono otto giorni. Il signor Olinto si scappellava con tutto il paese, per rabbonire la gente, e la signorina Rosmunda aiutava dal balcone, civettando, vestita di seta, con un libro in mano, mentre la mamma badava alla cucina. Don Gaetanino Longo, oramai sicuro del fatto suo, aveva confidato all'amico Renna:
– Quella me la pasteggio io!
E passava e ripassava sotto il balcone, succhiando il virginia, a capo chino, rosso come un pomodoro, lanciando poi da lontano occhiate incendiarie.
Il signor Olinto, che l'incontrava spesso, gli disse infine:
– Voglio presentarti alla mia signora. Così ti affiaterai pure con Jolanda.
Il tu glielo aveva scoccato a bruciapelo, fin dal primo giorno. Ma quel tratto d'amicizia commosse davvero don Gaetanino. Trovarono la signorina Rosmunda che stava leggendo accanto al lume posato su di un cassone, colla fronte nella mano, la bella mano delicata e bianca che sembrava diafana. Aveva i capelli nerissimi raccolti e fermati in cima al capo da un pettine di tartaruga, un casacchino bianco e un cerchietto d'argento, dal quale pendeva una medaglina, al polso. Da prima alzò il capo arrossendo e fece un bell'inchino al figliuolo del sindaco. Gli occhioni scuri e misteriosi sotto le folte sopracciglia lasciarono filare uno sguardo lungo che gli cavò l'anima, a lui! Ma in quella comparve la mamma infagottata in una vecchia pelliccia, coll'aria malaticcia, un fuoco d'artificio di ricciolini inanellati sulla fronte, e le mani, nere di carbone, nei mezzi guanti.
– Da artisti, alla buona, senza cerimonie – disse il signor Olinto. E cominciò a parlare dei suoi trionfi e delle famose candele che gli dovevano tanti autori che adesso andavano tronfi e pettoruti; e delle birbonate che aveva salvato da un fiasco sicuro, e passavano ora per capolavori.
– Anche quella _Vittoria Colonna_ , vedi, se mi ci mettessi!...
Don Gaetanino assentiva col viso e con tutta la persona. Ma intanto guardava di sottecchi la figliuola, che aveva il viso lungo e il naso del babbo, ingentiliti da un pallore delicato, da una trasparenza di carnagione che sembrava vellutata, dalla polvere di cipria abbondante, e da una peluria freschissima che agli angoli della bocca metteva l'ombra di due baffetti provocanti. Essa di tratto in tratto gli saettava addosso di quelle occhiate luminose che lo irradiavano internamente.
– Ah! anche il signore si occupa?...
– Sì. Non hai inteso? Lui è Paggio Fernando...
Essa allora gli piantò addosso gli occhi e non li mosse più, perché egli vedesse ch'erano proprio belli. Il babbo colse giusto quel momento per passare in cucina; e don Gaetanino, sentendo di dover spifferare qualche cosa, balbettò col cuore che battevagli forte:
– Signorina!... son fortunato!... davvero!...
– Oh! Che dice mai?... Piuttosto io!...
– Il bicchiere dell'amicizia! – interruppe il signor Olinto tornando con una bottiglia in mano e gli occhi già accesi – Da artisti, alla buona. Scuserai... Non abbiamo mica il buon vino che bevete voi altri proprietari del paese...
La ragazza non volle bere. Il giovanetto, per cortesia, bagnò appena le labbra in quell'aceto, dicendole:
– Alla sua salute!
Essa alzò gli occhi su di lui, e lo ringraziò con quella sola occhiata.
– Divino!... Squisito! – sentenziò don Gaetanino, che non sapeva più quel che si dicesse. – Vi manderò domani un po' di quel vecchio... Questo qui è eccellente... Non c'è che dire... Ma domani...
La mamma voleva protestare. Il marito le chiuse la parola in bocca:
– Per qualche bottiglia di vino... Non è un gran male. Non è un regalo di valore. Fra amici... pel bicchiere dell'amicizia. Già verrai a berlo anche tu... la sera, quando non avrai altro da fare... intanto vi affiaterete con Jolanda.
Jolanda appoggiò l'invito con un'altra occhiata, e Paggio Fernando balbettò:
– Sì!... certamente!... felicissimo!...
Stava poi per rompersi l'osso del collo quando imboccò la botola della scaletta. Fuori c'era un bel chiaro di luna, una striscia d'argento fredda e silenziosa che divideva la strada in due. Egli camminava in quella striscia d'argento, col piede leggiero, il cervello spumante, il virginia rivolto al cielo, il cuore che batteva a martello, e gli diceva: – È tua! è tua!
A casa trovò una lavata di capo per l'ora tarda, e andò a letto senza cena. Il povero giovane passò una notte deliziosa, cogli occhi sbarrati nel buio, a veder pettini di tartaruga e occhiate lucenti che illuminavano la camera. Appena uscito, il giorno dopo, provò subito una smania di correre dall'amico Renna.
– Una divinità, caro mio! Una cosa da ammattire!
Renna, ch'era indiscreto, volle sapere a che punto fossero le cose, e lo costrinse a inventare dei particolari.
– Benone! – conchiuse. – Sai però cosa ti dico? Alla lesta! Non perdere il tempo a filare il sentimento. Già è donna di teatro; non ti dico altro!
– Io?... Filare il sentimento?... – borbottò Gaetanino, quasi reputandosi offeso. – Vedrai!...
Ma il signor Olinto era lì ogni sera, a fumare la pipa e centellinare il vino dell'amicizia. Quando lui usciva a prender aria poi, la mamma, che stava appisolata in un cantuccio, collo scaldino sotto le sottane, apriva un occhio. Filavano le occhiate, del resto, che era uno struggimento, e le pedate sotto la tavola, e il fuoco e l'accenno di certe frasi, alle prove:
> _Io ti guardo negli occhi che son tanto belli!!!_
– Così! – esclamava il capocomico, picchiando della mazza per terra. – Faremo saltare in aria il teatro!
Intanto quel briccone di Barbetti metteva dei bastoni nelle ruote. Erano giunte due copie della _Frusta teatrale_ con un articolaccio che diceva ira di Dio della camorra letteraria ed artistica, e fecero il giro del paese. La pianta del teatro rimaneva mezzo vuota. Don Gaetanino, per onore di firma, dovette prendere un palco ad insaputa del genitore. C'erano pure delle altre nubi in quel cielo azzurro. Il vino vecchio scorreva com'olio; e l'amico Olinto qualche volta, conducendolo a braccetto per le strade remote, gli faceva delle confidenze:
– Sono sulle spese... Otto giorni inoperoso sulla piazza... La recita non va... – Don Gaetanino dovette carpire le chiavi del magazzino e vendere del grano di nascosto.
Intanto il capocomico, per rabbonire il corrispondente della _Frusta teatrale_ e dell' _Ape dei teatri_ , aveva tirato in casa pur lui, a studiare _Vittoria Colonna_ , insieme alla sua signora e alla ragazza. Quando don Gaetanino trovò anche Barbetti installato accanto alla Rosmunda, col cappellaccio in testa e il bicchiere in mano, fece tanto di muso, e andò a sedere in disparte.
– Lei mi deve fare entrare Vittoria alla terza scena – stava dicendo il capocomico. – C'è più interesse e movimento. Un valletto solleva la tenda, giusto all'ultima battuta mia: «sulla tua corona superba, il mio piede sovrano di pezzente!...» e comparisce lei, bella, maestosa, imponente...
E così dicendo additò la sua signora. Costei al richiamo spalancò gli occhi di botto, e si rizzò sulla vita, col viso di tre quarti, e un sorriso sospeso all'angolo della bocca. Rosmunda finse di dover andare di là, e passando vicino a don Gaetanino disse piano:
– Che seccatore!...
– No! – ribatté Barbetti solennemente. – Non muto neppure una virgola! Mi farei tagliare la mano piuttosto!
– Ah! Bene! bene! Questo si chiama aver coscienza artistica! Non come tanti altri che magari vi aggiungono o tagliano degli atti intieri... quasi fosse un giuoco di bussolotti... Mi pareva soltanto... pel movimento scenico... per l'interesse... per la pratica che ci ho!... Ma già, lei è il miglior giudice. Alla sua salute!
Don Gaetanino vedeva nell'altra stanza lampeggiare al buio gli occhi della Rosmunda, la quale si voltava a guardarlo di tanto in tanto. Poi essa ritornò con un lavoro all'uncinetto e gli si mise allato.
– Che hai, Paggio Fernando?... – gli chiese sottovoce, con una musica deliziosa nella voce, e i begli occhi chini sul lavoro.
Allora senza curarsi di Barbetti, senza curarsi di nessuno, egli le disse il suo segreto, col viso acceso, colle parole calde che le balbettava all'orecchio come una carezza. Essa chinavasi sempre più sul lavoro, quasi vinta, scoprendo la nuca bianca. Poscia si sollevò con un sospiro lungo di cui non si udì il suono, appoggiando le spalle alla seggiola, colle mani abbandonate sul grembo, la testa all'indietro, il viso pallido, la bocca semiaperta, gli occhi languidi di dolcezza che si fissavano su di lui.
Ma quello sfacciato di Barbetti non se ne dava per inteso. Sembrava anzi che si pigliasse da sé la sua parte di confidenza e d'intimità in casa dei comici. Era lì ogni sera, stuzzicando la ragazza a fare il chiasso, bevendo il vino di don Gaetanino, giuocando a briscola col signor Olinto, sparlando di questo e di quello. – Da artisti! Una vita quieta e tranquilla, che si sarebbe dimenticato volentieri di cercar le piazze e le scritture, in quell'angolo del mondo! – diceva il capocomico. Quando non c'era l'amico Barbetti, faceva dei _solitari_ , o si esercitava in certi giuochi di mano coi quali aveva messo sossopra dei teatri. Don Gaetanino, purché lo lasciassero quieto nel suo cantuccio, portava nelle tasche del cappotto salsicciotti e altri salumi, che piacevano tanto alla mamma, felicissimo quando poteva starsene insieme alla Rosmunda, colle mani intrecciate, guardandosi negli occhi, spasimando di desiderio, e volgendo le spalle agli altri.
– Eh? a che punto siamo? – chiedeva il Renna di tanto in tanto. Don Gaetanino rispondeva con un sorriso che voleva sembrar discreto.
– Ma c'è sempre Barbetti?
– Ci vado di notte... – confessò finalmente Gaetanino facendosi rosso, – dalla finestra!...
Tutto il paese sapeva ch'egli era l'amante della «prima donna» e papà Longo sequestrò le chiavi della dispensa, vedendo diradare i salsicciotti appesi al solaio, e avendo anche dei sospetti quanto al grano e al vino vecchio. Fu un affare serio, poiché l'orologio d'argento messo in pegno non durò neanche quarantott'ore. Per giunta il povero don Gaetanino era geloso di quella bestia di Barbetti, il quale colla Rosmunda si pigliava troppa libertà, senza educazione, subito in confidenza, con quelle manacce sudicie sempre per aria, e le barzellette salate che facevano ridere la ragazza. Due o tre volte, giungendo prima dell'ora solita, li aveva trovati a tavola tutti quanti, mangiando e bevendo alla sua barba. Vero è che Rosmunda si era alzata subito, con un pretesto, ed era venuta a dirgli in un cantuccio:
– Quel seccatore!... L'ho sempre fra i piedi!
Le prove tiravano in lungo, come la vendita dei biglietti per la serata. Il signor Olinto passava le giornate dal barbiere, al caffè, nelle spezierie, dando anche la sera una capatina nel Casino di conversazione, cavando fuori ogni momento la pianta, fermando la gente per le strade col cappello in mano. Aveva pure radunata una Commissione, «senza colore politico», per _proteggere la serata_ , il presidente della Società operaia insieme al vice pretore, i quali avevano accettato soltanto per godersi la _Partita a scacchi_ gratis. A Barbetti poi diceva, con una strizzatina d'occhi che doveva chetarlo:
– Abbi pazienza! Prima bisogna adescare il pubblico con quella roba lì! Più tardi poi... se abboccano... fuoco alla grossa artiglieria! E diamo mano all'arte sul serio!
Perciò ogni mattina alle 10, tutti in teatro per le prove: lui gesticolando colla canna d'India in mano e predicando dentro il bavero di pelo; la sua signora, come una marmotta, colla sciarpa di lana intorno al capo; Rosmunda col nasino rosso sul manicotto di pelle di gatto, e la veletta imperlata dal freddo.
– Là! Fatemi suonare quei versi!
> _Oh! Ma non sai, Jolanda, che ho giuocato la vita_?
– Flon! flon! flon! La gamba un po' più avanti! La mano sul petto! Viva quella mano, perdio! che palpiti e frema! Tu sei innamorato della mia ragazza...
Il fatto è che a dirglielo in versi dinanzi a tanta gente, don Gaetanino diventava un minchione. C'erano pure gli altri dilettanti, in posizione, ad aspettare la loro battuta colla bocca mezzo aperta, e il cappellaccio di Barbetti che andava svolazzando al buio per la platea, come un uccello di malaugurio.
Jolanda al contrario, padrona di sé e del palcoscenico, si muoveva come una regina, agitava drammaticamente il manicotto, si piantava sull'anca, col seno palpitante, il torso audace, gli occhi stralunati sotto la veletta.
> _Tu giungesti, Fernando, tu che sei forte e bello,_
>
> _E una voce nell'anima mi gridò tosto: È quello!..._
– Perdio! Porca fortuna! – il babbo picchiava con forza il bastone sulle tavole. – Un insieme come questo!... Il pubblico balzerà in piedi, vi dico!... Dove me lo trovate?... Li tengo negli stivali tutti quei cavalieri e commendatori, quanto a saper mettere in scena!... È che la fortuna!...
Allora se la pigliava colla cabala, col gusto corrotto del pubblico, coi tempi che non dicevano, e deplorava che ora si corra dietro all'apparato, ai vestiti delle prime attrici, roba che non ha nulla a fare coll'arte, anzi che la corrompe. Un'artista, per contentare tutti al giorno d'oggi deve fare quel mestiere!
Don Gaetanino, mortificato, scusavasi col dire:
– Sicuro... quando avrò il costume... Adesso, con questi abiti... mi sento tutto...
Finalmente, papà Longo sequestrò anche le chiavi del magazzino. Allora il signor Olinto accorciò le prove. A Barbetti, che gli ronzava sempre intorno colla _Vittoria Colonna_ , disse chiaro e tondo:
– Mio caro, se mi dai teatro pieno, volentieri... Ma se no, salutami tanto Donna Vittoria. Da tre settimane son qui sulle spese!
Sembrava che la sera della recita alla Rosmunda le parlasse il cuore. Nervosa, irrequieta, correndo ogni momento dinanzi allo specchio per darsi un po' di cipria, o per accomodarsi meglio la parrucca bionda.
Appena i tre violini della Filarmonica attaccarono il valzer di _Madama Angot_ , essa stessa si buttò singhiozzando nelle braccia di Paggio Fernando, il quale aspettava dietro una quinta, irrigidito, e lo baciò sulla bocca, lievemente, tenendolo discosto per non sciupare il belletto.
– Che hai, Rosmunda?...
– Ora andremo via... fra qualche giorno!... Non ci vedremo più!
Comparve all'improvviso il babbo, come uno spettro, infarinato, bianco di pelo, colle calze bianche della moglie tirate sulle polpe, e due ditate nere sotto gli occhi: – Ragazzi! attenti! Fuori di scena!
Andò a rotta di collo la _Partita a scacchi._ Sia che ci fosse «il partito contrario»; sia che Paggio Fernando, con quei stivaloni e quella penna di struzzo dinanzi agli occhi, perdesse la tramontana. Incespicò, s'impaperò, batté i piedi in terra, tornò da capo: insomma un precipizio. L'amico Olinto, bestemmiando nel barbone di bambagia, gli faceva degli occhiacci terribili. Jolanda fu lì lì per isvenire. Barbetti e tre o quattro amici suoi dal cappellaccio repubblicano, in piedi addirittura fischiavano come locomotive. La mamma di don Gaetanino e tutto il parentado se ne andarono prima che calasse la tela. Il Sindaco, furibondo, voleva fare arrestare tutti quanti.
Ma fu peggio il giorno dopo, quando il povero innamorato, di sera, pigliando le strade fuori mano, andò a trovare la Rosmunda, con tanto di muso e bisbetica, che gli fece appena la carità di un'occhiata e di una parola. Meno male l'amico Olinto, che non ne parlava più e badava soltanto a fare i conti dello spesato, e con Barbetti, il quale prometteva mari e monti, e aveva di nuovo intavolato il discorso della _Vittoria._
– Se avessi dato retta a me!... Quella è roba che fa ridere oramai... Non parlo per l'esecuzione...
Più di una volta, in quella sera disgraziata, don Gaetanino accarezzò l'idea del suicidio. Girovagò sin tardi per le strade buie come l'inferno. Andò a chinarsi sul parapetto del Belvedere, scivolando sui mucchi di sterro, colla morte nell'anima. Da per tutto, nella vallata scura e sinistra, nel cielo nuvoloso, sugli usci neri, vedeva il viso di lei rigido e chiuso; la vedeva ancora colla parrucca bionda e il bacio sulle labbra di carminio. Non chiuse occhio tutta la notte, tormentato da quella visione implacabile, colle stesse parole di Paggio Fernando che gli martellavano le tempie, ridicole, simili agli sghignazzamenti della platea, che gli facevano cacciare il capo disperatamente fra i guanciali.
Poi, come tutto passa, anche Rosmunda si calmò; il padre stesso di lei venne a cercarlo sin nella strada. Ricominciarono a far girare la pianta, e a parlare di un'altra recita con un «lavoro originale di penna paesana».
Il capocomico e Barbetti tornarono a passar la sera discorrendo di _Vittoria Colonna_ , egli e Rosmunda parlando di tutt'altro, a quattr'occhi, in un cantuccio, tenendosi le mani, benedicendo a quella _Vittoria_ che tratteneva ancora in paese papà Olinto e la sua ragazza. Ma la gente non voleva più saperne di mettere mano alla tasca per simili sciocchezze. Il teatro rimaneva quasi vuoto. Barbetti seguitava a pigliarsela colla camorra, e don Gaetanino era indebitato sino agli occhi. Infine suo padre, vedendo che quella musica non cessava, ed egli rischiava davvero di perdere il figliuolo che già gli si ribellava contro, tanto era innamorato, prese un partito eroico: salassò il bilancio comunale di un centinaio di lire, raccolse un altro gruzzoletto per contribuzione, e mandò i denari ai comici per le spese del viaggio.
Che agonia l'ultima sera! Che schianto mentre Rosmunda preparava i bauli colle mani tremanti, e la mamma faceva friggere in cucina un po' di pesce per la cena d'addio! Don Gaetanino seguì la Rosmunda anche lì, dinanzi alla mamma che voltava le spalle, tenendola per mano, appoggiati al muro tutti e due, la ragazza singhiozzando forte come una bambina, nei brevi istanti che la mamma discretamente li lasciava soli.
– Addio!... per sempre!... Non ci vedremo più!... Sempre così!... sempre così!...
Ora gli parlava a cuore aperto, lamentandosi a voce alta, a rischio d'essere udita da Barbetti. Che gliene importava? Non si sarebbero visti mai più! Così era stato sempre, tutta la sua vita, da un paese all'altro, ogni due o tre settimane uno strappo al cuore, appena il cuore si attaccava a qualcuno...
– Ti ho voluto bene, sai! Tanto bene! tanto! – E lo guardava fisso, accennando anche col capo, cogli occhi pieni di lagrime.
L'amico Olinto, baciandolo sulle due guancie, coi baffi ancora umidi di salsa, gli disse all'ultimo momento:
– Arrivederci, Paggio Fernando! Le montagne sole non si muovono. Chissà!... Rammentati l'amico Olinto, in giro pel mondo, e viva l'allegria!
Don Gaetanino Longo rimase Paggio Fernando: nel paese, all'Università, più tardi, quando vinse il concorso di notaio, consigliere comunale, maritato, padre di famiglia: Paggio Fernando! E la moglie, per giunta, gelosa come una tigre per quel soprannome che gli faceva sospettare non so che infedeltà.
Dopo un gran pezzo, a Roma, dove aveva accompagnato il Sindaco per certo affare del municipio, rivide in teatro la Rosmunda, acclamata, festeggiata, tutti gli occhi su di lei, tutte le mani che l'applaudivano. Provò un tuffo nel cuore, soffiandosi il naso come una trombetta, coi lucciconi di tanti anni addietro che gli tornavano agli occhi. Ma Renna, segretario comunale, ch'era con lui nello stesso palco, se la rideva invece nella barba grigia; e Severino, il suo ragazzo, di già alto così, gli fece capire quant'era sciocco.
– Guarda, papà che piange! Se è tutta una finzione!...
I ragazzi al giorno d'oggi hanno più giudizio dei vecchi.
# La serata della diva
– Sublime!... impareggiabile!... divina!... – acclamarono in coro gli ammiratori della seratante ammessi all'onore d'esprimerle a viva voce i loro entusiasmi.
– Celeste! – le soffiò sulla nuca Barbetti, il cronista teatrale.
La divina, imbacuccata nella pelliccia preziosa che la cameriera le aveva buttato premurosamente sulle spalle appena fra le quinte, ansante, col viso acceso, passò modestamente orgogliosa in mezzo alla folla degli amici che le facevano ala sino all'uscio del camerino, ringraziando col sorriso distratto i suoi ammiratori.
C'erano tutti quelli della _piazza._ Il principe d'Antona, in giacchetta, come uno che da per tutto si reputa in casa propria, Barbetti e il banchiere Macerata in cravatta bianca come dei principi; i soliti amici di tutte le prime donne che passano pel palcoscenico dell'Apollo. C'erano anche delle facce nuove, che se ne stavano timidamente in seconda fila: un giovanotto pallido e dagli occhi sfavillanti che tartagliava, una signora in voce di poetessa, la quale eclissavasi con affettazione dietro agli altri; e un po' in disparte il _Re di cuori_ , come lo chiamavano, il _patito_ della signora Celeste, un bel giovane taciturno che assumeva un'aria misteriosa. Barbetti scriveva già le impressioni della serata sul ginocchio, posando lo scarpino inverniciato sulla sponda del canapè, elegantissimo e insolente quand'era in cravatta bianca, mugolando fra le labbra:
– Ah, Celeste mia! Celeste voluttà!...
Lontano, al di là della scena buia e di un caos d'attrezzi, continuava ancora l'applauso, col crepitìo di un fuoco d'artifizio. Delle ballerine discinte si affacciavano alle ringhiere dei camerini soprastanti. Il buttafuori, in maniche di camicia, accorreva scalmanato. Le stesse voci plaudenti ripigliarono:
– Sentite! sentite!... Vi vogliono ancora!... Li avete proprio elettrizzati!...
La diva, nell'orgoglio del trionfo, fece un atto sublime di disdegno, lasciandosi cadere quasi sfinita sul canapè, accanto al ginocchio del cronista, e colla coda dell'occhio seguiva il lapis d'oro di lui, mentre rispondeva col solito sorriso stracco ai complimenti che le piovevano da ogni parte. L'impresario venne in persona a supplicarla «di accondiscendere al desiderio del pubblico», arruffato, gongolante, col sorriso cupido che voleva sembrar benevolo.
– Cara signora Celeste... abbiate pazienza!... un momentino solo!... Buttano sossopra il teatro, se no!...
La trionfatrice, a cui gli occhi sfavillavano di desiderio, ebbe però il coraggio di ripetere il magnanimo rifiuto, stringendosi nelle spalle, questa volta in barba all'uomo che teneva la cassetta. Ma il giornalista paternamente le tolse la pelliccia di dosso, senza dir nulla, e la spinse verso la ribalta in un certo modo che significava:
– Via, via, figliuola, non facciamo sciocchezze.
L'applauso, quasi soffocato sino allora, rinforzò a un tratto collo scrosciare impetuoso di una grandinata. Delle acclamazioni ad alta voce irruppero qua e là. E a misura che l'entusiasmo s'eccitava, propagandosi dall'uno all'altro, dei visi accesi, delle mani inguantate, dei petti di camicia candidissimi sembravano staccarsi confusamente dalla folla, e avanzarsi verso l'attrice. Più vicino, dinanzi a lei, dei professori d'orchestra si erano levati in piedi, plaudenti, e sino in fondo alla vasta sala, lungo la fila dei palchi gremiti di spettatori, nel brulichìo immenso della folla variopinta, si sentiva correre, quasi un fremito d'entusiasmo, l'eccitamento delle note d'Aida ancora vibranti nell'aria e dei seni ignudi che si gonfiavano mollemente, tutta la vaga sensualità diffusa per la sala, che rivolgevasi verso l'attrice e l'avviluppava come una carezza del pubblico intero – colle mani che si stendevano verso di lei per applaudirla – colle grida che inneggiavano al suo nome – col luccichìo dei cannocchiali che cercavano il suo sorriso ancora inebbriato, il sogno d'amore ch'era ancora nei suoi occhi, l'insenatura delicata del suo petto e la curva elegante della maglia che balenava tratto tratto fra le pieghe della tunica d'Aida, trasparente e semiaperta, quasi cedendo già all'invito delle braccia tese verso di lei, mentre essa inchinavasi dolcemente, col sorriso tuttora avido, volgendo sguardi lunghi e molli che cercavano l'amore della folla.
– Proprio così! – stava dicendo il giornalista che aveva fretta di andarsene a cena. – Stasera non ce n'è più per noialtri. Siamo in troppi, amici miei! Vi pare?... Dopo aver dato il cuore a duemila persone... e in musica per giunta!...
E Barbetti stonacchiò sotto il naso del _Re di cuori_ :
– Morir d'amor per te!... per teee!...
Il principe sorrise lievemente, stendendosi sul divano. Macerata, mentre la diva rientrava nel camerino, ribatté con molto spirito:
– Va bene. Vuol dire che noi rappresentiamo l'entusiasmo pubblico... la deputazione dei dimostranti venuta a prendere l' _accolade!..._ E la vogliamo, per bacco!
Così dicendo fece mostra di aprirle le braccia confidenzialmente. Ella vi mise soltanto la pelliccia, sedendo accanto al principe, il quale le baciò la mano.
– Un successone!... un vero trionfo! – ripeteva intanto il coro.
Ma essa non dava retta. Sembrava assorta, un po' stordita dell'applauso, e interrogava solo Barbetti con uno sguardo insistente.
Questi chinò il capo affermando, senza dire una parola.
– Ci penserete voi al telegrafo? – diss'ella un momento dopo.
Barbetti esitò.
– Va bene, ci penserò io... c'è tempo...
Una dozzina di persone pigiavansi nel camerino. E delle altre teste si ammonticchiavano all'uscio, degli altri visitatori sopraggiungevano: il direttore d'orchestra che veniva a congratularsi «del legittimo successo», un compositore famoso per cercare dei complimenti da per tutto, col pretesto di farne agli altri:
– Ah, signora Celeste, non ci siete che voi!... il vostro metodo!... la vostra voce!... l'arte vostra!...
Per cinque minuti si parlò anche d'arte e di musica. Il giovanetto tartaglione, strozzato dall'emozione, balbettò qualche frase sconnessa, facendosi rosso, di una fiamma sincera d'entusiasmo che avvivava le sue guance e i suoi occhi giovanili, e faceva sorridere la commediante. La poetessa si fece avanti alla fine, bisbigliando a mezza voce:
– Mia cara... Non ho saputo resistere... Quali sensazioni deliziose!...
Il principe si era alzato per cederle il posto; ma essa preferiva drappeggiarsi nel suo mantello, per recitare con voce dimessa un madrigale pomposo. Barbetti che si era messo a sedere sul bracciolo del canapè e la guardava insolentemente, si chinò poi all'orecchio della signora Celeste, dicendole:
– Ah, figliuola mia, se m'innamorate anche le donne, adesso!...
L'attrice riceveva tutti quegli omaggi negligentemente seduta sul canapè, come in trono, sorridendo a mala pena di tanto in tanto, in aria distratta, quasi tendesse ancora l'orecchio al rumore degli applausi, quasi cercando ancora il suo pubblico delirante coll'occhio assorto che fissavasi incerto su chi parlava. E tornava a sorridere incontrando gli occhi sfavillanti del giovinetto ingenuo che la divoravano. Fragranze rare e delicate emanavano dai fiori ammucchiati da per tutto, sulla poltrona, sulle seggiole, sul tavolinetto che reggeva lo specchio, fra le quinte: dei mazzi enormi, dei monogrammi inquadrati su dei cavalletti, delle giardiniere che impedivano il passo e che nessuno guardava; un profumo delizioso di vari odori che andava alla testa e inebbriava al pari della musica, al pari dell'amore d'Aida, al pari delle parole sonanti accompagnate dal ritmo armonioso, al pari degli applausi della platea, dei tanti visi accesi per lei, dei tanti cuori che essa aveva fatto palpitare, di tante fantasie e tanti vaghi desiderii che essa aveva destato e che erano venuti a deporsi ai suoi piedi, coll'adulazione ingenua e ardente del collegiale che aveva osato mandarle la sua dichiarazione d'amore per la posta, col francobollo da cinque centesimi: – «Stanotte vi ho sognata... Mi pareva di essere sotto un bell'albero, in un ameno giardino... e un usignuolo cantava colla vostra voce...» – oppure colla lusinga che era nell'articolo del giornale e nei versi dedicati a lei: «Celeste scende degli umani al core...» – «Per descrivere le impressioni veramente celestiali destate dal canto della grande artista signora Celeste...» Le parole e le frasi che l'avevano inneggiata in tanti modi si ripetevano in quel momento vagamente dentro di lei, quasi un'altra armonia interiore, tutte quante, le più insulse come le più artificiose; le facevano gonfiare il cuore egualmente del ricordo di tutti i suoi ammiratori – dall'adolescente imberbe che rizzavasi in piedi affascinato, dietro le spalle della mamma, nel palchetto di proscenio, al giornalista che smetteva il sorriso canzonatorio quando le parlava – al diplomatico che disertava il Circolo per lei, e le offriva le ultime fiamme avanzate dalle emozioni del giuoco e della _gran vita –_ all'operaio che le gridava brutalmente il suo entusiasmo dalla piccionaia. – Tutti, tutti. – Fin l'impresario che si mostrava amabile – fino il telegramma che andava a cercarla in capo al mondo – fino il cronista di provincia che assediava il portiere del suo albergo – dovunque, in ogni _piazza_ , fin nelle stagioni di riposo, ai bagni, ai quattro punti cardinali, sempre, lo stesso culto l'era stato tributato in tutte le lingue, lo stesso sentimento essa aveva letto in viso ad ammiratori di tutte le razze, il sentimento che le indicava il valore della sua persona e ispiravale l'amore di tutto ciò che riferivasi a lei, il teatro, l'arte, Aida, Valentina, Margherita, tutte le creazioni che incarnavansi in lei. E sentiva a momenti in quel trionfo di sé, in quell'orgoglio sconfinato del suo _io_ , una tenerezza, una gratitudine, una simpatia, un'indulgenza per tutti gli omaggi che erano venuti a lei, comunque fossero, da qualunque parte venissero, e che si personificavano in tanti ricordi, in tante date, dei momenti deliziosi, delle parole che le avevano fatto palpitare il cuore un momento, di qua e di là... Chi poteva rammentarsi? Delle fisonomie e dei lembi di paesaggio le tornavano dinanzi agli occhi, di tanto in tanto: dei visi che dovevano turbarsi anch'essi, quando leggevano il suo nome nelle gazzette sparse ai quattro venti della terra, o il suo ritratto, sparso anch'esso ai quattro venti della terra, tornava a cadere loro sott'occhio. L'avevano tutti, il suo ritratto, nel giornale illustrato, nella vetrina dell'editore, sulle cantonate della via; i fotografi lo tiravano a centinaia di dozzine, ed essa se lo lasciava dietro, in ogni città, a dozzine intere, per tutti quanti, come dava a tutti quanti i tesori del suo canto, le emozioni della sua anima, i segreti della sua bellezza. Perché accordare delle preferenze quando aveva bisogno dell'ammirazione di tutti? Perché imporsi certi riserbi, vincolare il suo cuore o il suo capriccio, se doveva mutare amici e paese a ogni mutar di stagione, se nessuno le sarebbe stato grato della costanza, se la sua dignità stessa di donna doveva essere diversa da quella delle altre? E una malinconica dolcezza le veniva da tanti ricordi confusi, nello stordimento e nella vaga lassezza di quell'ora. E sorrideva più volentieri al giovinetto bleso di cui l'adorazione ingenua ridava una specie di verginità a quelle memorie. E il bel _Re di cuori_ , collo sguardo supplichevole, implorava invano da lei quella sera l'occhiata complice che avrebbe dovuto assentire e promettere... Egli aspettava sempre, paziente e rassegnato, aiutando a porre in ordine lo stanzino, scegliendo i fiori da mettere da parte, cedendo il posto ai nuovi visitatori, dando sottovoce degli ordini alla cameriera, la quale affrettavasi a riporre i regali che brillavano sulla tavoletta, segnati da biglietti di visita. Macerata, che covava cogli occhi da un pezzo il suo, non seppe tenersi dal protestare:
– Come?... Senza farceli neppure ammirare?... Senza «farci vedere il cuore degli amici?»...
Gli astucci allora passarono di mano in mano, ammirati, lodati, sotto gli occhi sospettosi della cameriera, la quale si teneva ritta presso la cortina che nascondeva il fondo del camerino. Si ripeté un altro coro di esclamazioni:
– Bello! – Elegantissimo! – Stupendo! – Il banchiere insisteva sull'intenzione che esprimeva il suo dono, uno spillo a ferro di cavallo di brillanti. – «Per dare un bel calcio alla jettatura!» – Nella confusione poi alcuni dei biglietti che accompagnavano al dono il nome del donatore andarono smarriti, prima che la diva si fosse degnata di accorgersene. Un magnifico vezzo di perle non si sapeva più da chi fosse stato offerto.
– Eh, giacché siete tanto indiscreti... Sono stato io, là! – disse infine Barbetti.
Tutti quanti scoppiarono a ridere, compresa la signora Celeste, quasi Barbetti avesse spacciato la panzana più matta. Il principe assentì anche col capo. In quella fece capolino all'uscio un inserviente del palcoscenico, sorridendo alla seratante come uno che aspetti la mancia anche lui, porgendole a mano un biglietto di visita.
– C'è questo signore... Dice che la conosce tanto...
L'attrice studiava il biglietto, cercando di rammentarsi quel nome, quando entrò il signore che essa conosceva tanto, un bel giovane forestiero, riccioluto e azzimato all'ultima moda, il quale però rimase un po' male, trovandosi a un tratto in sì bella compagnia, al cospetto della diva in soglio che lo guardava d'alto in basso, per raccapezzarsi, e di tutta la sua corte.
– Scusatemi, Celeste... – balbettò lui. – Ho letto sui giornali... Presi subito il treno... Non potevo immaginare una cosa simile...
E com'ella seguitava a guardarlo in quel modo imbarazzante, senza rispondere, in mezzo al silenzio ostile di tutto l'uditorio, il povero giovine perse del tutto la tramontana, cercando d'aiutarsi alla meglio.
– Ettore... Ettore Baroncini di Sinigaglia... Vi rammentate... per la fiera?
– Ah!... – fece lei. – Oh!
Ettore Baroncini, incoraggiato dai due monosillabi insidiosi, si lasciò sfuggire:
– N'è passato del tempo, eh!
Non aggiunse altro, mortificato del sorriso glaciale di lei, che riprese immediatamente a discorrere col principe, volgendo le spalle all'amico Baroncini e alla fiera di Sinigaglia, con un certo sorriso fine per giunta, che aveva tutta l'aria d'esser dedicato a lui, e che gli tolse il coraggio finanche d'andarsene insalutato ospite, e lo inchiodò al posto in cui era.
– Allora – riprese Barbetti, quasi continuando un discorso incominciato. – Allora direi che il donatore incognito è già bell'e trovato... E vuol dire che non sarò stato io, pazienza!
D'Antona, mentre gli altri si accingevano a ridere di nuovo, disse galantemente alla bella signora:
– Chiunque sia stato l'ammiratore incognito... Ne avete tanti!... Volete permettermi di rappresentarlo?
Ella che aveva già indovinato sorridendo gli stese la mano, che il principe si mise a baciare ghiottamente, fra il serio e il faceto, sulla palma, sul polso, salendo su pel braccio che sembrava inzuccherato dalla polvere di cipria, mentre la Celeste rideva quasi le facesse il solletico, fingendo di voler svincolarsi, esclamando:
– No! no! basta! Così ve la pigliate per venti ammiratori!
Macerata reclamava intanto la sua parte, e degli altri pure, cortesemente. Solo la poetessa accomiatavasi a labbra strette, e il giornalista agitava il _gibus_ quasi per scacciare delle mosche, ripetendo:
– Via, via, signori miei... dinanzi alla gente... dei forestieri anche!...
Il signore forestiero, ancora rosso dall'emozione, aveva fatto la bocca al riso anche lui, per non restar da grullo, tormentandosi i baffi, girando intorno, suo malgrado, uno sguardo inquieto, sulla comitiva di cui la sola faccia simpatica gli sembrò allora quella del bel giovane taciturno, il quale lisciavasi i baffi anche lui, sorridendo a fior di labbro anche lui. Di fuori intanto il macchinista strepitava per far sgombrare il palcoscenico:
– La vita!... Signori!... Abbiano pazienza! – Gli ammiratori della cantante, che erano rimasti sull'uscio, ondeggiavano di qua e di là. Degli altri mazzi di fiori furono cacciati nel camerino alla rinfusa. Il cavalletto e la giardiniera furono spazzati via. Si udì un correr frettoloso, uno sbatter di usci, delle voci di comando, e uno schiamazzar di voci femminili.
– Il ballo! In scena pel ballo!
Lo stesso impresario, che era tutto miele un quarto d'ora prima, mandava ora al diavolo gli importuni.
– Signori miei... un po' di pazienza... Il pubblico s'impazienta!
– Se si andasse a cena? – propose Macerata.
La signora Celeste fece una smorfia che diceva di no. Ma il banchiere tornò ad insistere e a farle dolce violenza, chino verso di lei, prendendole la mano, parlandole sul collo in un certo modo che faceva arricciare il naso al _Re di cuori_ e all'amico di Sinigaglia. Barbetti però approvava il rifiuto.
– Andiamoci pure a cena, ma senza di lei. Lei ha bisogno di riposare, poverina. Lasciateli dire, mia cara. Questa gente non sa cosa significhi una serata simile... – Il bel _Re di cuori_ infine perse la pazienza, borbottando che non era quella la maniera... Ettore Baroncini in cuor suo fece lega con lui.
– Ma no! ma no! – diss'ella. – Andate via, piuttosto! Non posso mica spogliarmi dinanzi a tutti quanti.
– Oh! – Perché mai?... – Magari!... – _C'est juste mais sévère!_ – conchiuse il banchiere.
– Bello! bellissimo... _le mot de la fin!..._ – esclamò Barbetti, e intanto spingeva fuori la gente, come uno di casa. Il _Re di cuori_ era rimasto cercando il cappello, aspettando dalla diva la parola o l'occhiata che essa gli aveva promesso per quella sera.
– Caro Sereni, – gli disse Barbetti, – non facciamo dei gelosi...
– Barbetti, ehi! il telegrafo l'avete dimenticato? – esclamò la signora Celeste passando la testa nell'apertura della tenda.
– Eh, no... pur troppo...
– A Milano! E rammentatemi anche a Napoli, dove farò la quaresima... Non lo dimenticate... Vi accompagnerà Sereni perché non lo dimentichiate, al vostro solito... Aspettate, Sereni, vi do un rigo per memoria.
E lì, scrivendo sul ginocchio anche lei come Barbetti, colla tunica di Aida semiaperta che scopriva il fine contorno della gamba coperta dalla maglia carnicina, buttò due parole su di un pezzetto di carta strappato da un mazzo di fiori, e sporse dalla tenda il braccio nudo per dare il bigliettino a Sereni, il quale lo prese avidamente, mentre dietro la cortina, con un fruscìo frettoloso di vestiti, si udiva ancora la bella voce allegra di lei ripetere:
– Andatevene! Andate via tutti quanti!
I suoi fedeli però l'aspettavano ostinatamente dietro l'uscio del camerino, Macerata che voleva aver l'onore di darle il braccio sino alla carrozza, il principe d'Antona discorrendo con una figurante che non gli nascondeva nulla, Ettore Baroncini il quale non sapeva risolversi ad andarsene dopo aver preso apposta il treno, temendo di passare per uno zotico, Sereni che fiutava un rivale e Barbetti che odorava la cena. Finalmente la bella ricomparve col berrettino di lontra sugli occhi, imbacuccata sino al naso, seguita dalla cameriera contegnosa che portava la borsetta delle gioie, sgridando Barbetti e tutti gli altri, che si precipitavano ad accompagnarla, Macerata impadronendosi del braccio di lei che gli era costato uno spillo di brillanti, il principe staccandosi garbatamente dalla figurante, la quale schermivasi allora coprendo il petto colle mani, Barbetti canticchiando:
– Andiam! partiam! a cena andiam!... Non dico a voi, cara Celeste. Voi andrete a dormire tranquillamente... Sentirete che brindisi, dal vostro letto!...
– Ah! meraviglia delle meraviglie! Angeli e ministri di grazia, soccorretemi voi!
Quest'ultimo complimento era diretto all'altra diva del ballo «La stella» che attraversava in quel punto il dietro scena, seminuda, colle spalle e il seno appena coperti da una ricca mantellina, tutta vaporosa nella cipria e nei veli diafani, col sorriso mordente delle labbra e degli occhi tinti che salutava gli amici e gli ammiratori della cantante, suoi ammiratori anch'essi e suoi amici, quasi librandosi sulla punta delle scarpette di raso all'incitamento della musica che la chiamava, per correre all'applauso che aspettava impaziente lei pure. Il tenore, con cui la diva del canto aveva delirato d'amore in musica, e per cui era morta sul palcoscenico mezz'ora prima, le passò vicino adesso senza salutarla, rialzando il bavero della pelliccia, col fazzoletto sulla bocca. Ed essa non lo guardò neppure, scambiando invece un'occhiata ostile coll'altra diva della danza.
– No, no, non vi lascio andar sola... Ho paura che vi rubino, i vostri ammiratori... – diceva il principe che ostinavasi a voler montare in carrozza con lei, dopo aver messo da banda tranquillamente Macerata. Ed essa rispondeva con la risatina squillante: – Sciocco!... via! andate via!... Barbetti?...
– Sì, sì, il telegrafo, non l'ho dimenticato. Signori belli, cosa si fa adesso? Si va a cena, a finir la serata della diva? Ehi, dico, Sereni, è quanto possiamo far di meglio. Non ti cavare gli occhi sotto quel lampione, che lo scritto so io cosa dice.
Ma il principe si scusò dicendo di avere un appuntamento al Circolo, e Macerata non si sentiva di pagare anche i brindisi che gli altri avrebbero fatti alla diva. Rimasero Baroncini, il quale non voleva passare per straccione o per avaro, ricusando di pagar da cena, e Sereni che aveva letto: «Impossibile per questa sera, mio caro... Abbiate pazienza... Sono affranta... Sognerò di voi...». Per altro, tutti e due avevano bisogno di pensare alla diva, vicino a degli altri che avrebbero pure pensato a lei o parlato di lei.
Nei fumi del vino, più tardi, poiché Baroncini aveva fatto le cose bene, Barbetti, commosso anche lui, sentenziava:
– Cari amici miei... Il telegrafo non sapete cosa significhi... L'impresario... l'agente teatrale... Dei colpi di gran cassa per far quattrini... Siamo giusti... il mondo gira su di un pezzo da cinque lire... Ciascuno secondo il suo mestiere... L'arte, il giornalismo... tutte belle cose... Segui bene il mio ragionamento, Sereni. Io sono un artista... Bene... Io appartengo al pubblico... il pubblico è il mio amante... Tu sei innamorato di me, artista... bene... Se Venere, in camicia, venisse a dirmi in certi momenti... Barbetti, dammi una notte d'amore... No, no, e poi no!
# Il tramonto di Venere
Quando Leda, astro della danza, splendeva nel firmamento della Scala e del San Carlo, come stella di prima grandezza, contornata di brillanti autentici, e regalava le sue scarpette smesse ai principi del sangue e del denaro, chi avrebbe immaginato che un giorno ella sarebbe stata ridotta a correre dietro le scritture e i soffietti dei giornali, cogli stivalini infangati e l'ombrello sotto il braccio – a correre specialmente dietro un mortale qualsiasi, fosse pur stato Bibì, croce e delizia sua?
Poiché Bibì era anche un mostro, un donnaiuolo, il quale correva dal canto suo dietro tutte le gonnelle, e concedeva perfino i suoi favori alle matrone ancora tenere di cuore, adesso che la sua Leda batteva il lastrico, in cerca di scritture e di quattrini, e lui aspettava filosoficamente la dea Fortuna al Caffè Biffi, dalle 5 alle 6, nell'ora in cui anche le matrone s'avventurano in Galleria – oppure tentava di sforzarla – l'instabil Diva – a primiera o al bigliardo, tutte le notti che non consacrava alla dea Venere, come chiamava tuttora la sua Leda, quand'era fortunato alle carte o altrove, o quando non la picchiava, per rifarsi la mano.
Ahimè, sì! L'indegno era arrivato al punto di fare oltraggio ai vezzi per cui aveva delirato, un tempo – per cui i Cresi della terra avevano profuso il loro oro. Le rinfacciava adesso, brutalmente: – Dove sono questi Cresi?
Ah, l'ingrato, che dimenticava quanto gliene fosse passato per le mani di quell'oro; con quanta delicatezza la sua Leda gliene avesse celato spesso la provenienza, per non farlo adombrare, lui che era tanto ombroso, allora! E i sottili artifici, le trepide menzogne, i dolci rimorsi che rendevano attraente l'inganno fatto all'amante, per l'amante stesso, onde legarlo col beneficio! E le care scene di gelosia, e le paci più care!... Che importa il prezzo? Non era _lui_ il suo tesoro, il suo bene?
Ma ciò che ora rendeva furiosa specialmente la povera dea Venere, erano le infedeltà gratuite e umilianti di Bibì; gli idillii che le toccava interrompere dinanzi alla tromba della scala, colle serve del vicinato; il lezzo di sottane sudicie che egli le portava in luogo di violette di Parma. Aveva un vulcano in corpo, l'indegno! Ardeva per tutte quante della stessa fiamma che consumava lei pure, ahi derelitta – di persona e di beni!
O dolcezze perdute, o memorie! Quando invece Bibì correva dietro a lei, come un pazzo, in quella memorabile stagione dell' _Apollo_ che fece perdere la testa anche a dei principi della Chiesa! Ebbene, essa aveva preferito Bibì, né signore né principe, allora, ma giovin, studente e povero, venuto dal fondo di una provincia, ricco solo di entusiasmi, per imparare musica, o pittura – una bell'arte insomma. La più bell'arte, per lui, fu di saper conquistare, senza spendere un quattrino, il cuore di Leda, la quale in quell'epoca teneva legata al filo dei suoi menomi capricci quasi una testa coronata. Capriccio per capriccio, essa preferì il nuovo, quello che aveva il sapore del frutto proibito, un'attrattiva insolita, la freschezza e la grazia di un primo palpito: lettere, mazzolini di fiori, incontri semifortuiti al Pincio, ogni fanciullaggine, in una parola. Ei ripeteva, supplice, come un eroe della scena: – Un'ora!... e poi morire!...
– No! – rispose ella alfine. – No! Vivere e amar!
Amor, sublime palpito!... Il fatto è che ne fu presa anche lei stavolta, allo stesso modo che aveva fatto ammattire tanti altri. – Ma presa, là, come si dice, pei capelli. Così il fortunato giovane ascese furtivo all'ambito talamo del geloso prence. Gli schiuse l'Eden lei stessa, tremante, a piedi nudi – i divini piedi cantati in prosa e in versi! – Bibì, che a sentirlo era un leone indomito, tremava anche lui come una foglia. E se lo prese, lei, trionfante per la prima volta! – Come sei timido, fanciullo mio!
Tanto che Sua Altezza, seccato alfine da quelle fanciullaggini, degnò aprire un occhio, e li scacciò dall'Eden. Che importa? Il mondo non era seminato di teatri e di mecenati che portavano in palma di mano lei e Bibì? Soltanto, come i principi son rari, e i mecenati vogliono sapere dove vanno a finire i loro denari, i due amanti fecero le cose con maggior cautela, e le fanciullaggini a usci chiusi. Bibì era felice come un Dio, viaggiando da una capitale all'altra, in prima classe, ben vestito, ben pasciuto, a tu per tu cogli impresari e i primi signori del paese che accorrevano a fare omaggio alla sua diva. Se bisognava eclissarsi qualche volta discretamente dinanzi a loro, lo faceva con un sorriso che voleva dire: – Poveretti! – Le stesse scene di gelosia sembravano combinate apposta per infiorare quel paradiso, come una carezza all'amor proprio di entrambi, una protesta dignitosa dell'amante, e una delicata occasione offerta all'amata di tornare a giurargli e spergiurargli la sua fede: – No, caro!... Lo sai!... Sei tu solo il signore e il padrone... Ecco!
Basta, ora si trattava di non lasciarsi sopraffare da quell'intrigante della Noemi, che le rapiva agenti ed impresari, alla Leda, con tutte le arti lecite e illecite, e le portava via le scritture – una che non aveva dieci chili di polpa sotto le maglie! – E le portava via anche Bibì, il quale si dava il _rossetters_ ai baffi, e si metteva in ghingheri per andare ad applaudirla, _gratis et amore_.
– Ma il ballo nuovo del cavalier Giammone non me lo porta via, no! – giurò a sé stessa la bella Leda.
Da un mese, Barbetti e tutti gli altri giornalisti che vendono l'anima a chi li paga, non facevano altro che rompere la grazia di Dio ad artisti ed abbonati con quel nome della Noemi stampato a lettere di scatola. Già erano in tanti a far la spesa degli articoli i protettori della casta vergine. Ma il ballo nuovo del cavalier Giammone non l'avrebbe avuto, no!
Il cavaliere stava appunto parlandone coll'impresario, chiusi a quattr'occhi, dinanzi al piano del Gran Poema storico-filosofico-danzante, sciorinato sulla tavola, allorché capitò all'improvviso la signora Leda, in gran gala, e col fiato ai denti.
– Cavaliere mio!... scusatemi... Non si parla d'altro sulla piazza!... Sarà un trionfo, vi garantisco!... Lasciatemi vedere...
– Ah! – sbuffò il coreografo colto sul fatto. – Oh!...
E si buttò sulle sue carte, quasi volessero rubargliele. L'impresario, dal canto suo, diede una famosa lavata di capo al povero tramagnino che stava a guardia dell'uscio.
– Ho dato ordine di non essere disturbato, quando sono in seduta! Nessuno entra senza essere annunziato!...
Dopo tanti anni che le porte si spalancavano dinanzi a lei, e gli impresari le venivano incontro col cappello in mano! Se non la colse un accidente, fu proprio un miracolo. Barbetti, che la incontrò all'uscita così rossa e sconvolta, non poté tenersi dal dirle ridendo:
– Come va, bellezza?
– Senti! – rispose lei, fuori della grazia di Dio davvero; – senti, faresti meglio a stare alla porta della Noemi, per vedere chi va e chi viene, giacché fai quel bel mestiere!
All'occasione la signora Leda aveva la lingua in bocca anche lei – la bocca amara come il tossico. – Per rifarsela dovette fermarsi al Biffi, a bere qualche cosa. Bibì era là, al solito, in trono fra gli amici. Tutti quanti, ad uno ad uno, per far la corte a lei e a lui, cominciarono a dire ira di Dio della Noemi – che non aveva scuola – che non aveva grazia – che non aveva questo e non aveva quest'altro. Già l'avevano tutti quanti a morte coll'Impresa che lasciava disponibili i migliori soggetti. Poi, dopo che l'amorosa coppia si fu congedata, fra grandi inchini e scappellate – Bibì stavolta volle accompagnare la sua signora per sentir bene come era andata a finire, un po' inquieto e nervoso in fondo, ma disinvolto, giocherellando colla mazzettina, lei tutta arzilla e saltellante, col sorriso di cinabro e le rose sulle guance (quantunque si sentisse soffocare nella giacchetta attillata) per non dar gusto ai colleghi – Scamboletti, il celebre buffo, ch'era anche il burlone della compagnia, mandò loro dietro questo saluto:
– Lei sì che n'ha della grazia di Dio!... Una balena! – Anzi citò un'altra bestia. – Senza invidia però, Bibì!
Senza invidia, a lui, Bibì, ch'era un pascià a tre code, e di donne ne aveva sino ai capelli, damone e titolate?... Basta, era un gentiluomo! E sapeva anche quello che andava reso alla sua signora. Ma in quanto all'arte però non era partigiano, e ammirava ugualmente tutti i generi. Leda era del genere classico? E lui l'aveva fatta subito scritturare al Carcano, un teatro di cartello anche questo, non c'è che dire. Oggi, pei balli grandi, bastano le seconde parti, gambe e macchinario. Piacciono anche questi? Ebbene, batteva le mani lui pure, senza secondi fini.
Ma la Leda, che non aveva più un cane che le battesse le mani, era diventata gelosa come un accidente, e gli amareggiava la vita, povero galantuomo. Lagrime, rimproveri, scene di famiglia continuamente. Alle volte, magari, lui doveva buttar via il tovagliolo a mezza tavola, per non buttarle il piatto in faccia. Tanto, quella poca grazia di Dio gli andava tutta in veleno.
Si rappattumavano dopo, è vero; perché quando si è fatto per un uomo quello che aveva fatto lei!... – E quando si è un gentiluomo come era lui!... Ma però artisti l'uno e l'altra, dopo la commedia delle paci e delle tenerezze si tenevano d'occhio a vicenda, e la signora Leda, a buon conto, aveva messo un tramagnino alle calcagna di Bibì, per scoprire il dietro scena nel repertorio delle sue tenerezze. Talché gli amici al vederlo sempre con la guardia del corpo, gli affibbiarono il titolo di _Re di Picche._
Infine tanto tuonò che piovve, la sera stessa della beneficiata di Leda, che non c'erano duecento persone al Carcano. Ella cercò di sfogarsi con Bibì «il quale faceva il risotto» alla Noemi, invece! lui e i suoi amici! bestie e animali tutti quanti, che non sapevano neppure dove stesse di casa il vero merito! e si lasciavano prendere all'amo dalle grazie di quella diva, la quale rideva di loro, poi – sicuro! – di lui pel primo! – Gonzo!
– Via, fammi il piacere! – interruppe Bibì accendendo un mozzicone di sigaro dinanzi allo specchio.
– Ah, non vuoi sentirtela dire? Già, quella lì non ti piglia certo pei tuoi begli occhi, mio caro! – Schizzava fuoco e fiamme dagli occhi, lei colle ciglia ancora tinte e il rossetto sulla faccia, così come si trovava all'uscire dal teatro, una Furia d'Averno – dopo tutto quello che aveva fatto per lui, e le occasioni che gli aveva sacrificato, ricconi e pezzi grossi, che se avesse voluto, ancora!...
– Fammi il piacere, via! – tornò a dire Bibì con quel ghignetto che la faceva uscire dai gangheri.
– Allora senti! Bada bene a quello che fai! Bada bene, veh! Che son capace di andare a romperle il muso, alla tua casta diva! – E qui un mondo di altre porcherie: – che lui era roba sua, di lei, giacché lo pagava e lo manteneva, e si rompeva la grazia di Dio, laggiù al Carcano, per mantenergli anche la casta diva! – Allorché era in bestia la signora Leda sbraitava tal quale come la sua portinaia, e vomitava gli improperii che aveva inteso al Verziere, quando stava da quelle parti. – Puzzone! – Svergognato! – Ti pago perfino il sigaro che hai in bocca!... – Scendere sino a queste bassezze, via! Talché Bibì stavolta perse il lume degli occhi e l'educazione, e gliene disse d'ogni specie anche lui, buttando in aria ogni cosa, dediche, omaggi, ritratti e corone sotto vetro, tutto quanto v'era in salotto, e quando non ebbe più che dire buttò anche le mani addosso a lei, senza riguardo neppure al rossetto e alle finte che costavano 50 lire al paio. – Già al Carcano non ci avrebbe ballato più per un pezzo, la brutta bestia, tante gliene diede, – e il meglio era di prendere il cappello e andarsene via, poiché il vicinato era tutto sul pianerottolo, e colla Questura lui non voleva averci a fare di nuovo, dopo che gli aveva rotto le scatole per altre sciocchezze.
Stavolta sembrava bell'e finita per sempre fra Bibì e la sua signora. – Ciascuno per la sua strada, e alla grazia di Dio tutt'e due, in cerca di miglior fortuna, – se non fossero stati i buoni amici che vi si misero di mezzo. Tanto, dopo tanto tempo che stavano insieme, erano più di marito e moglie. No, lei non poteva starci senza Bibì. Fosse sorte, fosse malìa, la teneva legata ad un filo, come essa ne aveva tenuti tanti, uomini seri, ed uomini forti, che in mano sua sembravano delle marionette. E anche Bibì, a parte l'interesse, un cuor d'oro in fondo, che non si poteva dire lo facesse muovere l'interesse, ormai. Non tornò a servirla in ogni maniera e a procurarle le scritture egli stesso? in America, in Turchia, dove poté, giacché al giorno d'oggi soltanto laggiù sanno conoscere ed apprezzare le celebrità. – Prova i vaglia postali che lei mandava, poco o molto, quanto poteva.
Un cuor d'oro. E allorché la povera donna batté il bottone finale, e sbarcò a Genova senza un quattrino, bolsa e rifinita, chi trovò alla stazione, a braccia aperte? Chi si fece in quattro per scovarle qua e là mezza dozzina di ragazze promettenti, e insediarla maestra di ballo addirittura? Chi le prestò i mezzi, a un tanto al mese, per metter su «pensione d'artisti» – una speculazione che sarebbe riuscita un affarone, se non ci si fosse messa di mezzo la Questura, che l'aveva particolarmente con Bibì?
E come ogni cosa andava di male in peggio, cogli anni e la disdetta, chi le prestò qualche ventina di lire, al bisogno, di tanto in tanto, quando si poteva? Dio mio, le ventine di lire bisogna sudare sangue e acqua a metterle insieme; e quando si diceva prestare, da lui a lei, era un modo di dire.
E al calar del sipario, infine, allorché la povera Leda andò a finire dove finiscono gli artisti senza giudizio, chi andò a trovarla qualche volta all'ospedale, e portarle ancora dei soldi, se mai, per gli ultimi bisogni?
Bibì ne aveva avuto del giudizio, è vero, e un po' di soldi aveva messo da parte, col risparmio e gli interessi modici, tanto da render servizio a qualche amico, se era solvibile, e da far la quieta vita, coi suoi comodi e la sua brava cuoca. Perciò quelle visite all'ospedale gli turbavano la digestione, gli facevano venire le lagrime agli occhi, e non era commedia, no, quando ne parlava cogli amici, al caffè.
– Bisogna vedere, miei cari! Una cosa che stringe il cuore, chi ne ha! L'avreste creduto, eh? Lei abituata a dormire nella batista!... E ridotta che non si riconosce più... Un canchero, un diavolo al petto... che so io... Non ho voluto vedere neppure. Lei ha sempre la smania di far vedere e toccare a tutti quanti. E delle pretese poi! Certe illusioni!... Non si dà ancora il rossetto? Misera umanità! Ieri, sentite questa, vo sin laggiù a Porta Nuova, apposta per lei, con questo caldo, e trovo la scena della _Traviata_ : – «O ciel morir sì giovane...» – Mia cara... giovani o vecchi... Voi guarirete, ve lo dico io! – Ah! Oh! – Allora viene la parte tenera, e vuol sapere se sono sempre io... lo stesso amico... da contarci su... – Certo... certo... Diamine!... – O non mi esce a dire di condurla via? Sissignore – che una volta via di lì è sicura di guarire – che vogliono operarla – che ha paura del medico: – Per carità! Per amor di Dio! – Un momento, cara amica! Che diamine, un momento! – Ella si rizza come una disperata, afferrandomi pel vestito, baciandomi le mani... Non ci torno più, parola d'onore!
E vedendo che ci voleva anche quello, dalla faccia degli amici, Bibì asciugò una furtiva lagrima.
# Papa Sisto
Di commedianti come Vito Scardo non ne nascono più a Militello, massime dacché fu toccato dalla _grazia_ , e da povero diavolo arrivò ad essere guardiano dei cappuccini, come Papa Sisto.
Dopo aver provato cento mestieri – e averne fatte d'ogni colore anche, dicevasi, colla donna e la roba altrui – ridotto colle spalle al muro, malandato di borsa e di salute, Vito Scardo capì alfine: – Qui bisogna mutar strada.
Era l'anno della fame per giunta, che i seminati, dal principio, dissero chiaro che si voleva ridere quell'inverno, e tutti quanti, poveri e ricchi, si strappavano i capelli, alla raccolta. Vito Scardo stava bestemmiando anche lui nell'aia di massaro Nasca – compare Nasca sfogandosi coi figliuoli a pedate – sua moglie covando le spighe magre cogli occhi arsi e il lattante al petto – lo stesso marmocchio che si disperava e non trovava nulla da poppare – una desolazione insomma da per tutto, per la campagna brulla, senza una canzone o un suono di tamburello, quando si vide arrivare fra Angelico, quello della cerca, fresco come una rosa, trottando allegramente sulla bella mula baia dei cappuccini. – Sia lodato San Francesco! – E lodato sia, fra Angelico! – disse compare Nasca fuori della grazia di Dio stavolta. – Che a voi altri, benedica, il pane e il companatico non ve lo fa mancare San Francesco!... Sangue di!... Corpo di!... – Le bestemmie della malannata, in una parola. Ma fra Angelico se ne rideva. – O dunque chi prega Domeneddio per la pioggia e pel bel tempo, gnor asino?
Un pezzo di tonaca sulle spalle, una presa di tabacco qua e là, il buon viso e la buona parola, e fra Angelico raccoglieva grano, olio, mosto, senza bisogno di mietere né di vendemmiare, e senza pensare ai guai e a malannate, ché al convento, grazie a Dio, il caldaione era sempre pieno, e i monaci non avevano altro da fare che ringraziare la Provvidenza e correre lesti al refettorio quando suonava la campanella. – Quello è il mestiere che fa per me, – disse allora Vito Scardo.
Di lì a poco, un bel giorno, – volontà di Dio – lo trovarono tutto pesto e malconcio nel podere di Scaricalasino, o che l'avessero colto a cerca di olive senza permesso del padrone del campo, e senza la tonaca di San Francesco, o che a Scaricalasino quella notte gli dicessero le corna di tornare a casa insalutato ospite. Il fatto è che glie ne diedero tante, al povero Vito Scardo, da lasciarlo più morto che vivo, e in quell'occasione volle confessarsi dal guardiano dei cappuccini appunto.
– Padre Giuseppe Maria – disse veramente contrito. – Padre Giuseppe Maria, o me ne vo in paradiso, o prometto di cambiar vita e fo voto di darmi a Dio.
– Va bene, va bene. A questo c'è tempo. – Il guardiano credeva che fossero le solite chiacchiere di ogni galantuomo ridotto al mal passo, e promise d'aiutarlo anche, per sbrigarsene. Ma però non furono chiacchiere. Vito Scardo aveva la pelle e la testa dura. Non s'era fitto in capo di mutar vita? O dunque perché gli aveva promesso Roma e toma quel servo di Dio? Il guardiano, di lì a un mese, come se lo vide capitar dinanzi con quel dettato, sano come una lasca, fece il segno della croce: – Monaco tu? Non ci mancherebbe altro adesso! – E vossignoria che vi cresceva qualche cosa? Per arrivare guardiano anche!...
Voi che avreste fatto? Un arnese come Vito Scardo, che puzzava di tutti i sette peccati mortali! Però egli giurava che era un altro, ormai. Lo pigliassero a prova. Tanto disse e tanto fece che il povero guardiano dovette pigliarlo a prova, pel vitto e la tonaca soltanto, frate converso. – Se la tonaca fa questo miracolo, vuol dire ch'è una santa cosa davvero, figliuol mio!
Basta, o che la tonaca abbia fatto il miracolo, o che sia stato il bisogno a far trottare l'asino, Vito Scardo divenne l'esempio della comunità. Bravo, modesto, prudente – le donne, magari, non le guardava neanche, in strada. – E per la cerca poi valeva un Perù; meglio di fra Angelico, ch'è tutto dire. La gente al vederlo così cambiato, che pareva un santo, diceva: – Questa è opera di San Francesco. – E mandava elemosine.
Però c'era ancora quella certa tizia che tirava a fargli perdere il pane – comare Menica la moglie di Scaricalasino, dopo che suo marito era andato in galera per le legnate di quella notte – lei a tentarlo fino in chiesa, e occhiate di fuoco, e imbasciate con questa e con quella. Una sera poi l'appostò al cancello del podere, che tornava tardi dalla cerca e non passava un cane, e lo strinse proprio colle spalle al muro: – Dopo averla messa in quello stato – né vedova né maritata! – E tutto quello che aveva fatto per lui! – Le legnate che s'era prese! – Sissignore! Eccole qua! – Quasi quasi si spogliava lì dov'era, dietro la siepe. La siepe fitta, l'ora tarda, sulla strada che non passava un cane... San Francesco glorioso, se Vito Scardo tenne duro come Giuseppe Ebreo, fu tutto merito vostro. – Sorella mia – rispose lui – sorella mia, in galera si va e si viene, ma se mi scacciano dal convento cosa fo, ditelo voi?
E lo disse anche al padre guardiano, a titolo di confessione – la carne – il demonio. – La sai più lunga di lui! – pensò il guardiano. Ma dovette chinare il capo anche stavolta, toglierlo dalla cerca e metterlo ai servizi interni del convento. Vito, contentone, badava a far la sua strada. Un colpo al cerchio, un colpo alla botte, barcamenandosi fra questo e quell'altro, che il convento è come un piccolo mondo, e le nimicizie covano anche fra i servi di Dio. Quando s'accapigliavano fra di loro, e volavano le scodelle, lui orbo e sordo. A tempo e luogo poi lisciare i pezzi grossi pel verso del pelo, e pigliare ciascuno pel vizio suo, fra Serafino col tabacco buono di Licodia, fra Mansueto chiudendo un occhio in portineria, il Padre Lettore a colpi d'incensiere. – Ah, che grazia v'ha fatto il Signore! Quante cose sapete, vossignoria! – Figliuol mio, ho sudato sangue. Vedi, ho tutti i peli bianchi. Che mi giova? Padre Lettore, e nulla più.
– Birbonate! La solita storia che chi più merita meno ha... M'intendo io, se fossi padre da messa e avessi voce in capitolo, quando fanno il guardiano...
Il guaio era che per entrare in noviziato ed arrivare padre da messa ci voleva un po' di latino, e 20 onze di patrimonio. Quanto al latino, pazienza, Vito Scardo, picchia e ripicchia, sudando sui libracci come Gesù all'orto, tendendo l'orecchio a questo e a quello, pigliandosi la testa a due mani – testa fine di villano che quel che voleva voleva – coll'aiuto di Dio e del Padre Lettore riescì a farvi entrare quel che ci voleva. Ma trovare le 20 onze del patrimonio era un altro paio di maniche. Ci si struggeva mattina e sera senza contare i digiuni, le astinenze, e simili privazioni, che ormai era diventato tutto pelo e naso, e le divote susurravano anche che portava il cilizio sotto la tonaca. In chiesa poi servizievole con tutti quanti, premuroso colle figlie penitenti del guardiano e dei pezzi grossi, innamorato del Patriarca San Giuseppe, sì che la vedova Brogna s'indusse a fare l'altare nuovo, e fu tutto merito suo. Insomma, se il Patriarca non gli faceva trovare i denari per entrare in noviziato e darsi a Dio, voleva dire che non c'è religione né nulla. – O tu che credi d'arrivare Papa? – Gli diceva alle volte il guardiano ridendo. E lui, minchione minchione: – Papa, no.
Bene, se il Patriarca non voleva farlo, l'avrebbe fatto lui il miracolo, Vito Scardo. A un tratto, corse la voce che guariva asini e muli, con certi rimedi che sapeva lui – e la fede viva. Se mancava la fede, addio virtù dei semplici, e tanto peggio per la bestia che crepava, salute a noi. Poi furono i numeri del lotto che gli vennero in mente, come un'ispirazione del cielo che gli diceva all'orecchio: Escirà il tale, il tale e il tal altro numero. Veramente a tanta grazia divina recalcitrava egli stesso, semplice frate laico, senza neppure gli ordini sacri. Resisteva alla tentazione, si confessava indegno, faceva il sordo o lo scemo, arrivava a tapparsi le orecchie insino, quando i poveri giuocatori gli correvano dietro supplicando: – Per la santa tonaca che portate! – Per l'anima dei vostri morti! – e per quest'altro, e per quest'altro – Due parole sole, e ci togliete dai guai! – Intanto i numeri che gli ballavano dentro, e le dita stesse che si tradivano e accennavano il terno, senza sua voglia, soltanto al modo di lisciare la barba e di far segno: zitto! – Chi sapeva intendere poi e cavarne il terno ci pigliava l'ambo almeno. E l'elemosine fioccavano.
Il padre guardiano, uomo rozzo all'antica, prese infine Vito Scardo a quattr'occhi, e gli fece una bella lavata di capo: – A che giuoco giuochiamo? Che significa questa faccenda? – Lui a testa bassa, colle mani in croce nei maniconi, rispose tutto compunto che significava che il Signore lo chiamava in religione, e se non lo lasciavano entrare in noviziato sarebbe andato a fare l'eremita in cima a una montagna. – Fra Giuseppe Maria capì il latino. – A fare il santo per conto tuo, eh? E tirar l'acqua al tuo molino? – Vito Scardo non capiva neppure. – L'acqua? – Il santo? – Il mulino? – E le 20 onze del patrimonio, per pigliar messa? le 20 onze le hai? – aggiunse il guardiano per tagliar corto. – Ah, le 20 onze?...
Come abbia fatto a procurarsele, quel diavolo di Vito Scardo, lo sa Dio e lui. O che siano stati frutti di stola, come dicevano le male lingue, denari rubati allo stesso San Francesco, messi da parte sulla cerca, in barba a lui; o che la vedova Brogna abbia fatto anche questa, e si sia lasciato toccare il cuore; o sia stata infine carità fiorita di qualche altra benefattrice, che tirava anime a salvamento – la Scaricalasino vendé allora un pezzo di terra, suo di lei. – Il fatto è che all'impensata saltò fuori il padre di Vito Scardo, _Malannata_ , uno che il soprannome stesso diceva chi fosse, povero e pezzente che avrebbe cavato la pelle piuttosto al suo figliuolo che rattoppare la sua, e mise fuori i denari del patrimonio. – Qui, ecco le 20 onze! – Il guardiano, che cercava pretesti ancora, voleva sapere donde venivano e donde non venivano. Ma Vito Scardo che piangeva di tenerezza e di gratitudine, abbracciando gnor padre e baciandogli le mani, abbrancò il suo gruzzolo e minacciò di piantar su due piedi baracca e burattini.
– Allora, benedicite! Allora vi lascio la tonaca e me ne vo, giacché non volete salvarmi l'anima neppure col fatto mio! – Questo diavolo ci darà da fare a tutti quanti! – disse poi in capitolo il padre guardiano. E disse bene, che gli parlava il cuore.
Basta, per toglierselo dai piedi lo mandarono a fare il noviziato fuori provincia, alla Certosa di Santa Maria. Ci pensassero intanto quegli altri frati a vedere se spuntava grano o loglio da quel seme. E Vito Scardo zitto; fece l'obbedienza, fece il noviziato, girò anche un po' il mondo, come piaceva ai superiori, e tornò fra Giobattista da Militello, monaco fatto, con tanto di barba e qualche pelo bianco.
Però colla barba e i peli bianchi gli era cresciuto anche il giudizio. Trovò il paese sottosopra: bandiere, luminarie, ritratti di Pio IX, da per tutto, Scaricalasino a spasso per le strade, e il padre guardiano colla coda fra le gambe. Cose che non potevano durare, in una parola. Intanto si doveva riunire il capitolo per la nomina dei superiori. Malcontenti ce n'erano molti, minchioni la più parte, che pensavano ciascuno: Ora infine tocca a me! E brigavano, s'arrabattavano, trappolandosi gli uni e gli altri, liberali e realisti. Lui invece né carne né pesce, affabile con tutti, rispettoso coi superiori, e tanto di coltello poi sotto la tonaca, a buon conto.
Come si avvicinava il gran giorno delle elezioni, il convento sembrava un formicaio messo in subbuglio. Un va e vieni di frati sospettosi – quelli che andavano a caccia di voti – quelli che stavano a spiare – quelli che montavano la trappola – un fruscìo di tonache e di piedi scalzi, specie la notte, capannelli nei corridoi, conciliaboli di religiosi fino in sagrestia, vestendosi per la santa messa, e occhiate torve, anche in refettorio, il campanello della portineria che tintinnava ogni momento, gente di fuori che veniva a confabulare, le figlie penitenti che si guardavano in cagnesco fra di loro esse pure, il servizio divino sbrigato alla diavola, tutti colle orecchie tese alle notizie che giungevano di fuori, al vento che soffiava. – Vincono i regi. – Vincono i rivoltosi. – Hanno bombardato Messina. – Catania si difende. – Gli umori e le alleanze segrete che ondeggiavano collo spirare del vento. Fra Giobattista vedeva e taceva, o al più rispondeva: – Ah? – Eh? – Oh! – quando venivano a tastarlo anche lui, tirandolo ognuno dalla sua parte – Fra Mansueto che gli raccomandava in tutta segretezza di guardarsi bene di Scaricalasino, il quale voleva reso conto del pezzo di terra venduto da sua moglie – Il Padre Lettore che lo incensava lui adesso: – Il merito deve premiarsi. Chi l'avrebbe detto di cos'era capace Vito Scardo se non fosse stato lui? – Lo stesso fra Serafino che veniva a sfogare le sue amarezze, dopo quarant'anni di religione, rimasto sempre a veder salire gli altri e vivere di elemosina – anche per una presa di tabacco! – Potete dirlo voi stesso, eh! Che ve ne pare? Non è un'ingiustizia? Allora vuol dire che non arriveremo mai a prendere il mestolo in mano, né voi né io!
Fra Giobattista, rassegnato invece, si stringeva nelle spalle. – Eh, tenere il mestolo... al giorno d'oggi... È un affare serio... Ci vuol prudenza... ci vuol giustizia... ci vuol carità. – Tante belle cose. – E al Padre Lettore: – Non dubitate. Il vostro tempo è venuto. Ci vogliono uomini di testa e di lettere adesso. E senza di voi... Guardate, mettessero anche l'ultimo del convento a quel posto, mettessero me, guardate... Senza il vostro aiuto che potrei fare? – E dare perfino ragione a fra Mansueto, ch'era il capo dei malcontenti. – Ci vuol politica... Chiudere un occhio. Non siamo più ai tempi che il guardiano faceva il commissario di polizia.
In verità il povero guardiano aveva altro da fare adesso. La tremarella da una parte, e la bile che gli toccava ingoiare dall'altra, e far buon viso a chi gli mirava al cuore. Questo vuol dir politica, ora che il Santo Padre aveva mutato casacca, e il Re, Dio guardi, mandava truppe a far sacco e fuoco. Se la spuntava, bene. Ma se no, chi vi andava di mezzo per il primo era lui, padre Giuseppe Maria. Un calcio nella schiena, e lo sbalestravano chissà dove, a far penitenza, semplice fraticello, giacché i pochi a lui fedeli gli nicchiavano in mano anch'essi.
Era quella famosa settimana santa del 48; le stesse funzioni sacre si trascinavano svogliate, la chiesa quasi vuota, tutta la gente in piazza dalla mattina alla sera, ad aspettare le notizie col naso in aria. Giungevano fuggiaschi, carri di masserizie che temevano il sacco anch'essi, e rivoltosi di tutte le fogge, che contavano d'aver fatto prodigi, e correvano ad aspettare i regi laggiù, a Palermo, per massacrarli tutti. Il sindaco, a buon conto, fece armare i galantuomini per tener d'occhio la roba del paese.
La folla correva ogni tanto sulla collina del Calvario, in cima al villaggio, per vedere se era già cominciato il fuoco nella città laggiù, lontano, in fondo alla pianura verde – uomini, donne, cappuccini anche, ciascuno pel suo motivo. Vito Scardo invece non si muoveva, badava alla chiesa, badava al convento, badava ad aggiustare le sue faccende con questo e con quello, a quattr'occhi, intanto che fra Mansueto e il Padre Lettore perdevano il tempo a vendersi vesciche per lanterne l'un l'altro, o a correre lassù al Calvario a cercar notizie e le stelle di mezzogiorno. – Signori miei, badate a quel che fate! – ammoniva Vito Scardo. – Vincano questi, vincano quegli altri, badate a quel che fate!
Soltanto a sera tarda sgusciava fuori un momento per pigliar aria, e sentire quel che si diceva, e lì, sotto gli olmi della piazzetta, al buio, amici, conoscenti, che spuntavano come funghi, e perfino _Malannata_ , in gran sussurro. Alcuni dissero pure di averci visto Scaricalasino, in confidenza con fra Giobattista. _Malannata_ poi che faceva il mestiere di vender erbe, ed era sempre in giro, ne portava più di ogni altro, notizie fresche. Andava a raccoglierle sino a Scordia e a Valsavoja, insieme alle erbe, talché il figliuolo, perché parlasse in libertà, lo ficcava anche in cucina, col naso sulla scodella.
Giunsero le funzioni del Giovedì Santo, la comunione per tutti i frati, abbracci e baci a destra e a sinistra. – Fra Giobattista adesso, colle lagrime agli occhi, si picchiava il petto quasi fosse giunta l'ultima sua ora. Tanto che il guardiano si mise in sospetto e lo chiamò in sagrestia: – Che c'è, figliuol mio? Che sai? – Niente, Padre. Ho il cuore grosso. Il cuore mi dice che arriva il finimondo.
Con tutta la comunione in corpo era più furbo che mai, quel diavolo di Vito Scardo, e non diceva altro. Ma il guardiano tirò un sospirone. Il finimondo, per un servo di Dio della taglia di fra Giobattista, doveva essere la vittoria dei regi e della podestà legittima. – Gli era rimasto sempre sullo stomaco quel religioso. – Fra Mansueto invece, giallo come un morto, lo aspettò nel corridoio per raccomandarsi a lui. C'era qualcosa per aria? Eh? Che sapeva di certo? – Nulla... di certo, nulla... Chiacchiere. «Tempo di guerre, menzogne per le terre». – Insomma ciascuno più era al buio di tutto, e più aveva da perdere, e perciò era inquieto, e più Vito Scardo diventava un pezzo grosso, con quell'aria di dico e non dico di chi la sa lunga davvero. Tanto più che verso sera mutò il vento di nuovo: bande, fiaccolate, grida di viva che arrivavano sin lassù, e non si sapeva che credere e che pesci pigliare. Il venerdì fu peggio ancora. Giorno di lutto, in chiesa e fuori, le notizie che facevano a pugni fra di loro, dei curiosi che correvano in piazza per vedere se c'era ancora la bandiera al Municipio. La sera i reverendi accompagnavano il Cristo morto, quando all'improvviso corse la voce: – Correte! – Lassù, al Calvario! – Si vede la città in fiamme! – Figuratevi come restò la processione! Fra Mansueto, nel deporre il cero in sagrestia, gli tremavano le mani. Il guardiano non era tranquillo neppur lui. In refettorio non si mise neppur la tavola. Ciascuno, mogio mogio, era andato a rintanarsi nella sua cella, e aspettava come andava a finire. Verso mezzanotte, toc toc, fra Giobattista in punta di piedi andò a bussare all'uscio del Padre guardiano. – Che è, che non è? – Gli altri religiosi, che avevano il suo peccato ciascuno, e la tremarella addosso, stavano ad origliare, e quando lo videro uscire, poi, dopo mezz'ora, ciascuno voleva sapere la sua. Niente. Si vedrà domani, in capitolo. – Fra Giuseppe Maria protestava che ne aveva abbastanza, del guardianato, e fra Mansueto non voleva fastidi neppur lui. – Basta, vedremo. Sentiremo quello che consiglia lo Spirito Santo. – E spunta infine il sabato santo, sempre in quell'incertezza. Gli stessi curiosi in piazza; la bandiera sul campanile; la città che si vedeva fumare, laggiù, dal Calvario. Intanto, per pigliar tempo, si fecero le funzioni in chiesa, prima di passare ai voti, suonarono le campane a gloria, s'invocò il _Veni creator_ , e finalmente si riunì il capitolo. Padre Giuseppe Maria esordì con un discorsetto tutto miele, tutta manna: – La religione – la fratellanza – la carità. – Lui domandava perdono a tutti se non era stato all'altezza della carica, mentre ne deponeva il peso, troppo grave per la sua età, supplicando di lasciarlo l'ultimo degli ultimi, semplice servo di Dio. – Fra Mansueto chinava il capo anche lui. Il Padre Lettore cominciò un'orazione in tre punti, per dichiarare che i tempi erano gravi e a reggere la comunità ci voleva giustizia – ci voleva prudenza – tutte le belle cose che aveva detto fra Giobattista. Però il discorso diventava lungo, e fra Serafino pel primo cominciò a interrompere. – Basta. – Lo sappiamo. – Ai voti, ai voti. – Le lingue si confusero, e successe una babilonia. Allora saltò su fra Giobattista, ch'era stato zitto, e disse la sua: – Signori miei, a che giuoco giuochiamo? Altro che perdere il tempo per sapere se deve essere Tizio o Caio a pigliare il mestolo in mano! Qui si tratta che stasera non si sa chi lo piglia sul capo, il mestolo!
Successe un putiferio. Fra Mansueto, che aveva la maggioranza, voleva approfittare del momento e passar subito ai voti. Fra Giuseppe Maria protestò invece che se ne lavava le mani. – Sì e no. – Una baraonda. In quella si udì scampanellare in furia alla portineria. – Un momento! – strillò fra Giobattista come un indemoniato, colle mani in aria. – Un momento! Eccoli qua!
Che cosa? Lo sapeva lui solo, che uscì correndo colla tonaca al vento. Era proprio quell'altro, Scaricalasino, ansante e trafelato, che veniva a pigliar chiesa, quasi ci avesse già gli sbirri alle calcagna; poi _Malannata_ , gongolante, e altri ancora, che confermavano la mala nuova. Vito Scardo li piantò tutti in asso, e capitò di nuovo come una bomba in mezzo ai reverendi che si accapigliavano già.
– Signori miei, non fate sciocchezze. Siamo belli e fritti! Tolgono le bandiere. Andate a vedere.
Era proprio vero, la notizia che i regi s'erano impadroniti della città fin dal giorno innanzi si era sparsa come un fulmine... Il paesetto era allibito. E ogni frate, dal canto suo, per togliersi di impiccio, e assicurarsi il quieto vivere, dava il voto a chi gridava di più:
– Fra Giobattista – Fra Giobattista. – Vito Scardo che assisteva allo scrutinio con tanto d'occhi aperti, a un certo punto cadde ginocchioni, colle mani in croce. Piegò il capo a recitare in fretta due parole di orazione, e poi disse:
– Sia fatta la volontà di Dio.
E fece anche la sua, sbalestrando padre Giuseppe Maria a Sortino – glielo aveva detto il cuore al poveraccio! – fra Mansueto e altri turbolenti di qua e di là. S'intese pure col Giudice, ora che il buon ordine era tornato in paese, e le autorità si dovevano aiutare a vicenda per rimettere sotto chiave i malviventi sul fare di Scaricalasino, e vivere poi quieti e contenti com'era prima della rivoluzione, ciascuno al suo posto. Vito Scardo rimase alla testa della comunità, temuto e rispettato, un colpo al cerchio, un colpo alla botte, chiudendo un occhio a tempo e luogo, badando a non far ciarlare le male lingue, a proposito della Scaricalasino, o della vedova Brogna, che era gelosa matta. Tutti contenti e lui pel primo.
Chi rimase scontento fu solo _Malannata_ che gli era parso di dover mutar vita anche lui, col figlio guardiano, e diventare non so che cosa. Ed era il solo che osasse lagnarsi.
– Monaco! – Tanto basta! – Nemico di Dio!
# Epopea spicciola
Ecco come lo zio Lio raccontava poi quella faccenda:
– Mancava dove andare ad ammazzarsi? Nossignore, proprio qui; ché per dieci miglia in giro ne fecero piangere degli occhi! E anche loro ne seminarono delle ossa a far concime, lungo la strada, fra le siepi, dietro i muri, uomini e bestie mietuti a fasci, talché un mese dopo, a dar un colpo di zappa, ne saltavano ancora fuori, ossa di cristiani! Figuratevi i campi e gli orti! E la povera gente del paese che non c'entrava per nulla in quella lite, e non voleva entrarci. Alcuni vi lasciarono la pelle, infine – per difendere la sua roba. – La roba e la vita, perse!
Basta. Molti se l'erano data a gambe il giorno prima, a buon conto, come sentivano: – Vengono! – Gli svizzeri! – La cavalleria! – E chi non gli era bastato l'animo di piantar subito casa e paese, all'ultimo momento disse pure: – Meglio il danno che la pelle – e via: uomini, donne, bestie, quello che si poteva mettere in salvo insomma; le vecchie col rosario in mano.
Io non avevo nessuno al mondo, soltanto quei quattro sassi al sole, la casa, l'orto, lì proprio sulla strada, con tanti soldati che passavano – chi li diceva dei nostri – chi di quegli altri – ciascuno che voleva mangiarsi il mondo – certe facce! Cosa avreste fatto? Rimasi a guardia della mia casa, lì accanto, seduto sul muricciolo. – A svignarsela, poi, c'è sempre tempo – pensai. Intanto passa un'ora, ne passano due. I nostri avevano tirato dei cannoni sin lassù sulla collina, in mezzo alle vigne. Figuratevi il danno! A un tratto giunge uno a cavallo, tutto arrabbiato, che pareva volesse mangiarsi il mondo anche lui – uno di quelli che insegnano a farsi ammazzare agli altri – e si mette a gridare da lontano. Allora uomini, cannoni, muli, via a rompicollo dall'altra parte; povere vigne! Però stavolta quello del cavallo aveva pure la testa fasciata; segno che si picchiavano diggià, in qualche luogo. Però non si vedeva nulla ancora, dalle nostre parti. Il paese quieto, la via deserta, la città che pareva tranquilla anch'essa, come se non fosse fatto suo, sdraiata in riva al mare, laggiù, e le fregate che andavano e venivano innanzi e indietro, fumando. – Questa è l'ora d'andare a mangiare un boccone, – dico io, dall'alba che stavo piantato lì come un minchione.
In quella si mette a tuonare, lassù, nella montagna. Uno, due, tre, infine un temporale a ciel sereno, in quella bella giornata di Venerdì Santo che dovevano succedere tanti peccati. – Buono! Addio voglia di mangiare un boccone! Lo stomaco se n'era già bell'è sceso in fondo alle calcagna, con quella solfa. A buon conto è meglio correre a casa, e stare a vedere come si mettono le cose da dietro l'uscio. Scendo quatto quatto dal muricciolo, e filo carponi lungo la siepe. Le Proscimo allora mi vedono passare; la vecchia apre un po' di finestra, e si mette a strillare: – O zio Lio – Cosa succede? – Per amor di Dio! – C'era anche la figliuola, Nunzia, dietro la madre, più morta che viva anche lei, tutt'e due che non sapevano far altro: – Signore – Madonna – Ahimè! – Bene – dico io – chiudetevi in casa. Stiamo a vedere.
Mi chiudo in casa mia anch'io, e stiamo a vedere. Niente. Non passa un cane. La pace degli angeli da queste parti. Soltanto lassù che si divertono sempre a cannonate. – Buon pro' vi faccia! – Tanto, qui il sangue non arriva, quando vi sarete accoppati tutti. – Poteva essere mezzogiorno, a occhio, ché il sagrestano non ci si arrischiava certo sul campanile quella volta. Quasi quasi m'arrischio a mettere il naso fuori di nuovo, quand'ecco, crac, il tetto dei Minola che rovina, e poi un altro, lì a due passi. Le palle ci piovono sui tetti, adesso!
Che vedeste! Chi è rimasto a fare il bravo va a cacciarsi sotto il letto. Altri che s'erano rintanati nelle cantine o in qualche buco, saltano fuori all'impazzata. Pianti, grida, un baccano d'inferno. Io andavo correndo di qua e di là per la casa, senza sapere dove ficcarmi, talmente ogni colpo me lo sentivo fra capo e collo. – Aiuto! – Cristiani! – gridavano le Proscimo. C'è cristiani e turchi in quel momento? Maledette donne che ce li tirano addosso, ora! Eccoli infatti che arrivano, prima dieci, poi venti, poi, che vi dico? un fiume. Soldati e poi soldati che si vedono passare dal buco della chiave, per più di un'ora, a piedi, a cavallo, con certi cannoni di qua a là. Povera la città che se li vede capitare addosso!
Intanto, se Dio vuole, di qui se ne vanno, a poco a poco; ché quando pareva fossero passati tutti, ne giungevano altri ancora, a frotte, alla spicciolata, zoppi, sfiniti, strascinandosi dietro il fucile e le gambe, con certe facce nere e arse. E a un tratto ecco che si mettono a bussare in mala maniera dalle Proscimo, alla mia porta, qua e là alle poche case lungo la strada, volendo da bere, coi sassi, coi fucili, e minacciano di sfondare ogni cosa. Al vedere che lo fanno davvero, dove non rispondono subito, aprono le Proscimo, apro io pure, e ci mettiamo alla fune del pozzo. Acqua all'uno, acqua all'altro; ne vengono sempre! Bisognava vedere come vi si buttavano, colla faccia, colle mani, coi berretti, e spinte, e busse, una ressa indiavolata. Delle facce, Dio ne scampi, che avevano gli occhi come brace. E alcuni si lasciavano cadere giù in fascio col fucile dove c'era un po' d'ombrìa. Altri si cacciavano nelle case e mettevano le mani da per tutto. – Ah le mani! – Questo poi! – Sì e no. – Tira e molla. – Si cercava di persuaderli colle buone e colle cattive: – Caporale! – Che fate? – Siamo poveri campagnoli! – Noialtri non c'entriamo colla guerra. – A chi dite! Come parlare al muro. E a capire ciò che dicevano loro, peggio, con quel linguaggio di bestie che hanno. Andate a far sentir ragione alle bestie! La Proscimo che ci s'era provata con uno che le sembrava più faccia da cristiano, un ragazzo addirittura, biondo come l'oro, fine e bianco di pelle che sembrava una donna, cercava di addomesticarlo narrandogli guai e miserie. – Sono una povera vedova – con due orfani sulle spalle! – Ci avrete la mamma anche vossignoria, laggiù al vostro paese!... – Sissignora che quello invece le adocchia la figliuola, e tirava a farsi intendere colle mani, giacché colla lingua non si capivano né lei, né lui. L'uno peggio dell'altro, in una parola. Gente venuta da casa del diavolo ad ammazzare e farsi ammazzare per un tozzo di pane. Dopo che ebbero bevuta l'acqua, vollero bere il vino, e dopo vollero il pane, e dopo volevano anche la ragazza. Ah, le donne, poi! Qui non si usa! Pazienza la roba, e tutto il resto. Ma anche le donne adesso? proprio sotto il mostaccio? Allora era meglio pigliare lo schioppo anche noi, e come finiva, finiva. Vero ch'erano in tanti, e facevano tonnina del villaggio intero. La Nunzia, però – una ragazza onesta – quel discorso sotto gli occhi della madre e dei vicini, per giunta... – Urli, graffi, morsi, si difendeva come una leonessa. E la vecchia! Avete visto una chioccia, che è una chioccia, se la toccano nei pulcini? Insomma, sul più bello salta in mezzo anche il ragazzo dei Minola, che stava abbeverando quei porci lui pure – con quel bel costrutto. – Salta in mezzo, e si mette a dar botte da orbi con un pezzo di legno che trovò lì nel cortile – o che gli premesse la ragazza, vicini come erano, oppure che gli sia andato il sangue agli occhi finalmente, dopo tante soperchierie. Botte da orbi, a chi piglia, piglia.
Ma chi le pigliò peggio fummo noi poveri diavoli del paese. Le case arse, i poderi distrutti, il ragazzo Minola con una baionettata nella pancia, la mamma Proscimo ridotta povera e pazza, e Nunzia con un figliuolo che non sa di chi sia, adesso.
# L'Opera del Divino Amore
Nel monastero di Santa Maria degli Angeli c'era sempre stata proprio la pace degli angeli. Non dispute né combriccole quando trattavasi di rieleggere la superiora, Suor Maria Faustina, che reggeva il pastorale da vent'anni, come i Mongiferro da cui usciva tenevano il bastone del comando nel paese; non liti fra le monache pel confessore o per la nomina delle cariche della comunità. Le cariche si sapeva a chi andavano, secondo la nascita e l'influenza del parentado. E come suol dirsi che il monastero è un piccolo mondo, anche lì dentro c'erano le sue gerarchie, chi disponeva di un pezzetto d'orticello, e chi no, chi aveva le sue camere riserbate sotto chiave, le sue galline segnate alla zampa, e i giorni fissi per servirsi delle converse e del forno della comunità. Ma senza invidie, senza gelosie, che son l'opera del demonio e mettono la discordia dove non regna il timor di Dio e il precetto d'obbedienza. Già si sa che tutte le dita della mano non sono eguali tra di loro, e che anche nel Testamento Antico c'erano i Patriarchi e le Potestà. A Santa Maria degli Angeli l'abbadessa e la celleraria erano sempre state una Flavitto o una Mongiferro: dunque vuol dire che così doveva essere, e a nessuna veniva in mente di lagnarsene. Se nascevano delle questioni alle volte – Dio buono, siamo nel mondo, e ne nascono da per tutto – suor Faustina colle belle maniere, e Don Gregorio suo fratello coi sorbetti e i trattamenti che mandava per tutte quante le religiose, nelle feste solenni, mantenevano nel convento il buon ordine e il principio d'autorità.
Ma un bel giorno questa bella pace degli angeli se ne andò in fumo. Bastò un'inezia e ne nacque un diavolìo.
Padre Cicero e padre Amore, liguorini e cime d'uomini, vennero in paese pel quaresimale e fondarono l'Opera del Divino Amore, con sermoni appropriati e sottoscrizioni pubbliche fra i fedeli. Se ne parlava da per tutto. Le buone suore avrebbero voluto vedere anch'esse di che si trattava. Però il monastero ne aveva pochi da spendere, e suor Maria Faustina diceva che bastava Don Matteo Curcio, il cappellano, per gli esercizi spirituali.
C'era in quel tempo novizia a Santa Maria degli Angeli, Bellonia, figlia di Pecu-Pecu, il quale, arricchitosi col battezzare il vino, aveva messa superbia per sé e pei suoi e aveva pensato di far educare la figliuola fra le prime signore del paese – motivo d'appiccicarle il _Donna_ , se giungeva a maritarla come diceva lui.
Bellonia però, rimasta nel sangue bettoliera e tavernaia, in convento ci stava come il diavolo nell'acqua santa, e gliene fece vedere di ogni colore, a lui Pecu-Pecu, e alle monache tutte quant'erano. La prima volta fuggì ficcandosi nella ruota del parlatorio. Una povera donna che si trovava lì appunto a ricevere non so che piatto dolce dalle monache, rimase figuratevi come, invece, al vedersi sgusciar fuori dallo sportello quel diavolo in carne, appena girò la macchina. Un'altra volta si calò dal muro dell'orto, colle sottane in aria, a rischio di spezzarsi il collo. Un giorno che si facevano certi lavori nel monastero, e c'era quindi un via vai di muratori alla porta, Bellonia si cacciò fra le gambe della suora portinaia, e via di corsa. Pecu-Pecu, poveretto, ogni volta correva a cercare la sua figliuola di qua e di là, fra gli altri monelli, nei trivii, fuor del paese, dietro le siepi di fichi d'India pure, e la riconduceva per un orecchio al convento, supplicando la madre badessa di perdonarle e ripigliarsela per amor di Dio. Alla ragazzetta che si ribellava poi, e strillava rivoltandosi in giro per terra, strappandosi vesti e capelli, e non voleva starci, carcerata in convento, Pecu-Pecu tornava a dire:
– Bellonia, abbi pazienza!... Per amor del tuo papà!... Dagli, questa consolazione al papà!
Bellonia non voleva dargliela. Vedendo che non poteva escirne, di gabbia, o dopo tornava a cascarci sempre, cercò il modo e la maniera di farsene cacciar via dalle monache stesse. Attaccò lite con questa e con quella, mise zizzanie, inventò pettegolezzi, fece altre mille diavolerie, e non giovava niente. Pecu-Pecu accorreva, pregava, supplicava, faceva intercedere questo e quell'altro, si giovava della protezione di Don Gregorio Mongiferro e degli altri pezzi grossi, ch'eran tutti suoi debitori, mandava regali al convento, e Bellonia vi restava sempre. Tanto, suo padre si era incaponito di lasciarvela a imparare l'educazione, sino a che la maritava.
– Tu dammi questa consolazione, e il papà in cambio ti contenterà in tutto quello che desideri.
Pensa e ripensa, infine Bellonia disse che voleva quelli del Divino Amore, e Pecu-Pecu fece venire i due padri liguorini a sue spese. Quaresimale in regola a Santa Maria degli Angeli, con organo, mortaletti e suono di campane.
Dopo due giorni soli che padre Cicero e padre Amore fecero sentire la parola di Dio a modo loro, le povere monache parvero ammattite tutte quant'erano. Chi fu presa dagli scrupoli, e chi si trovava ogni giorno un peccato nuovo. Estasi di beatitudine, fervori religiosi, novene a questa o a quella Madonna, digiuni, cilizi, discipline che levavano il pelo. Parecchie si accusarono pubblicamente indegne del velo nero. Suor Candida, per mortificazione, non si lavava più neppur le mani, suor Benedetta portava una funicella di pelo di capra sulle nude carni, e suor Celestina arrivò a mettere dei sassolini nelle scarpe. A suor Gloriosa infine la predica dell'Inferno aveva fatto dar di volta completamente al cervello, e andava borbottando per ogni dove: – Gesù e Maria! – San Michele Arcangelo! – Brutto demonio, va' via!
Siccome la _grazia_ poi toccava i cuori per bocca dei due predicatori forestieri, le suore se li rubavano al confessionale, al parlatorio, li assediavano sino a casa per mezzo del sagrestano, coi dubbi spirituali, coi casi di coscienza, coi vassoi pieni di dolci. Alla madre abbadessa fioccavano le domande delle religiose, le quali chiedevano l'uno o l'altro dei due padri liguorini per confessore straordinario. Invano suor Maria Faustina, che ai suoi anni era nemica di ogni novità, rifiutava il permesso, anche per riguardo a Don Matteo Curcio, che era il cappellano ordinario del monastero. Le monache ricorrevano al vicario, all'arciprete, sino al vescovo, inventavano dei peccati riservati, si lamentavano che Don Matteo Curcio era duro d'orecchio, e non dava quasi retta: – Gnora sì – Gnora no – Ho inteso – Tiriamo innanzi. – Qualcheduna giunse ad accusarlo di far cascare le penitenti in distrazione, con quella barba sudicia di otto giorni, che in un servo di Dio non ispirava alcuna devozione.
Invece i due padri forestieri, quelli sì che sapevano fare! L'uno, padre Amore, che portava il nome con sé, un bell'uomo che si mangiava l'aria, e faceva tremar la chiesa in certi passi della predica; e padre Cicero, un artista nel suo genere, tutto san Giovan Crisostomo, col miele alle labbra. I peccati sembravano dolci a confidarli nel suo orecchio. E la bella maniera che aveva di consolare! – Sorella mia, la carne è fragile. – Siamo tutti indegni peccatori. – Buttatevi nelle braccia del Divino Amore. – Allorché vi sussurrava all'orecchio certe parole, con la sua voce insinuante, con le pupille color d'oro che vi frugavano addosso attraverso la grata, sembrava che vi s'insinuasse nella coscienza, quasi l'accarezzasse, talché quando levava per assolvervi quella bella mano fine e bianca, vi veniva voglia di baciarla.
Qualche disordine s'era già notato sin da principio. C'erano state delle mormorazioni a causa di suor Gabriella la quale accaparravasi padre Amore tutte le mattine, e lo sequestrava al confessionale per delle ore, quasi ella avesse il _jus pascendi_ perché discendeva dal Re Martino. Altre si sentivano umiliate dai canestri di roba che suor Maria Concetta mandava in regalo a padre Cicero: paste, conserve, sacchi interi di zucchero e caffè; alla sua grata, nel parlatorio, dopo la messa di padre Cicero, sembrava che vi fosse il trattamento di qualche monacazione. Voleva dire che chi non poteva spendere, come suor Maria Concetta, o doveva fare una magra figura, o non si poteva mettere in grazia di Dio col confessore forestiero.
Perciò suor Celestina fu costretta a privarsi delle due uniche galline, e suor Benedetta, che non aveva altro, dovette sollecitare la grazia di lavare colle sue mani la biancheria di padre Cicero. – Ogni fiore è segno d'amore. – I due reverendi protestavano, padre Cicero specialmente, che ci stava alle convenienze: – Non voglio. – Non posso permettere. – Una volta finse pure d'andare in collera con Don Raffaele, il sagrestano, che non c'entrava per nulla affatto, e di quelle scene non ne aveva viste cogli altri preti, stomacato dalla commedia in cui padre Amore rappresentava poi la parte di paciere e pigliava lui le paste e i regali, per non mandarli indietro. – E per non dir neanche grazie! – borbottava Don Raffaele tornandosene a mani vuote. Ma infine, sia padre Cicero o padre Amore, i reverendi pigliavano ogni cosa, a somiglianza degli apostoli che erano pescatori e usavano la rete. Tutti i giorni, dal monastero ai Cappuccini, dove erano alloggiati padre Amore e padre Cicero, andava su e giù Don Raffaele, poveraccio, carico di vassoi e di canestri pieni di regali, sicché una volta Don Matteo Curcio, non per indiscrezione, ma per saper dire il fatto suo a tempo e luogo colle antiche penitenti, se mai, lo fermò per via, e volle cacciare il naso sotto il tovagliuolo che copriva il canestro.
– Caspita, Don Raffaele! Dev'essere festa solenne anche per voi, con tante mance che vi daranno i liguorini!
Il sagrestano gli rispose con un'occhiataccia.
– Mance, eh?... Neanche uno sputo in faccia, vossignoria!... _Retribuere, Domine, bona facientibus_ , che non costa niente...
Figuriamoci Bellonia, che aveva fatto la spesa dei liguorini, e credeva di averli tutti per sé! Villana senza educazione com'era, si diede a insolentire questa e quell'altra. – Suor Celestina che stava al confessionale mezze giornate intere. – Suor Maria Concetta che s'accaparrava padre Amore. – Suor Celestina che basiva dinanzi a padre Cicero. – La gelosia del monastero insomma, Dio ne scampi e liberi. La madre abbadessa allora fece atto d'autorità, per metter freno allo scandalo. Niente liguorini. Niente confessori straordinari. Chi voleva ricorrere al Tribunale della Penitenza c'era Don Matteo Curcio, il cappellano solito, nessuna eccettuata, a cominciare dalla Flavitto, ch'è tutto dire. Suor Gabriella non disse nulla, ma non si confessò neppure, né coi liguorini, né col cappellano ordinario, quindici giorni interi. La superiora, quindi, a far vedere che non era una Mongiferro per nulla:
– Suor Gabriella, precetto d'obbedienza, andate a confessarvi da Don Matteo Curcio.
Suor Gabriella fece anche questa, si presentò al confessionale, con quell'alterigia di casa Flavitto:
– Son venuta a fare atto d'obbedienza alla madre badessa. Mi presento.
E null'altro. Il povero Don Matteo Curcio, buono come il pane, non poté frenarsi questa volta.
– Voi altre signore monache siete tutte superbe, – disse, – ma vossignoria è la più superba di tutte.
Bellonia però tenne duro: o il padre liguorino, o niente. Pecu-Pecu dovette tornare a infilare il vestito nuovo e venire a intercedere. L'abbadessa dura lei pure.
– Anche le educande adesso? Ci voleva anche questa adesso! Perché lo tengo padre Curcio allora?
Pecu-Pecu, che gli cuoceva ancora la spesa dei liguorini, non sapeva darsi pace. – O bella! Come se le educande non potessero avere dei peccati riservati meglio delle professe! Son io infine che pago!... – E nell'andarsene mortificato e deluso si lasciò pure scappar di bocca:
– Sino in Paradiso si deve andare per riguardo umano! Se Bellonia fosse figlia di qualche barone spiantato l'avrebbe avuto il liguorino!
Bellonia intanto per spuntarla pensò di mutar registro. Demonio incarnato, si mise a fare la santa, cadendo in estasi ogni quarto d'ora, presa dagli scrupoli se le toccavan una mano, facendo chiamare in fretta e in furia Don Matteo Curcio al confessionale due o tre volte al giorno, come se fosse in punto di dannarsi l'anima, per dirgli invece delle sciocchezze, tanto che il pover'uomo ci perdeva il latino e la pazienza.
– Figliuola mia, il troppo stroppia. – Questo è opera della tentazione. – Che c'è di nuovo, sentiamo?
– C'è che ho un peccato grosso. Ma non vuol venir fuori con vossignoria... O che non sapete fare, o che mi siete antipatico...
Finché il pover'uomo perdé la pazienza del tutto, e le sbatté il finestrino sul muso. La madre abbadessa montò su tutte le furie contro Bellonia, e le appioppò una bella penitenza, il giorno stesso, in pubblico refettorio:
– Donna Bellonia, mangerete coi gatti, per insegnarvi il precetto d'umiltà – sentenziò suor Maria Faustina colla voce nasale che metteva fuori nelle occasioni in cui le premeva far vedere da chi nasceva.
La ragazzaccia, come se non fosse stato fatto suo, se ne stava tranquillamente ginocchioni nel bel mezzo del refettorio, seduta sulle calcagna, colla disciplina al collo, e la corona di spine in capo, e per ingannar la noia contava quanti bocconi faceva intanto suor Agnese con mezzo uovo, e quante mosche mangiavano nello stesso piatto con suor Candida. Poscia cavò fuori di tasca pian piano l'agoraio, e si divertì a far passare gli aghi da un bocciuolo all'altro. Tutt'a un tratto, mentre suor Speranza dal pulpito faceva la lettura, e le altre religiose stavano zitte e intente col naso sul piatto, si udì la figliuola di Pecu-Pecu, da vera figlia di tavernaio che era, a sbadigliare in musica.
La superiora picchiò severamente sul bicchiere col coltello, e si fece silenzio.
– Donna Bellonia! precetto d'obbedienza, farete subito tre volte la _via crucis_ ginocchioni, col libano e la corona di spine!
La ragazza spalancò gli occhiacci mezzo assonnati, ancora a bocca aperta, e domandò:
– Perché, signora badessa?
– Per insegnarvi l'educazione, donna voi!
– Già... l'educazione... al solito!...
Poi, sempre seduta sulle calcagna in mezzo al refettorio, cominciò a strapparsi di dosso la corona di spine e la funicella sparsa di nodi strillando:
– Io non voglio starci qui, lo sapete!... È mio padre che vuol tenermi qui, finché mi marito...
– L'ha preso per una locanda il monastero, l'ha preso! – disse forte suor Benedetta. – Anzi l'ha preso per un'osteria!...–
Già, l'osteria!... Vossignoria che lavate i fazzoletti di padre Cicero per sentire l'odore del suo tabacco... Come se non fosse peggio!...
Scoppiò una tempesta nel refettorio. Suor Maria Concetta lasciò la tavola forbendosi la bocca col tovagliolo a più riprese, quasi ci avesse delle porcherie; suor Gabriella arricciò il naso adunco dei Flavitto, sputando di qua e di là. La superiora poi sembrava che le venisse un accidente, gialla come lo zafferano, colla voce che dalla collera le tremava nel naso e fra i canini malfermi. Tutte quante che se la prendevano con Donna Bellonia, ritte in piedi, vociando e gesticolando.
– Sissignora! – ostinavasi a dire la figlia di Pecu-Pecu colla faccia tosta di monella. – Come non si sapesse!... Suor Maria Concetta che gli imbocca i biscottini colle sue mani, a padre Cicero!... E le male parole che suor Gabriella ha detto a suor Celestina perché le ruba padre Amore!...
– È uno scandalo! una porcheria! – strillavano tutte insieme.
Suor Gloriosa, cogli occhi fuori dell'orbita, andava borbottando:
– Gesù e Maria! – San Michele Arcangelo! – _Libera nos, Domine!..._
– Sissignora! le porcherie le fanno loro pel confessore. Io non ho potuto averlo, il confessore forestiero, perché non son figlia di barone!...
La superiora, ritta sulla predella abbaziale, riescì infine a far udire la sua voce in falsetto:
– Lo scandalo lo fo cessare io! Da ora innanzi il solo confessore di tutta la comunità sarà Don Matteo Curcio, come prima!... Precetto d'obbedienza! La madre portinaia non lascierà passare più nulla senza il mio permesso speciale... Precetto d'obbedienza ... Voi, Donna Bellonia, farete otto giorni di cella a pane ed acqua. Dopo poi si vedrà con vostro padre!...
Non si dormì quella notte a Santa Maria degli Angeli.
– «Che posso farci se l'amo? Forse che al cuore si comanda?...» dice la Sposa dei Cantici...
Padre Cicero, dacché gli era chiuso il parlatorio e il confessionale di Santa Maria degli Angeli, faceva parlare ogni momento la Sposa dei Cantici, negli ultimi sermoni del quaresimale. Padre Amore, più focoso, scorrazzava come un puledro nel Testamento Vecchio e Nuovo, cavandone fervorini di questa fatta:
«– Tu mi hai involato il cuore, o sposa, sorella mia: tu mi hai involato il cuore con uno dei tuoi occhi.» – «O Dio, tu ci hai scacciati... Dacci aiuto per uscir di distretta...»
Nel coro, di risposta, erano sospiri repressi, soffiate di naso ancora più eloquenti. Suor Benedetta, che non sapeva frenarsi, singhiozzava addirittura come una bambina, sotto il velo nero. – E Bellonia che doveva udire e inghiottir tutto.
Gonfia, gonfia, le venne in mente all'improvviso l'ispirazione buona.
Terminato il triduo, spenti i lumi e pagate le spese, padre Amore e padre Cicero vennero a ringraziare le signore monache e a prender congedo dalle figlie penitenti, una dopo l'altra, per non destar gelosie. Le poverette figuratevi in quale stato, e padre Cicero cavando di tasca il fazzoletto ogni momento, quasi gli si spezzasse il cuore a quella separazione. A un tratto, in mezzo alla scena muta che succedeva fra padre Amore e suor Celestina, tutt'e due colle lagrime agli occhi, saltò in mezzo anche Bellonia, come una spiritata, e ne fece e disse d'ogni sorta. Pianti, convulsioni, strilli che si udivano dalla piazza, tanto che corsero i vicini. Pecu-Pecu, Don Matteo Curcio, ed anche gli sfaccendati della farmacia. E poi, quando vide il parlatorio pieno di gente, Bellonia si mise a gridare che voleva andarsene coi padri liguorini, che ci aveva il cuore attaccato con essi – un putiferio. Saltò su allora la Madre Abbadessa, come una furia, e se la prese con tutti quanti, a cominciare dai liguorini.
– Ah! È questa l'Opera del Divino Amore che intendete voi? Non son chi sono se non vi faccio pentire! Scriverò a monsignore! Vi farò togliere la messa e la confessione! Vedrete chi sieno i Mongiferro!
Quei poveri servi di Dio se ne andarono più morti che vivi, la Madre Abbadessa fu costretta a mandar via quel diavolo di ragazza, stavolta, e Pecu-Pecu dovette ripigliarsi la sua Bellonia, che non prese il _Donna_ , ma vinse il punto.
# Il peccato di Donna Santa
Stavolta il quaresimalista, per far colpo su quelle teste d'asini che venivano alla predica tirati proprio per la cavezza, e poi tornavano a far peggio di prima, immaginò un colpo di scena, che se non giovava quello, prediche o sermoni era tutto come lavare la testa all'asino davvero. Fece nascondere nella vecchia sepoltura, là sotto il pavimento della chiesa, il sacrestano e due o tre altri, cui aveva prima insegnato la parte, e poi disse: – Lasciate fare a me.
Cadeva giusta la predica dell'Inferno, in fine degli esercizi spirituali, e la chiesa era piena zeppa di gente, chi per un verso e chi per un altro, chi per ordine del giudice (che a quei tempi il timor di Dio s'insegnava colla sbirraglia) e chi per amor della gonnella. Gli uomini a sinistra, da una parte, e le donne dall'altra. Il predicatore montato sul pulpito dipingeva al vivo l'Inferno, come se ci fosse stato. E poi a ogni tratto tuonava, con un vocione spaventoso: – Guai! – Guai!
Come tante cannonate. Le donne raccolte in branco dentro il recinto a destra della navata, chinavano il capo sgomente, a ogni colpo, e lo stesso don Gennaro Pepi, ch'era don Gennaro Pepi! si picchiava il petto in pubblico, e borbottava ad alta voce: – Pietà e misericordia, Signore!
Ma c'era poco da fidarsi, perché ogni giorno, prima di scorticare il prossimo a quattr'occhi, don Gennaro Pepi tornava a mettersi in grazia di Dio, andando a messa e a confessione, e quanti erano alla predica poi, si sapeva che sarebbero tornati a fare quel che avevano fatto sempre.
– Guai a te, ricco Epulone, che ti sei ingrassato col sangue del povero! – E tu, Scriba e Fariseo, spogliatore della vedova e dell'orfano...
Questa era pel notaio Zacco. E ce n'era per tutti gli altri: pel barone Scampolo che aveva una lite coi RR. PP. cappuccini; per don Luca Arpone, il quale viveva in concubinato colla moglie del fattore; pel fattore che si rifaceva alla sua volta sulla roba del padrone; pei libertini che congiuravano contro i Borboni nella farmacia Mondella; per tutti quanti insomma, poveri e ricchi, ragazze e maritate, che ciascuno nel paese conosceva le marachelle del vicino, e diceva in cuor suo: – Meno male che tocca a lui! – a ogni peccato che sciorinava fuori il predicatore, e la gente si voltava a guardare da quella parte.
– E allorché sarete nelle fiamme eterne, poi, cosa farete?... Guai!
– Cos'è? – borbottò Donna Orsola Giuncada all'orecchio della figliuola, la quale dimenavasi sulla seggiola, quasi fosse realmente sui carboni accesi, per sbirciare Ninì Lanzo, laggiù in fondo. – Cos'è? Ti vengono i calori adesso? Bada che te li fo passare con qualche ceffone, ehi!
Intanto pareva di soffocare, in quella stia. Fra il caldo, l'oscurità, il sito greve della folla, quelle due misere candele che ammiccavano pietosamente dinanzi al Cristo dell'altare, il guaito del chierichetto che vi cacciava indiscretamente sotto il naso la borsa delle elemosine, il vocione del predicatore che intronava la chiesa e faceva venire la pelle d'oca, da sentirvi mancare il fiato. E sembrava allora che tornassero a pizzicarvi tutte le pulci degli scrupoli vecchi e nuovi, al sentire specialmente le frustate della disciplina che davasi laggiù, al buio, quel buon cristiano di Cheli Mosca, famoso ladro, che era venuto a dare il buon esempio e mostrare che mutava vita, lì, sotto gli occhi stessi del giudice e del capitano giustiziere – cing-ciang – colla cigna dei calzoni. – Ché poi, se mancava un pollo in paese, andavano subito a cercar lui, sangue di Giuda ladro! Gli uomini, dal canto loro, tenevano duro, bene o male. Ma nel recinto delle donne la parola di Dio faceva miracoli addirittura: sospiri, brontolii, soffiate di naso che non finivano più; e chi aveva la coscienza pulita ringraziava il Signore in faccia a tutti quanti – _coram populo_ – e tanto peggio per qualcun'altra che non osava levare il naso dal libro di messa, Donna Cristina-del-giudice a mo' d'esempio, o la Caolina, messa in disparte come un'appestata, con tutti i suoi fronzoli e il puzzo di muschio che ammorbava.
– A che ti gioveranno, Maddalena impenitente, le chiome profumate di mirra e d'incenso, e i vezzi procaci?...
Donna Orsola si turò il naso, stomacata dallo scandalo che recava in chiesa la Caolina, poiché gli uomini per simili donnaccie trascurano fino il sacramento del matrimonio, e vi lasciano muffire in casa le figliuole, senza contare poi gli altri inconvenienti che ne nascono: le ragazze che per aiutarsi si attaccano pure a uno spiantato senz'arte né parte, come Ninì Lanzo; i padri di famiglia che continuano a correre la cavallina a cinquant'anni... – Guai agli adulteri e ai lussuriosi!...
– Ehm! Ehm!...
Ora che il predicatore si era buttato addosso al settimo peccato mortale, e diceva pane al pane, la povera Donna Orsola si sentiva sulle spine per la figliuola, che sgranava gli occhi e non perdeva una sola parola della predica. Tossì, si soffiò il naso; infine cominciò a farle la predica a modo suo, che le ragazze in chiesa devono stare composte e raccolte, ascoltando solo quello che sta bene per loro, senza bisogno di fare quel viso sciocco, quasi il servo di Dio parlasse turco.
Parlava come sant'Agostino invece il predicatore; tanto che si sarebbe udita volare una mosca; la stessa Caolina si era calato il manto sugli occhi, e pareva contrita anche lei.
L'uditorio era così penetrato dal soggetto della predica, che vecchie di cinquant'anni tornavano ad arrossire come zitelle, e le più infervorate guardavano di traverso Donna Santa Brocca, la moglie del dottore, che era venuta alla predica con un ventre di otto mesi che faceva pietà, e si sentiva morire sotto quelle occhiate, poveretta.
Una santa donna davvero però costei, timorata di Dio, sempre fra preti e confessioni, tutta della casa e del marito, tanto che gliela aveva empita di figliuoli, la casa. E il marito – un libertino, uno di quelli che andavano a cospirare nella farmacia Mondella – ogni volta che sua moglie mettevasi a letto coi dolori del parto, se la pigliava con Dio e coi sacramenti, specie quello del matrimonio, talché la poveretta piangeva nove mesi interi quando tornava ad essere in quello stato.
Ma stavolta Donna Santa gliene fece una più grossa delle altre. È vero che il diavolo e il predicatore ci misero la coda – con quella scena dell'altro mondo che il quaresimalista aveva preparato – a fin di bene però. Mentre sgolavasi a gridare: – Guai a voi, lussuriosi! – Guai a te, adultera! – apparvero le fiamme della pece greca nel bel mezzo della chiesa, e si udirono il sagrestano coi compari che strillavano: – Ahi! Ohimè! – Che vedeste allora! Chi diceva che erano proprio i diavoli, chi piangeva ad alta voce, chi si buttava ginocchioni. La vedova Rametta, che aveva il marito sepolto lì di fresco, svenne dalla paura, e due o tre per simpatia. La povera Donna Santa Brocca poi, già debole di mente per la gravidanza, i digiuni e le devozioni, sbigottita fra i rimproveri del marito e le invettive del predicatore, sofferente dal caldo, dalla vergogna, dal puzzo di zolfo, fu colta all'improvviso dagli scrupoli, o da che so io, cominciò a smaniare e a stralunare gli occhi, pallida come una morta, annaspando colle mani in aria, gemendo: – Signore... Sono una peccatrice!... Pietà e misericordia!... e tutt'a un tratto, crac, fece la frittata.
Figuratevi il putiferio: voci, strilli, mamme che scappavano, spingendosi innanzi le ragazze curiose di vedere: insomma, un parapiglia. Gli uomini, nella confusione, invasero il recinto riservato, a dispetto del giudice che brandiva la canna d'India, e gridava come fosse in piazza. Corsero pugni e pizzicotti, nel pigia pigia. Quella fu anzi l'occasione che Betta l'indemoniata si rimise con don Raffaele Molla, dopo tante liti e tante vergogne che erano state fra di loro, e la Caolina fece vedere a chi voleva le brachesse ricamate, scavalcando seggiole e panche meglio di una capra. Una baraonda da farvi badare al portafoglio o alla catenella dell'orologio, se era il caso, ché il giudice a buon conto appioppò una stangata sulle spalle a Cheli Mosca, per tenerlo in riga.
Infine, qualche bene intenzionato, coll'aiuto del giudice e delle altre autorità, sgridando, strepitando, pigliando la gente per il petto del vestito, correndo di qua e di là come cani intorno al gregge, riuscirono a mettere un po' d'ordine e ad avviare la processione che doveva recarsi alla Matrice, come al solito, per ringraziare il Signore, la ciurmaglia innanzi, alla rinfusa, a spinte e a sdruccioloni per la viuzza dirupata, e i galantuomini dietro, a due a due, colla corona di spine e la disciplina al collo, che da ogni parte correvasi a veder passare a quel modo i meglio signori del paese, baroni e pezzi grossi, cogli occhi bassi, e le finestre erano gremite di belle donne – una tentazione per quelli che passavano in processione colla corona di spine in testa. Nel terrazzino del pretorio Donna Cristina-del-giudice chiacchierava colle sue amiche, e faceva gli onori di casa quasi fosse la padrona.
– Sicuro! Donna Santa Brocca! Bisogna dire che ci abbia di gran porcherie sulla coscienza! L'avreste detto, eh? una mascherona come lei! E si faceva passare per santa! Anche suo marito farebbe meglio ad aprire gli occhi in casa sua, invece di sparlare di tutto e di tutti!
Il dottor Brocca, che era realmente un giacobino, un malalingua di quelli della farmacia Mondella, e andava in giro per le sue visite, invece di ascoltare la predica e di seguire la processione, come seppe il castigo di Dio che gli era capitato addosso, e gli portarono a casa la moglie più morta che viva, cominciò a strepitare e a prendersela col quaresimalista, cogli esercizi spirituali, e col Governo che permetteva simili imposture, e tiravano ad accopparvi una gestante con quelle commedie; finché il giudice lo mandò a chiamare in pretorio _ad audiendum verbum_ , e gli fece una bella lavata di capo: – che il Governo è quello che comanda, e non sarete voi, mio caro, che gli insegnerete ciò che deve fare. Avete capito? E il quaresimalista apparteneva a quell'ordine dei reverendi padri liguorini che si facevano sentire sino a Napoli, e andavano girando e predicando per notare a libro maestro buoni e cattivi cittadini, come fa san Pietro in paradiso, per conto dei superiori. – Già voi non siete nella pagina pulita, caro don Erasmo! Che siete stanco di fare le vostre visite, adesso, e volete riposarvi in qualche carcere di Sua Maestà? Fatevi i fatti vostri, piuttosto. Avete capito?
I fatti suoi erano che sua moglie stava per lasciarlo vedovo, con cinque figliuoli sulle spalle, povero Don Erasmo, e per giunta, nel delirio, essa gli spifferava sotto il naso certe cose che gli facevano drizzare le orecchie, pur troppo!
– Guai all'adultera! Guai ai lussuriosi!... Sono in peccato mortale!... Signore, perdonatemi!...
Quello che aveva sentito alla predica, insomma. Ma Don Erasmo, che non era stato alla predica, non sapeva che pensare, sgranava gli occhi, si faceva di tutti i colori, balbettava ansioso:
– Eh? Che dici? Eh?
Non che sua moglie avesse mai dato occasione a sospettar di lei, poveretta, con quella faccia! che sarebbe stata una vera birbonata a volergli fare quel tiro al dottor Brocca, un altro che non ci fosse obbligato, come vi era costretto lui, purtroppo, per amor della pace, per accontentare la moglie che aveva la testa piena delle diavolerie dei preti, e osservava con fervore tutti e cinque i sacramenti... S'intendeva lui, che aveva una nidiata di figliuoli sulle spalle! Già i preti non pagano del loro! E quando una donna si è scaldata la testa, poi... Ne aveva viste tante! – Eh? Che dici? Parla chiaro, in malora.
Ma l'inferma non dava retta, accesa, guardando chi sa dove cogli occhi stralunati. E Donna Orsola Giuncada, che gli era sempre fra i piedi, col pretesto di assistere la cugina Donna Santa, gli dava sulla voce, per di più:
– È questa la maniera? Dopo un aborto? Mi meraviglio di voi che siete medico!
– E lasciatela dire, peste! Si tratta del mio interesse!...
Le amiche che venivano a visitare l'inferma facevano le meraviglie!... – Possibile! Un caso simile! Se stava così bene! Era venuta alla predica! Una madre di famiglia ch'era un modello! Che scrupoli poteva avere?
– Mah!... Mah!...
Alcune tentennavano allora il capo discretamente, altre invece si guardavano fra di loro, e se ne andavano senza chiedere altro. Qualche burlone perfino stringeva la mano in certo modo a don Erasmo che sembrava dirgli: Pazienza! È toccata a voi...
Almeno gli sembrava! Giacché, quando vi si è ficcata una di quelle pulci nell'orecchio, un galantuomo non sa più che pensare. Vito 'Nzerra non era venuto a riferirgli pure le chiacchiere che faceva correre Donna Cristina-del-giudice, quella pettegola, insudiciando anche lui, povero galantuomo?
Le chiacchiere non finivano più: forse Donna Santa era uscita di casa che non si sentiva bene quel giorno: o una mala luna nella gravidanza: o qualche spintone della folla: e questo, e quest'altro; oppure aveva avuto che dire col marito: – Dite la verità, eh, don Erasmo?... – La verità... la verità... Non si può sapere la verità! – Don Erasmo, che si sentiva scoppiare, la buttò alfine in faccia alla Borella e a due o tre altri fidati: – Non vogliono che si dica la verità!... preti, sbirri, e quanti sono della baracca dei burattini!... che menano gli imbecilli per il naso!...proprio come le marionette!... e tirano ad accopparvi una gestante con simili pagliacciate...
– Ma no! Ma no! Siamo state tutte alla predica... C'ero anch'io. A nessuna è successo niente...
– Allora! Allora!...
Allora non sapeva che dire il povero don Erasmo, cogli occhi stralunati e la bocca amara. Tornava a supplicare la moglie, prendendola colle buone, colla faccia atteggiata al riso, mentre preparava decotti e l'abbeverava di medicine: – Dilla al tuo maritino la verità... Cos'è questo peccato? Che devo perdonarti?
Come parlare a un muro. Donna Santa non disserrava neppure i denti per inghiottire le medicine, alle volte; oppure, se parlava, tornava a battere la stessa solfa di castighi, di peccati gravi, di lingue di fuoco che aveva sempre dinanzi agli occhi.
– Ah? Non posso sapere nemmeno cosa è successo in casa mia, ah? – sbuffava allora furibondo don Erasmo rivolto a Donna Orsola ch'era sempre lì, fra i piedi.
Lui che sapeva tutte le storie di casa altrui, gli scandali di Donna Cristina, le scene della vedova Rametta che andava a piangere, la buon'anima, nelle braccia di questo o di quello – Se ne facevano le belle risate col farmacista e Don Marco Crippa. – Gli pareva di vederlo, adesso, Don Marco, strizzando l'occhio guercio, ora che la disgrazia toccata a lui faceva le spese della conversazione.
– Capite bene, Donn'Orsola, che ho diritto di sapere infine cos'è successo in casa mia!
– Cos'è successo? Che vedete? Non vedete che vaneggia, poveretta? Sono le parole della predica che le rimasero in mente...
Giusto! perché le fossero rimaste in mente appunto quelle voleva sapere don Erasmo! In casa sua non ce n'erano mai state di simili porcherie!... Che sapesse lui, almeno! Che sapesse lui, Cristo santo! – Lasciatemi stare, Cristo santo, o dico che siete d'accordo fra di voi! E tu spiegati, mannaggia!
– Che volete? Perdonatemi!...
Ah no! Don Erasmo voleva prima sapere cosa dovesse perdonare!... e chi ringraziare del tiro fattogli, se mai!... del furto domestico... Sissignore, del furto domestico! Perché quando un galantuomo non è sicuro nemmeno in una casa come la sua, una vera fortezza, e con una moglie come la sua, che a fargli un tiro simile con siffatta moglie doveva essere stata inimicizia bell'e buona... Ma chi?... compare Muzio, il solo che bazzicasse da lui... a sessant'anni suonati!... È vero che Donna Santa non era più di primo pelo nemmeno lei, e il peccato poteva essere vecchio anch'esso... E allora? Allora? Quei figlioli di cui s'era empita la casa in ossequio al settimo sacramento? C'era qualche ladro anche fra di loro... Gennarino, o Sofia... o Nicola?... Tutti i santi del calendario c'erano in casa sua! Di tutte le età e di tutti i colori... Anche coi capelli rossi come il notaio Zacco che stava lì di faccia, ed era capacissimo di avergli fatto quel tiro per pura e semplice birbonata, _gratis et amore Dei_!
Il pover'uomo perdeva la testa in quei sospetti, e si rodeva dentro, mentre gli toccava assistere l'ammalata, e correre di qua e di là per la casa in disordine, costretto a far tutto lui, la pappa per Concettina, lavare il muso ad Ettore – forse i ladri domestici, poveri innocenti!... No, non poteva durare a quel modo! Donna Santa avrebbe parlato infine, avrebbe detto la verità, – se è vero che era una santa donna, – per scarico di coscienza.
Ma essa invece non confessò nulla, nemmeno in punto di morte, nemmeno al prete che venne a portarle il viatico. Don Erasmo lo prese a quattr'occhi, dopo, seguendolo giù per la scala, colle gambe che gli vacillavano sotto, per conoscere infine questa benedetta verità... – Se è vero che ci sia questo mondo di là... Se è vero che bisogna andarvi colla coscienza pulita... Specie di certi fatti che tolgono per sempre il sonno e l'appetito a un galantuomo... Disposto a perdonare però... da buon cristiano...
Niente! Neppure al confessore aveva detto nulla sua moglie. – Una vera santa, caro don Erasmo! Potete vantarvene... – o che realmente sua moglie non avesse nulla da dire, o che anche le sante ci hanno il pelo sullo stomaco.
E se il dottor Brocca non poté togliersela allora, non se la tolse mai più quella spina dal cuore, quel dubbio amaro, quel sospetto che gli accendeva il sangue a ciascuno che venisse a cercarlo, o soltanto passasse per via, e lo coglieva di soprassalto se fermavasi un quarto d'ora nella farmacia, e gli metteva l'inferno in casa, gli avvelenava il pane stesso che mangiava a tavola, fra quella nidiata di marmocchi che ne divoravano dei cassoni pieni, chissà quanti a tradimento, e quella moglie che tornata da morte a vita avrebbe voluto tornare anche ad essere come era prima, tutta della casa e del marito, sempre tra preti e confessori.
– Come la fai questa confessione? Che andate a dirgli al confessore voi altre donne?... Se non dite mai la verità!...
La poveretta piangeva, si disperava, faceva mille proteste e mille giuramenti. La cugina Orsola alle volte accorreva alle grida, e gli diceva il fatto suo.
– Ma che volete, infine da lei?... Volete che inventi dei peccati? Volete esser becco per forza?
E gli toccava mandar giù anche questa e tacere! E gli toccava chinare il capo e cambiar discorso, quando si rideva degli altri mariti disgraziati, con Don Marco Crippa e il farmacista.
# La vocazione di suor Agnese
Era venuta dopo, alla povera Donna Agnese, la vocazione di prendere il velo, quando la sua famiglia, caduta in rovina, fu costretta a farla monaca per darle un tozzo di pane.
Prima era destinata al mondo. A casa sua filavano e tessevano la biancheria pel corredo di lei, mentr'essa terminava l'educandato a Santa Maria degli Angeli. Suo padre, Don Basilio Arlotta, l'aveva già fidanzata col figliuolo del dottor Zurlo, un partitone che faceva gola a tutte le mamme del paese, malgrado la bassa nascita. Bel giovane, bianco rosso e trionfante, egli faceva l'innamorato con tutte quante le ragazze. Com'era figlio unico, e Donna Agnesina Arlotta avrebbe portato la nobiltà nei Zurlo, s'era lasciato fidanzare a lei, e aveva preso gusto anche a scaldarle la testa, recitando la sua parte di primo amoroso del paese. Babbo Zurlo che mirava al sodo, e a quella commedia ci credeva poco, diceva in cuor suo: – Il suggeritore lo faccio io. Se don Basilio Arlotta non snocciola la dote in contanti, spengo i lumi e calo la tela.
Don Basilio arrabattavasi appunto a mettere insieme la dote confacente alla nascita della sua Agnese, giacché di nobiltà in casa ce n'era assai, ma pochi beni di fortuna, e imbrogliati fra le liti per giunta. Il pover'uomo che voleva far contenti tutti, e non ci vedeva dagli occhi per la figliuola, ingolfavasi nelle spese: venti salme di maggese alle Terremorte seminate tutte in una volta; la lite di Palermo spinta innanzi a rotta di collo. – Come chi dicesse un pazzo che giuoca ogni cosa su di una carta, a fin di bene, sia pure, per amor della famiglia; ma fu quella la sua rovina.
Lavorava come un cane, sempre in faccende, di qua e di là, con gente d'ogni colore che gridava e strepitava. Partiva all'alba pei campi, e tornava a tarda sera, sfinito, coll'aria stravolta, sognando anche la notte i seminati in cui aveva messo il poco che gli rimaneva, e tutte le sue speranze. – San Giovanni Battista! – Anime del purgatorio, aiutatemi voi! – Così pregava la Madonna dell'Idria, accendendole di nascosto ogni sabato la lampada, dinanzi all'immagine benedetta dal Papa, perché facesse piovere. Teneva nascoste ai suoi le lettere dell'avvocato che gli parlavano della causa. In casa sforzavasi di mostrarsi allegro, il poveraccio. Rispondeva alle occhiate timidamente ansiose della moglie: – Va bene – Non c'è male – Domeneddio non ci abbandonerà in questo punto... – Si confessò e si comunicò a Pasqua; si mise in grazia di Dio, pregando coll'ostia in bocca per la buon'annata, per la vittoria della lite, per la buona riuscita del matrimonio che doveva far felice la sua creatura...
Essa pure, l'Agnesina, il bene che le volevano se lo meritava. Buona, amorevole, ubbidiente, quando le avevano fatto vedere lo sposo attraverso la grata – una lontana parente – e la mamma le aveva detto all'orecchio: – È quello lì. Ti piace? – Essa aveva chinato il viso, rosso qual brace: – Sì. – Poi, successa la catastrofe, come le fecero intendere che bisognava rinunziare a Don Giacomino e darsi a Dio, chinò il capo di nuovo e disse: – Sì.
Era stato il giorno di Pasqua che glielo avevano fatto conoscere, quel cristiano. L'aspettava, lo sapeva quasi. Le avevano messo in capo quel brulichìo le confidenze delle amiche, le visite insolite delle parenti di lui, certe mezze parole della mamma... Ah, che festa quella mattina che la mamma le aveva fatto dire di scendere in parlatorio, dopo le funzioni! Che dolcezza nel suono dell'organo, quante visioni nelle nuvolette azzurre che recavano sino al coro il profumo dell'incenso! Che batticuore in quell'attesa. Ogni cosa che rideva, ogni cosa che risplendeva d'oro e di sole, ogni cosa che sembrava trasalire allo scalpiccìo della gente che entrava in chiesa, quasi aspettasse, quasi sapesse già... Non lo dimenticò più quel giorno di Pasqua, la poveretta. Ancora, dopo tanti anni, quando udiva lo scampanìo allegro che correva su tutto il paese, le sembrava di rivedere il giardinetto tutto in fiore, le compagne appollaiate alle finestre, un cinguettìo di passeri, un chiacchierìo giulivo di voci note e care, un ronzìo nelle orecchie, uno sbalordimento, e lui, quel giovine, col sorriso già bell'e preparato, e la destra nel panciotto, e l'occhiata tenera che sembrava sfuggirgli suo malgrado, in mezzo ai suoi parenti, al di là della soglia del portone spalancato...
Le avevano pure fatto una gran festa all'uscire dal monastero, tutti i parenti, anche quelli di lui. Il babbo era tanto contento quella sera! I dispiaceri e i bocconi amari se li teneva per sé, il poveretto. Per gli altri invece aveva fatto preparare dolci e sorbetti che Dio sa quel che gli erano costati. Dio e lui solo! E nessun altro. – Né la ragazza per cui si faceva la festa, né il giovane che le avevano fatto sedere allato. – Se Don Giacomino avesse sospettato in quel momento quanti pasticci c'erano in quella casa, e come la dote che gli avevano promessa tenesse proprio al filo della buona o cattiva annata, avrebbe preso il cappello e sarebbe andato via, senza curarsi di far più l'innamorato.
E sarebbe stato meglio; ché allora la giovinetta non aveva ancora messa tutta l'anima sua in quel giovine, al vederlo tutti i giorni, quasi fosse già uno della famiglia, che veniva a farle visita, quasi anche lui non potesse stare un giorno senza vederla, e si metteva a sedere accanto a lei, e le diceva tante cose sottovoce. E la mamma era contenta lei pure, e aspettava anche lei l'ora in cui egli soleva venire, e adornava colle sue mani la sua creatura. Le avevano fatta una veste nuova color tortorella; l'avevano pettinata alla moda, colla divisa in mezzo. Allora aveva dei bei capelli castagni, che gli piacevano tanto a lui. Le diceva che sarebbe stato peccato doverli tagliare per farsi monaca. Discorreva anche di tante altre cose, con la mamma o col babbo, di ciò che gli avrebbe assegnato suo padre, del come intendeva far fruttare la dote che gli avevano promesso, del modo in cui voleva che andasse la casa e tutto. La mamma faceva segno ad Agnese di stare attenta e di badare a ciò che diceva lui, che doveva essere il padrone. Un giorno egli le aveva regalato un bel paio d'orecchini, e aveva voluto metterglieli colle sue stesse mani, in presenza della mamma. Come passavano quei giorni! Le ore in cui egli era lì, vicino a lei, le ore in cui essa l'aspettava, le ore in cui pensava a lui – le sue parole, il suono della sua voce, i menomi gesti, tutto – col cuore gonfio, colla testa piena di lui, china sul lavoro, agucchiando allato alla mamma. La mamma sembrava che le penetrasse nell'anima, con quegli occhi amorosi che la covavano, se taceva, in tutto quel che diceva, fin nei consigli che le dava intorno al taglio di un corpetto o pel ricamo di un guanciale su cui dovevasi posare il capo della sua figliuola, accanto a quello dello sposo. Ci pensava spesso la giovinetta, col viso chino, facendosi rossa fino al collo. E la mamma sembrava che le leggesse il pensiero dolce negli occhi fissi ed assorti, che ne giubilasse anche lei, povera vecchia, senza alzare gli occhi dal lavoro, fingendo di non vedere, quando il giovane cercava di nascosto la mano tremante della ragazza, quella volta che approfittando della confusione di tutto il parentado venuto a farle visita le sfiorò il viso fra un uscio e l'altro, come a caso. Venivano spesso i parenti e le amiche, tutti che pigliavano parte alla gioia comune. C'era un'aria di festa nella casa, nei mobili ripuliti, nei mucchi di biancheria sparsi qua e là, nel va e vieni di sarte e di operaie, nelle donne che cantavano affaccendate. Il babbo però aveva un certo modo di esser contento che toccava il cuore. Gli spuntavano le lagrime, a volte, nell'abbracciare la figliuola. Le diceva: – Che Dio ti benedica! Che Dio ti benedica, figliuola mia! – E le mani gli tremavano, accarezzando la sua Agnese, e rinfrancava la voce così dicendo, per dare ad intendere ai gonzi che dormiva su due guanciali, riguardo ai suoi interessi. A San Giovanni che il paese intero bestemmiava Dio e i santi, lagnandosi della malannata, aveva il coraggio di dire soltanto lui: – Non c'è tanto male, poi. Potrebbero andar peggio le cose. Lì, a Terremorte, ci ho venti salme di maggese. Calcoliamo pure sulla media... Ho avuto buone notizie della lite, laggiù...
Ma parlava così perché nel crocchio che stava a sentir la musica in piazza era pure la sua figliuola, seduta accanto allo sposo, colla veste di _mérinos_ e il cappellino comprato a credenza. Sembrava così contenta, la cara fanciulla, senza un pensiero e senza un sospetto al mondo! Il dottor Zurlo invece aveva certi occhi inquisitori, e insisteva con certe domande indiscrete che facevano sudar freddo il povero don Basilio: – E quanto credete che vi daranno le Terremorte? E che n'è della causa? Vi siete messo in una grossa impresa, voi. Io nei vostri panni non dormirei più la notte... Con una malannata simile! Le meglio famiglie non sanno come va a finire, vi dico! A metter su casa ci penserà bene ogni galantuomo, quest'anno! – Per poco non si sfogò col figliuolo che non badava ad altro, lui, in quel momento, pigliando fuoco ai begli occhi di Donna Agnesina, eccitato dalla musica che suonava e dalla bella serata tepida.
Però Don Giacomino non era sciocco neppur lui. Oltreché, nei piccoli paesi tosto o tardi si vengono a scoprire gli imbrogli di ciascuno. Il povero don Basilio Arlotta friggeva proprio come il pesce nella padella, assediato dai creditori, stretto da tanti bisogni, le spese della causa, il fitto delle terre, le paghe dei contadini. Correva da questo a quell'altro, s'arrapinava in ogni guisa, cercava di far fronte alla tempesta, dava la faccia al vento contrario almeno, pagava di persona. Quando, al tempo della messe, fu colto da una perniciosa che fu a un pelo di portarselo via – e sarebbe stato meglio per lui – non diceva altro, nel delirio: – Lasciatemi alzare. Non posso stare a godermela in letto. Bisogna che vada. Bisogna che cerchi... So io!... So io!...
E lo sapevano anche gli altri, primo di tutti Don Giacomino, il quale batteva freddo colla sposa e si faceva tirar le orecchie per tornare in casa di lei, ogni volta; tanto che Donna Agnesina piangeva notte e giorno, e sua madre non sapeva che pensare. Le povere donne avevano ancora gli occhi chiusi sul precipizio che inghiottiva la casa, perché Don Basilio cercava ancora di nascondere il sole collo staccio, soltanto per risparmiare loro più che poteva quel dolore che se lo mangiava vivo. Ogni giorno che tardavano a conoscere il vero stato delle cose era sempre un giorno di meno di quelli che passava lui!...
Tacque dell'usciere che venne a sequestrare quel po' di raccolta alle Terremorte. Tacque della scena terribile coi contadini che l'avevano minacciato colle forche, vedendo in pericolo le loro giornate. Alla moglie che scopava già il granaio pel frumento che doveva venire dalle Terremorte, disse d'averlo venduto sull'aia. Come essa aspettava i denari della vendita disse che glieli avevano promessi a Natale. – Domani – Doman l'altro – Alla fine del mese. – Il pover'uomo pigliava tempo con tutti, balbettando delle bugie alle quali quasi quasi credeva anche lui, tanto aveva perduta la testa. – Alla vendemmia – Alla raccolta delle olive. – E l'usciere era stato pure nelle vigne e nell'oliveto. Finalmente, nella novena di Natale, che le donne avevano fatto voto di digiunare tutti i nove giorni perché Gesù Bambino facesse succedere il matrimonio senza intoppi, scoppiò la bomba.
In casa Arlotta avevano fatto il pane quella mattina. L'Agnese, tutta contenta, stava anche preparando per Don Giacomino certe paste che le avevano insegnate al Monastero. E lui stava a vedere, sopra pensieri, piluccando di tanto in tanto un pizzico di pasta frolla e dicendole sbadatamente, soltanto per dire qualche cosa, che essa aveva le mani più bianche del fior di farina... – lì, in cucina, dinanzi al forno, col cappello in testa, proprio come uno della famiglia – quando comparve Menica, la serva, col fascio di sarmenti ch'era scesa a prendere in corte, e l'aria sconvolta. – Signora! signora!... – Nell'anticamera udivasi la voce di Don Basilio che pregava e scongiurava. La signora corse subito a vedere e non tornò più, senza curarsi che lasciava soli Don Giacomino colla figliuola. La povera ragazza si strinse allora allo sposo, quasi sapesse già che non le rimaneva altro aiuto ed altro conforto: – Cos'è stato, Don Giacomino, per l'amor di Dio!...
Ah, quando vide il babbo con quella faccia! La faccia che doveva avere in punto di morte. Barcollava come un ubbriaco; andava di qua e di là senza sapere quel che facesse, chiudendo le imposte e le finestre, perché la gente che passava non vedesse l'usciere in casa sua. Imbattendosi a un tratto nel fidanzato di sua figlia, Don Basilio lo guardò stralunato, col sudore dell'agonia in viso. Giunse le mani e aprì la bocca senza dir nulla. Allora Don Giacomino si mise a cercare il bastone e il pastrano senza dir nulla, facendo ancora finta di non saper niente di niente, per cortesia, ed anche per evitare una scena che gli seccava, borbottando:
– Scusate... Sono d'incomodo... Mi dispiace...
Ma come Don Basilio voleva continuare a fare la commedia dell'uomo tranquillo, coi goccioloni dell'agonia in fronte e pallido più di un morto: – Ma, Don Giacomino!... Figuratevi!... Un momento e li sbrigo subito... Passate un momento in camera mia colle donne... – Don Giacomino si fermò a guardarlo, verde dalla bile, sul punto di spiattellargli in faccia: – A che giuoco giuochiamo? Finiamola adesso questa commedia! Se lo sanno tutti che siete rovinato! Mi meraviglio di voi che volete imbrogliare un galantuomo...
Ma tacque ancora per prudenza. Soltanto non ci furono Cristi per trattenerlo. Né la vista dell'Agnesina che gli faceva la scena dello svenimento. Né le lagrime della madre che lo supplicava tremante: – Don Giacomino... Figliuolo mio!... – Egli disse che tornava subito, per cavarsi d'impiccio: – Mi dispiace. Non posso, proprio!... Un momento. Vado e torno.
Tornò invece il notaio Zurlo, a restituire i regali che venivano dalla sposa: berretto di velluto e pantofole ricamate, facendo il viso compunto per procura del figliuolo, un viso fra il padre nobile e il burbero benefico, tornando a dire anche lui: – Mi dispiace davvero... Era il mio più gran desiderio. Ma voi non ci avete colpa, Donna Agnesina!... Ne troverete degli altri coi vostri meriti...
E volle lasciarle anche una carezza paterna sulla guancia, con due dita, sorridendo bonariamente.
Ma come vide barcollare la ragazza, bianca al par di un cencio, si asciugò persino gli occhi col fazzoletto e conchiuse:
– Che disgrazia, figliuola mia!... Scusate se vi chiamo così. Vi tenevo già per figlia mia!... Che crepacuore mi avete dato...
Ecco com'era venuta la vocazione alla povera Donna Agnese. Il cappellano del monastero la citava in esempio alle altre novizie che mostravansi sbigottite nel punto di pronunciare i voti solenni: – Guardate suor Agnese Arlotta! Specchiatevi su di lei che ha provato quel che c'è nel mondo. C'è l'inganno e la finzione. – Imbrogliami che t'imbroglio. – Una cosa sulle labbra e un'altra nel cuore. – E poi che resta alla fine di tante angustie, di tanti pasticci? Un pugno di polvere! _Vanitas vanitatum!_...
Così, a poco a poco, la poveretta s'era distaccata completamente dalle cose terrene, e s'era affezionata invece all'altare che aveva in cura, al confessore che la guidava sul cammino della salvazione, al cantuccio del dormitorio dov'era il suo letto da tanti anni, al posto che occupava al coro e nel refettorio, al suono della campana che regolava tutte le sue faccenduole, sempre eguali, alle pietanze che tornavano invariabilmente secondo il giorno della settimana, alla stessa ora, nello stesso piatto. Il suo mondo finiva lì, al cornicione della casa dirimpetto che affacciavasi sopra il muro del giardino, al pezzetto di collina che si vedeva dalla finestra, al gomito della stradicciuola che metteva capo al parlatorio. Le ore e le stagioni si succedevano nel monastero allo stesso modo, col sole che scendeva più o meno basso sul cornicione, colla collina che era verde o brulla, coi polli che razzolavano nella stradicciuola, o si radunavano all'uscio del pollaio. Anche le voci dei vicini erano tutte note. Allorché andò via la tessitrice che stava di faccia alla chiesuola fu un avvenimento, quando non si udì più il battere del pettine ogni mattina. Suor Agnese non ebbe pace finché non riescì a sapere dal sagrestano dov'era andata e perché era andata via, quella cristiana.
Non che cercasse il pettegolezzo, ma per semplice curiosità, massime da che era divenuta sorda. Siamo fatti di carne infine, e il mondo ostinavasi a insinuarsi sin là, pian piano, coi sermoni del confessore, colle chiacchiere del sagrestano, coi discorsi dei parenti che venivano in parlatorio, colle liti fra le monache, e gl'intrighi che nascevano quando trattavasi di eleggere le cariche pel triennio. Oh allora!
Suor Gabriella, ch'era la superbia in persona, si faceva umile come un agnello pasquale; e Suor Maria Faustina, otto giorni prima, aveva sulla faccia arcigna un sorriso amabile. Fra le suore poi erano conciliaboli a tutte le ore, durante la ricreazione, o quando si riunivano nel tinello a preparare i dolci e le paste per le solennità, a Pasqua o a Natale. Tanto più che suor Agnese non aveva nulla da fare, perché non aveva né fior di farina, né zucchero, né denari per comprarne, né parenti a cui mandare in regalo i dolci. Sua madre, buon'anima, era morta da un pezzo; e anche Don Basilio, quantunque fosse campato vecchio nei guai, perché Dio aveva voluto dargli il purgatorio in terra – e anche la zia caritatevole, che aveva sborsate le cento e venti onze della dote perché donna Agnese potesse farsi monaca. – Pace alle anime loro, di tutti quanti, compreso Don Giacomino, che era morto carico di figliuoli, e gli avevano fatto i funerali a Santa Maria degli Angeli. Sia fatta la volontà di Dio! A suor Agnese, povera vecchia, il Signore le accordava la grazia. Colle sei onze all'anno della dote, e il piatto che le passava il convento, meno di trenta centesimi al giorno, essa riusciva a mantenersi lei, la lavandaia, e la conversa di cui non poteva fare a meno per i suoi acciacchi. Risparmiava sulle due paia di scarpe e sulla tonaca nuova che le spettavano ogni anno. Vendeva le noci e le mandorle della tavola che non poteva rosicchiare. Di due ova ne mangiava uno lei, e l'altro, metà per una fra la serva e la lavandaia. Aveva anche combinato che a tavola teneva un fornello allato al piatto, e la sua porzione di minestra tornava a farla bollire perché crescesse e potesse bastare alle due donne che avevano sempre una fame da lupi. Essa campava d'aria, povera vecchia. Talché a furia di privazioni tirava innanzi anche lei, e arrivava a cavare di quel poco anche il caffè e il biscotto pel confessore, ogni mattina.
Veramente avrebbe avuto anche lei l'ambizioncella di tenere il pastorale, almeno una volta in tanti anni. Ma alle cariche erano nominate sempre quelle monache che sapevano intrigare meglio, e trovavano appoggio nel parentado di fuori. Basta, taceva e ringraziava la Divina Provvidenza. – Che le mancava, grazie a Dio? Mentre fuori, nel mondo, c'erano tanti guai! – Col buon esempio, e simili belle parole confortava pure quelle novizie che in convento ci venivano tirate proprio pei capelli, senza vocazione. Una di queste però, maleducata e villana, le rispose un bel giorno chiaro e tondo:
– Sapete com'è? La mia vocazione è di sposare don Peppino Bertola, per amore o per forza.
# Gli innamorati
Innamorati lo erano davvero. – Bruno Alessi voleva Nunziata; la ragazza non diceva di no; erano vicini di casa e dello stesso paese. Insomma parevano destinati, e la cosa si sarebbe fatta se non fossero stati quei maledetti interessi che guastano tutto.
Quando due passeri, o mettiamo anche due altre bestie del buon Dio, si cercano per fare il nido, forse che stanno a domandarsi: – Tu cosa mi porti in dote, e tu cosa mi dai?
La Nunziata, cioè mastro Nunzio Marzà suo padre, doveva avere un bel gruzzolo, dopo quarant'anni che teneva merceria aperta, e quindi Alessi pretendeva cento onze insieme alla ragazza. – La gallina si pela dopo morta – ribatteva mastro Nunzio. – Io non intendo lasciarmi spogliare in vita. – La moglie va colla dote – picchiava Bruno Alessi. – Io non voglio maritarmi a credenza.
Veramente questo lo faceva dire dai suoi vecchi, com'è naturale, e lui badava a scaldare i ferri colla giovane. Il diavolo è tentatore, e le donne hanno il giudizio corto. A poco a poco la povera Nunziata prese fuoco come un pugno di stoppa, e ci rimise il sonno e l'appetito.
– Bene, – disse mastro Nunzio. – T'insegnerò io il giudizio.
E giù legnate da levare il pelo, se la sorprendeva alla finestra, o le vedeva fare altre sciocchezze. Cogli Alessi invece usava politica, e stavano insieme a tirare sul prezzo, senza troppa furia. Al giovanotto però quel negozio non andava a sangue, sia che ci avesse la fregola addosso, o perché le cose lunghe diventano serpi. Poi voleva mettere una bella calzoleria, e pensare agli interessi propri, invece di lavorare a bottega dal padre.
– Senti, – disse alla ragazza. – Qui ci menano a spasso, per fare i loro comodi. Bisogna finirla.
Giacché Marzà aveva un bel picchiare la figliuola, e sprangare usci e finestre. Il diavolo è anche sottile, e Bruno Alessi ne sapeva una più del diavolo. Fingeva di andare a vendere scarpe e stivali per le fiere, lì intorno, e poi, mentre mastro Nunzio dormiva tranquillo fra due guanciali, veniva di notte a stuzzicargli la figliuola.
– Maria santissima! Cosa mi fate fare! – piagnucolava Nunziata col grembiule agli occhi.
– Se mi vuoi bene, te lo dirò io.
Però la ragazza non voleva sentirla quella faccenda di spiccare il volo con lui, e dopo, quando il pasticcio era fatto, mastro Nunzio avrebbe dovuto adattarsi a mandarlo giù. Era una buona figliuola infine, dello stesso sangue dei Marzà, e stando dietro il banco aveva imparato cosa vuol dire negozio, e come vanno a finire certe cose. Ma soffia e soffia, Bruno, che non pensava ad altro, seppe scaldarle la testa, e farle perdere quel po' di senno che le restava ancora. La finestra era bassa, e rizzandosi sulla punta dei piedi egli le arrivava al collo. Allora, per parlarsi all'orecchio, perché non udisse mastro Nunzio che dormiva lì accanto, pigliavano fuoco tutt'e due, e la ragazza ci si squagliava come la neve. Lui le aveva mostrato anche un trincetto che portava addosso, e minacciava di fare una tragedia con quello. – M'ucciderò sotto i tuoi occhi! Verrà tutto il paese a vedere il sangue! Allora sarai contenta! Allora vedrai se ti voglio bene sì o no!
E bisognava vedere che faccia! Nunziata a quell'uscita sbigottiva, e tornava a balbettare tutta tremante:
– Oh Madonna santa! cosa mi fate fare!...
– Bene. Quand'è così, vuol dire proprio che non mi ami. È meglio finirla!...
Per abbreviare, gnor padre che picchiava la ragazza tutto il giorno, l'innamorato che veniva a farle di notte le stesse scene di amore e di gelosia, Nunziata raccolse quattro stracci in un fagotto, e andò a raggiungere Bruno che l'aspettava nella viuzza. – Però giuratemi che mi sposerete subito! – gli disse prima di tutto. – Giuratemi innanzi a Dio!
Bruno le giurò tutto quel che voleva, lì, su due piedi, al cospetto di Dio che vedeva e sentiva, lassù: una mano sul petto e l'altra che chiamava angeli e santi testimoni. – Non lo sai che t'amo più della pupilla degli occhi miei? Non dobbiamo essere marito e moglie? – Poi volle portarle lui il fagotto. – Hai preso gli ori? – le chiese pure.
Essa non aveva preso gli ori, perch'era tutta sottosopra. – Hai fatto una sciocchezza, – conchiuse Bruno. – Tuo padre te li metterà sul conto della dote.
Mastro Nunzio il mattino trovando l'uscio aperto si mise a gridare al ladro. Papà Alessi, che passava di là per caso, in quel punto, lo tirò dentro pel braccio e gli disse:
– Non fate strepiti. Non facciamo ridere la gente. Vostra figlia è in casa di mia cugina Menica, rispettata e onorata come una regina.
Il povero Marzà s'era messo a sedere colle gambe rotte. Ma tosto si rimise. Compare Alessi gli offrì una presa, accostò una scranna lui pure, e infine intavolò il discorso.
– Bene. Ora che facciamo?
– Dite voi, – rispose Marzà asciutto asciutto. – Io lo so cosa devo fare.
– È una disgrazia, non dico di no. Gli altri rompono e tocca pagare a noi.
– Chi rompe paga, e chi ne ha ne spende.
Compare Alessi era uomo navigato anche lui, e capì il latino.
– A me non importa infine, – conchiuse mettendosi colle spalle al muro.
– E a me neppure.
– Scusate, scusate. Si tratta di vostra figlia. È il sangue vostro.
– E voi, quando vi esce il sangue dal naso, che state a cercare dov'è andato a cadere?
Toccò a mastro Alessi stavolta di rimanere con tanto di naso e la bocca aperta.
– Allora dite voi. Come si fa?
– Si fa così, che la Nunziata è minorenne, e vostro figlio andrà in carcere.
– Ah! ah!... Va bene allora! Quand'è così vi saluto tanto!
Papà Alessi si alzò lentamente, e fece anche finta d'andarsene, come quando si capisce bene che il negozio non si combina. Pure, vedendo mastro Nunzio fermo come un macigno, con quella faccia tosta di negadebiti, non poté frenarsi dal rinfacciargli, stando sull'uscio:
– E vi terrete la figliuola... così?
– Non mi avete detto ch'è onorata come una regina? Ho quattro soldi. Le troverò bene un marito a modo mio.
– Ah! per quei quattro soldi! – esclamò l'altro infuriato. – Vendete vostra figlia per cento onze! Sentite! Scusate! È sangue vostro, sì o no? Siete cristiano? Siete padre, o cosa siete?
– Ah, compare bello! E voi ve lo fate cavare il sangue per gli altri?
Mastro Alessi se ne andò davvero stavolta, e corse subito a far scappare Bruno prima che la giustizia venisse a cercarlo: Nunziata invece, che mangiava a ufo dalla cugina Menica, e neppure il curato aveva potuto persuadere Marzà a sborsare le cento onze, dovette tornare a casa mogia mogia, e sentirsi dire:
– Vedi se volevano te o il mio denaro? Hai capito adesso?
Intanto passavano i giorni, e Bruno, temendo di cadere nelle unghie della giustizia, andava pel mondo cercando fortuna, e riducendosi povero e pezzente. Mastro Nunzio, che era padre e cristiano alla fin fine, gli avrebbe pur dato la figliuola, ed anche un po' di roba. Ma cento onze di denaro, no, finch'era vivo! – E Bruno dal canto suo si ostinava invece:
– O colle cento onze, o niente.
Però la Nunziata, piangendo giorno e notte, indusse il padre a discorrerne fra loro e Bruno, in famiglia, e ciascuno avrebbe dette le sue ragioni.
– Ma non sarà qualche tranello poi? – osservò Bruno, come la zia Menica andò a fargli l'imbasciata. – Posso fidarmi di quel birbante?
– Ti accompagno io, – tagliò corto la zia. – Mastro Nunzio è un galantuomo.
La sera stessa, dopo chiusa la bottega, si riunirono nella merceria loro quattro, lei, Bruno e i Marzà, per dire ciascuno la sua ragione. Bruno stava zitto e grullo, mastro Nunzio guardava in terra. Nunziata versava il vino nei bicchieri, e toccò quindi a comare Menica parlare:
– Bisogna finirla. È una porcheria. Tutto il paese non discorre d'altro. Io non me ne vado di qui se prima non si conclude il matrimonio.
Nunziata allora si mise a piangere. Bruno guardava ora lei e ora suo padre. La ragazza infine, vedendo che non diceva nulla, prese a sfogarsi:
– Ditelo voi stessa, comare Menica!... Dopo avermi lusingata per tanto tempo! Dopo tanti giuramenti E quello che ho fatto per lui... che sarebbe meglio buttarmi nel pozzo, adesso!
– Io non mi tiro indietro, – borbottò lui. – Per me non manca.
– Dunque per chi manca? – conchiuse la zia Menica, guardando ora il padre ed ora la figlia.
Nessuno aprì più bocca, finché Bruno s'alzò in piedi, e prese un bicchiere dal banco.
– Guardate! – disse. – Che questa grazia di Dio possa mutarsi in veleno se dico bugia! Della dote non me ne importa nulla. Quanto a me la sposerei anche senza camicia.
– Questo no, – interruppe la zia Menica. – Mastro Nunzio conosce il suo dovere.
– Bene. Dunque quello che dà lo dà a sua figlia. Voglio le 100 onze nel suo interesse. Ci ha lavorato anche lei, colla merceria, sì o no?
Qui Nunziata prese le sue parti, e disse che era vero. Ci aveva spesa tutta la bella gioventù dietro a quel banco, dacché era morta la buon'anima di sua madre. Se fosse stata ancora al mondo, quella, non avrebbe fatto penare la sua creatura per 100 onze di più o di meno. E lì a intenerirsi tutti, e buttarsi piangendo al collo di mastro Nunzio, lei, lo sposo e anche la zia Menica, sinché il babbo dopo aver pestato e ripestato che la gallina si pela dopo morta, che i denari hanno le ali, e quando Bruno Alessi avesse mangiato quelli della dote gli toccava poi a lui mantenere marito e moglie, pure si lasciò andare a promettere le 100 onze, purché ci fosse la sua brava cautela. Nunziata ballava e rideva, comare Menica baciava in terra, ma qui Bruno mostrò il malanimo, che le 100 onze le voleva in mano, perché – metterle alla Banca, no: se le portano via. – Comprare un pezzo di terra, neppure: non danno frutto. – Invece col contante in mano lui avrebbe messo un bel negozio.
– Il negozio è quello che volete fare con questa sciocca che vi crede e si lascia prendere alle vostre commedie! – interruppe nel bel mezzo il vecchio più arrabbiato di prima.
– No! – rispose Nunziata aprendo gli occhi a un tratto, e asciugandosi le lagrime. – No, che non mi lascio prendere!
E in tal modo sfumarono matrimonio ed amore. Bruno rinfacciò a Nunziata, prima d'andarsene: – Così dicevate di buttarvi nel pozzo? – Lei, di rimando: – Come vi siete ucciso voi col trincetto, tal quale – Mastro Nunzio chiuse l'uscio, e la figliuola se ne andò a letto furiosa.
Se non fosse stata la vergogna di essersi lasciata cogliere in trappola da quel bel galantuomo, ed era difficile trovarne un altro, avrebbe voluto maritarsi subito subito, per dispetto, anche con uno di mezzo alla strada. Ma suo padre, coi suoi denari, le trovò invece Nino Badalone, un pezzo di marito che ne valeva due, e non aveva tante arie e tante pretese. Nunziata si fece pregare alquanto per decenza, e poi disse di sì.
– Giacché piace a voi, sono contenta io pure.
Nino Badalone era contento anche lui. Veniva alla merceria quasi ogni sera; portava qualche regaluccio, e faceva l'innamorato come e meglio di qualcun altro. Mentre Marzà serviva gli avventori, o schiacciava un pisolino dietro il banco, Nino soffiava all'orecchio della ragazza le stesse cose che le aveva dette Bruno: – Bene mio! – Cuore mio! – E lei ci pigliava gusto egualmente, e la notte poi fra le coltri, diceva fra sé e sé: – È lo stesso tal quale.
Bruno invece, ch'era rimasto a bocca asciutta, pensava dal canto suo: – Voglio vedere come va a finire!
Passava e ripassava per la stradetta, col garofano in bocca; si sgolava di notte a cantarle dietro l'uscio canzoni d'amore e di sdegno, e quando incontrava la Nunziata, alla messa, invece di farla arrossire, come pretendeva, e di confonderla colle sue occhiatacce, era lui piuttosto che restava minchione e doveva chinare il capo.
– Ma con quell'altro voglio vedermela davvero – brontolava poi sputando veleno. – Voglio mangiargli il fegato! Voglio berne il sangue.
Di buoni amici ce n'è sempre a questo mondo; sicché cotesti sproloqui arrivarono all'orecchio di Badalone. Costui era stato soldato, e sapeva il fatto suo. – Bene, – rispose, – vedremo! Chi è buon cane mangia alla scodella.
La domenica di carnevale dai Bozzo ci era un po' di festino. Bruno vi andò lui pure, colla fisarmonica, per svagarsi, ed anche perché sapeva che mastro Nunzio vi avrebbe condotto la figliuola, e voleva vedere come andava a finire. Mentre dunque suonava la fisarmonica e faceva ballare gli amici, arrivò infatti mastro Nunzio, colla Nunziata in gala, e dietro Badalone gonfio come un tacchino.
Se Bruno Alessi in quel momento non fece uno sproposito e poté andare innanzi colla sonata, fu proprio un miracolo, ed anche per non lasciare in asso i ballerini. Per giunta Badalone prese subito la sposa a braccetto, senza dire né uno né due, e si mise a ballargli sotto il mostaccio – polche, valzeri, contradanze – Nunziata che si dimenava con bel garbo e gli faceva il visavì, e lui saltando come un puledro, tutto rosso e scalmanato. Il povero Bruno intanto gli toccava portare il tempo e inghiottire veleno. Infine lasciò il posto a Zacco, ch'era lì pronto colla cornamusa, e volle fare quattro salti anche lui.
– Permettete, amico? – disse a Badalone, toccandosi pulitamente il berretto.
Quello screanzato invece lo squadrò prima ben bene, e poi rispose asciutto:
– Non permetto. Perché?
Gli disse anche quel «perché», che fa montare la mosca al naso! Fortuna che Bruno Alessi era un galantuomo, e non voleva più averci a fare colla giustizia. Ma gli giurò in cuor suo: – Ti farò becco, com'è vero Dio! – E volle piantar subito ballo e ballerini. Non ci furono cristi.
Se ne vedono civette al mondo! Sfacciate come quella lì, che ridono a Cajo e a Tizio, e passano da una mano all'altra peggio dei cani di strada che fanno festa a tutti! Ma un tradimento simile Bruno non se lo aspettava, dopo tanto amore e tante pene, e tutto ciò che aveva fatto per l'ingrata! Questo voleva dirle, a quattr'occhi, appena la coglieva un momento sola, dovesse azzuffarsi poi con Badalone.
Infatti Nunziata se lo vide capitare in casa con quel proposito, il giorno dopo, mentre stava affacciata a veder le maschere. Era vestito da pulcinella, per non farsi scorgere, ma essa lo riconobbe tosto, che il cuore non è fatto di sasso, e voleva chiudergli l'uscio sul naso.
– Ah, così mi ricevete? – diss'egli. – Questa mi toccava?
– Bene, parlate, – rispose lei.
– Non m'importa di vostro padre. Non ho paura di nessun altro. Voglio dirvi il fatto mio.
– Bene, dite, e finiamola subito.
Bruno s'era preparato il suo bel discorso, ma al vedersi trattare in quel modo non trovò più le parole. Bugiarda! Traditora! L'aveva venduto per 100 onze, come Gesù all'orto! E gli rideva sul muso anche! Allora, disperato, si strappò la maschera, e mostrò anche di frugarsi addosso per cercare il trincetto.
– Ah! Volete ammazzarvi un'altra volta? – rispose lei continuando a ridere.
In quel punto sopraggiunse Nino, colle mani in tasca, e quella sua andatura dinoccolata. Appena vide il Bruno, che lo seccava, infine, gli assestò una pedata sotto le reni, e questo fu il primo saluto.
– Bada che ha il trincetto addosso! – gridò la giovane spaventata.
Bruno si rivoltò come una furia. Voleva mangiargli il fegato. Voleva berne il sangue. Ma poi se la diede a gambe, e Nino l'accompagnò ancora a pedate sino in fondo alla stradetta.
# Fra le scene della vita
Quante volte, nei drammi della vita, la finzione si mescola talmente alla realtà da confondersi insieme a questa, e diventar tragica, e l'uomo che è costretto a rappresentare una parte, giunge ad investirsene sinceramente, come i grandi attori. – Quante altre amare commedie e quanti tristi commedianti!
Ho visto la commedia del dolore al letto di un agonizzante. Un caso di corte d'Assise, se era vero, come dicevano i vicini, che Matteo Sbarra non moriva, no, di un calcio di mulo; ma fosse stato il compare Niscima che l'aveva ucciso a tradimento, con una badilata nella testa, quando seppe di quell'altro tradimento che Matteo Sbarra gli faceva con la moglie – un compare, un amicone che spartiva con loro il pane e il lavoro, e si sarebbe fatto ammazzare per tutt'e due! – Niscima piangeva, sua moglie piangeva, strappandosi i capelli, fosse amore, o fosse timore della giustizia. – O compare, che giornata spuntò oggi per tutti noi! – O che fuoco ci ho qui dentro, compare bello! – E il giudice istruttore era presente; e la stanza era piena di vicini che sapevano e non sapevano; e il mulo, legato lì fuori, non poteva parlare.
Matteo Sbarra, col singhiozzo alla gola, stava zitto anche lui, dinanzi al giudice, dinanzi ai testimoni, dinanzi al prete che gli dava l'assoluzione dei suoi peccati. Guardava la comare, guardava il compare, cogli occhi torbidi, dove forse passava già la visione della vita eterna. Ah! le mani di lei, che gli asciugavano adesso col fazzoletto il sangue e il sudore della morte! E le mani dell'amico che gli rassettavano il guanciale sotto il capo, lì, nello stesso letto matrimoniale dove l'aveva tratto in agguato – a colpo sicuro, se era vero che la donna ve l'aveva stretto altre volte fra le braccia, poiché Niscima sapeva bene che il maschio della selvaggina vi torna di nuovo sotto il fucile, al richiamo della femmina, fosse ferito e grondante sangue. – La vicina Anna aveva udito dietro l'uscio il rumore della lotta brusca e violenta, appena il marito era arrivato a casa: le grida soffocate, il rantolo della donna, e l'anelito furioso di lui. Cosa doveva fare, poveretta, se era vero che fosse colpevole? se è vero che Dio non paga il sabato, e ci castiga col nostro stesso peccato? – Perché l'hai fatto scappare, buona donna? Digli che torni. Dovete averci un segnale fra di voi. Fagli segno di venire, pel nome di Dio! – Ella mise il segnale: un fazzoletto rosso color di sangue: la videro altri vicini, più morta che viva, alla finestra. Avevano ben ragione di strillare adesso tutti e due: – O compare mio, che fuoco mi lasciate qui dentro nel mio cuore! – Signor giudice, signori miei, uccidetemi qui stesso, dinanzi a lui, se fui io il traditore! – E la giustizia oscura che era nella coscienza dei testimoni muti, pensava forse: – Il morto è morto. Bisogna salvare il vivo.
Quest'altra da tribunale correzionale invece: lui buttandosi fra le fiamme che aveva appiccato di nascosto al magazzino, dicevasi, onde salvarsi dal fallimento, e cercando di spegnerle colle sue stesse mani: le mani arse, i panni che gli fumigavano addosso, i capelli irti, il viso stravolto e terreo di un disperato o di un delinquente – e la moglie seminuda, i figliuoli atterriti che s'avvinghiavano a lui. – Lasciatemi!... perdio!... È la rovina!... Meglio la morte! – Il vocìo della folla, il crepitare dell'incendio, il getto delle pompe, lo squillare delle cornette dei pompieri. – E dei visi arrossati, delle ombre nere che formicolavano nel chiarore ardente, le placche dei carabinieri che l'abbacinavano. – Che vedeva egli, che sentiva in quel momento torbido? Le mani convulse che si stendevano verso di lui, fra il luccicare delle baionette; la fanciulla brancicata senza riguardo da cento sconosciuti, il figliuolo dibattendosi furioso fra i soldati: – Papà! papà mio! – E i sogghigni dei malevoli, il sussurro avverso della voce pubblica: – Trecentomila lire d'assicurazione!... Si capisce!... Tanto più che la barca faceva acqua da tutte le parti! – Due volte il forsennato tentò di rompere il cordone di truppa che isolava l'incendio, e due volte fu respinto urlante e traballante sul marciapiedi: – È la mia roba, vi dico!... La mia roba!... Lasciatemi morire! – E noi, papà? Siamo noi! Ascolta! – Ah, figli miei! Poveri figli miei! – E il piangere che faceva, lì in mezzo alla strada, le lagrime che gli rigavano il viso sporco di fumo e di polvere – le lagrime della moglie e dei figli! Erano finte anche quelle? Erano complici pietosi ancor essi della turpe commedia? Piangevano sulla colpa del padre, o sulla loro rovina? Avevano letto prima in quel volto venerato ed amato le angustie segrete, le ansie, le lotte che il negoziante onorato e stimato fino a quel giorno aveva dovuto dissimulare fra loro, a tavola, in teatro, nell'intimità della famiglia e al cospetto del pubblico che bisognava illudere colle apparenze di una costante prosperità? Era la disperata necessità della menzogna istessa che li contaminava tutti adesso per la comune salvezza? Sino a qual punto erano finte le lagrime del colpevole, lì, sotto gli occhi della moglie e dei figli, la sua tenerezza, il suo orgoglio, le sue vittime, i suoi giudici primi e più inesorabili nel segreto della coscienza? Chi avrebbe potuto dirlo? – Voi uomo di banca, che giuocate alla Borsa col sigaro in bocca delle partite di vita o di morte, e di rovina per altri mille che hanno fede soltanto nella vostra bella indifferenza? – O voi uomo di toga, che avete fatto piangere i giudici per salvare l'omicida? – Tutt'a un tratto la folla, i soldati, gli stessi pompieri indietreggiarono atterriti, dinanzi all'orror dell'incendio, fra un urlo immenso. Egli solo, il disgraziato, si strappò dalle braccia dei figli per slanciarsi nella voragine ardente, rovesciando quanti gli si opponevano, lottando come un forsennato contro tutti, respinto, percosso, tornando a cacciarsi avanti a testa bassa, grondante sangue, colla schiuma alla bocca, la bocca da cui usciva un grido che non aveva più nulla d'umano: – La cassa! I libri!
Lo portarono a casa su di una barella, tutto una piaga e mezzo asfissiato. Stette un mese fra morte e vita, coll'aspettativa del giudizio infame in quella agonia, e gli occhi dei figli che lo interrogavano. – Povera Lia, come sei pallida! – E anche tu, Arturo! Anche tu! Vedete, sono tranquillo adesso, tra voi. Vedete come sorrido, povere creature? – E poi ancora dinanzi ai giudici, seduto al posto dei malfattori, sotto l'interrogatorio e le testimonianze contrarie, e la difesa dell'avvocato che invocava in suo favore quarant'anni di probità intemerata, e il viso pallido del figliuolo che ascoltava fra l'uditorio, e le braccia tremanti delle sue donne che l'avvinsero all'uscita del tribunale. – Assolto! Assolto! – Senza dir altro, un'altra parola, che rimase muta e gelida fra di loro, sempre!
E la commedia di tutti i giorni, nella casa patrizia, sotto lo stesso tetto, alla stessa tavola, al cospetto dei figli e dei domestici, rappresentata per vent'anni, colla disinvoltura del gran mondo, tra il marito offeso e la moglie colpevole, se il triste segreto era realmente fra di loro. – La moglie di Cesare non deve essere neppur sospettata, – ed entrambi, legati alla medesima catena da un casato illustre, osservavano perfettamente il codice speciale della loro società. Né il mondo ci aveva nulla da vedere. Forse qualche capello bianco di più sulle tempia delicate di lei; ma non un riguardo, né un'attenzione di meno nella cortesia implacabile del marito. Se la dama, moglie e madre onorata e insospettata sino al declinare della giovinezza, era caduta tutt'a un tratto, e caduta male, giacché il pleonasmo è ammesso nel _suo mondo_ , come una povera creatura delicata e fiera, avvezza soltanto a camminar a testa alta sui tappeti e che non sappia mettere le mani avanti, il marito la sorresse tosto con braccio fermo, perché continuasse a portare degnamente il nome suo e quello dei figli. Certo è che essa non gridò né pianse, né fece piangere le anime caritatevoli sulla pietà del caso. – E anche il marito ebbe gran parte di merito nel tenere la cosa _in famiglia_ , poiché l' _altro_ era uomo di mondo lui pure, della stessa casta e quasi dello stesso casato, bel cavaliere e bel giuocatore alle carte e in amore, che correva alla rovina e alla morte col sorriso alle labbra e il fiore all'occhiello, e _sapeva vivere_ – e morire, al bisogno, evitando ogni scandalo. Egli non le aveva scritto che due o tre lettere, nei casi più urgenti, quando si era trovato proprio coll'acqua alla gola o colla rivoltella sotto il mento. Il male fu che una di quelle lettere, la più breve e grave, l'ultima, cadde in mano del marito, mentre stavano per recarsi a una gran festa, e la carrozza aspettava a piè dello scalone, e la povera donna già pettinata e vestita, pallida come una morta, seduta dinanzi a un gran fuoco, aspettava i gioielli che aveva impegnati per l'amante, e che questi le aveva promesso di restituirle per quella sera _a ogni costo. –_ A ogni costo. – Perciò le chiedeva scusa, scrivendole, se per la prima volta, e l'ultima, mancava alla sua parola. La poveretta ne aveva già il triste presentimento, giacché aveva il cuore stretto da quella immensa angoscia ed era così pallida dinanzi a quel gran fuoco? Aveva vista balenare l'idea del suicidio, ed era stata la pietosa attrattiva che l'avea data a lui, quando lo aveva visto perdere tutto, calmo e impenetrabile, in una terribile partita? – Una terribile partita che faceva disertare il ballo e attirava anche le dame nella sala da giuoco. Egli, incontrando gli occhi di lei, tristi e pietosi, le aveva detto allora con un pallido sorriso: – Perché viene a vedere queste brutte cose, duchessa? – E lei... perché?... Perché fa questo, Maurizio? – balbettò essa con un filo di voce. Egli si strinse nelle spalle, chinandosi a baciarle la mano, e non rispose altro, fissandola in viso con gli occhi chiari e fermi, e decisi a tutto.
La notizia del suicidio correva già per i trivii sulla bocca dei venditori di giornali, allorché il duca entrò nello spogliatoio della moglie colla fatale lettera in mano. Era fermo anche lui, e impenetrabile come quell'altro, nella rovina improvvisa di tutto ciò che aveva formato il suo orgoglio e la sua fede. – Scusatemi, le disse, se l'ho letta prima di accorgermi che non era diretta a me. Ma riflettete che poteva capitare in mani peggiori. Bruciatela insieme a tutte le altre che dovete avere, e datevi un po' di rosso, giacché non posso condurvi al ballo con quella faccia, senza renderci ridicoli voi ed io.
Il ridicolo fu evitato. Se pure i cacciatori di scandali si affollarono all'uscio, quando fu annunziata l'illustre coppia, e le amiche indulgenti si rivolsero a lei, allorché la notizia del suicidio cominciò a circolare nella festa, videro lei diritta e forte, senza battere palpebra sotto il colpo mortale che le picchiava alla testa, e gli sguardi dei curiosi, e le parole del marito che compiangeva «quel povero Maurizio» colla discrezione mondana che attutisce ogni stridere molesto. Essa fu malata, e il duca non lasciò un sol giorno la stanza di lei. Ricomparve ai teatri, ai ricevimenti, ammirata, inchinata, al braccio di quell'uomo di cui sentiva l'intima repulsione, accanto alla vergine candida e pura e al giovinetto di cui era l'orgoglio e la tenerezza. Quando essi andarono sposi, il padre aveva detto loro: – Serbatevi degni del vostro nome, e dell'esempio che vi hanno dato i vostri. – Dinanzi a loro, dinanzi a tutti, egli non dimenticò giammai, un giorno solo, per anni ed anni, di dare lo stesso esempio di devozione e di stima alla compagna della sua vita e della sua catena, rimasta sola con lui, nel palazzo immenso, sonoro e vuoto come una tomba. Se mai il volgare sospetto fosse durato ancora nella mente di qualche domestico o di un familiare, egli volle smentirlo sino all'ultimo momento, sino al punto di morte, stringendo la mano della moglie singhiozzante, prostrata dinanzi a lui, dinanzi ai figli, dinanzi ai congiunti, mentre il prete gli dava la estrema unzione. Soltanto nell'ultima convulsione di spasimo, respinse quella mano colla mano di ghiaccio. Nel testamento lasciò un ricco legato «alla sua fedele compagna».
Quante altre! Quante! – Il sorriso procace della disgraziata che deve guadagnarsi il pranzo. – Le lagrime dello scroccone che viene a chiedervi venti lire «in prestito». – L'eleganza dello spiantato che cena colle paste del thè. – Gli occhi bassi della ragazza che cerca un marito. – E la più desolante, infine, la commedia dell'amore, quando l'amore è morto, e resta la catena. O braccia delicate che vi allacciate all'amplesso stanche e illividite! Quando Alberto strinse in quella festa da ballo la piccola mano che doveva avvincergli così tenacemente la catena al collo, non sapeva che essa se ne sarebbe svincolata così presto. E anche lui allora non sapeva di lasciarsi prendere all'ardore che simulava e alla lusinga delle proprie frasi galanti. – Il sorriso trionfante di lei che si inebbriava all'omaggio di quel bell'avventuriero d'amore disputato e ammirato – il sottile eccitamento della danza – la carezza della musica che accompagnava la carezza delle parole – gli occhi bramosi che cercavano i suoi, e il fulgore ch'essa vi scorse allorché chinò il capo biondo ad assentire: – Sì! Sì! – Con qual altra ebbrezza e qual smarrimento negli occhi ella ascese la prima volta quella scala e spinse quell'uscio, premendosi forte il manicotto sul seno ansante! Con qual altro sbigottimento vi ritornò poi, guardandosi intorno e buttandosi a sedere appena entrata, col viso pallido e una ruga sottile fra le sopracciglia. – Mi son fatta aspettare, non è vero? – No... non importa ormai... Sei qui!... – Ah, son mezzo morta... Sapeste!... Mio marito!... Quel portinaio che mi vede passare! – Insomma tutte quelle cose che non vedeva prima, quando aveva gli occhi abbacinati dal sogno d'oro. – Lasciatemi, Alberto!... Ve ne prego! Vi prego!...
– Vi lascio. Scusatemi!
– Che vi piglia adesso? Vedete in che stato sono!... Che faccio per voi!...
Gli occhi negli occhi, le mani nelle mani, e la bocca rosea che sorrideva stanca e si offriva sotto la veletta. Ah, non era quella la bocca che una volta sfuggiva tremante e si era abbandonata avida al primo bacio! Gli si offriva anche adesso, pietosa menzogna, perché vedeva gli occhi ardenti dell'innamorato cercare in quelli di lei l'amore che non c'era più. Egli non raccolse quel bacio, guardandola fiso: – O povera Maria! – disse tristamente.
Ella si era fatta rossa, fissandolo anche lei cogli occhi già inquieti. Scorgeva forse il dubbio e l'incredulità atroce negli occhi di lui? – Povero amore! Povera Maria! – Non le disse altro, e l'accarezzò sui capelli, sorridendo anche lui. Ma era bianco bianco, e il sorriso era amaro. Allora essa avvinse nelle sue carezze quel pallore e quegli occhi, e vi si smarrì un istante ella pure, forse sinceramente, o volle smarrirvisi per compassione di lui. O povero amore, che hai bisogno di batterti i fianchi colle ali! Povera amante discesa a rappresentare l'ignobile commedia! – No! No! Egli indietreggiò barcollante, come se avesse ricevuto un urto al petto, fece qualche passo per la stanza, e tornò a sederlesi allato, cercando di sorriderle ancora, cercando le parole che non venivano.
– È tardi – diss'ella alzandosi. – Saranno quasi le cinque. Devo andarmene.
Si alzò egli pure senza dir nulla.
Essa cercò il manicotto e i guanti, si aggiustò il velo sul viso serio e freddo, senza una parola, senza guardarlo, e s'avviò all'uscio. Egli l'apriva già.
– Fatemi il favore. Se ci fosse qualcheduno per la scala...
– Aspettate.
Uscì a spiare dal pianerottolo e rientrò tosto. – Nessuno.
L'amata esitò un istante e rialzò la veletta al di sopra della bocca. L'amante finse di non vederla, e le strinse la mano.
– Addio dunque.
– Addio.
Udì sino all'ultimo scalino il rumore dei passi di lei che altra volta si dileguavano furtivi, e dalla finestra la vide ferma e tranquilla sul marciapiedi, come una che non ci abbia più nulla da nascondere adesso, accennando a un cocchiere d'accostarsi, con un gesto grazioso della destra infilata nel manicotto.
# NOVELLE SPARSE
Sotto il titolo _Novelle sparse_ si riuniscono: i racconti che non furono inseriti nelle raccolte, _Il come, il quando ed il perché_ e i tre _Drammi intimi_ non più ripubblicati.
# Un'altra inondazione
Mi rammento, nell'ultima eruzione dell'Etna, di avere assistito ad uno di quei semplici episodi che vi colpiscono più profondamente della catastrofe stessa. Era lo spettacolo di un casolare in fondo alla valle, che la lava stava per seppellire. Davanti al casolare c'era un cortiletto, cinto da un muricciolo, il quale aveva arrestato per poco la corrente, e le scorie gli si ammonticchiavano addosso adagio adagio; sembrava si gonfiassero, come un rettile immane irritato, e scoppiavano in larghi crepacci infuocati. Allora il casolare ne era improvvisamente rischiarato, e si vedevano le finestre spalancate, una tettoia accanto alla porta, e un albero nel cortiletto. L'immensa valle era tutta nera di scorie fumanti, che si squarciavano qua e là, e avvampavano nelle tenebre, e le scorie irrompevano da quei crepacci, con un acciottolìo prolungato e sinistro, come di un'immensa distesa di tegole che rovinasse.
Una delle finestre del casolare si era illuminata, e dava un aspetto di cosa viva a quella casuccia abbandonata in mezzo a tanta desolazione; ma ciò che colpiva maggiormente era quel cortiletto deserto e sgombro di ogni cosa, senza un cane né una gallina, né un pezzo di legno, quasi spazzato da un vento furioso. Di tanto in tanto si vedeva comparire un uomo, il quale sembrava nero nel riflesso ardente della lava, e piccin piccino per la grande distanza.
Egli si affacciava sotto la tettoia, e guardava. Dal poggio dove eravamo, si scorgevano anche col cannocchiale altri uomini piccini e neri, che formicolavano sul tetto, e ne levavano le tegole, i travicelli, le imposte, tutto ciò che potevasi strappare di dosso alla povera casa, la quale pareva sempre più desolata a misura che la spogliavano nuda prima di abbandonarla. E intanto dal poggio gli spettatori, seccati dalla cenere che li accecava e dalle emanazioni che toglievano il respiro, s'impazientivano del lungo tempo che ci metteva la lava a soverchiare l'altezza del muricciuolo, e calcolavano, coll'orologio in mano, il tempo che ci avrebbe messo a circondare la casuccia. Tutt'a un tratto l'albero accanto alla porta avvampò come una fiaccola, e la lava si rovesciò nel cortile. E nella immensa valle nera non si vide altro che il rosseggiare qua e là delle lave che irrompevano, accompagnate dall'acciottolìo sinistro delle scorie che precipitavano. Alle volte, mentre la corrente infuocata si ammonticchiava a poco a poco per cinquanta metri d'altezza, non si udiva né si vedeva più nulla, tranne il fruscìo soffocato della pioggia di cenere, che stampava come uno sterminato nuvolone nero sul pallido cielo di luna nuova, e le fiamme che si accendevano di tratto in tratto nella valle, e indicavano il corso della corrente di fuoco. Ah! quanti alberi se ne andavano in quelle fiamme! e quanti filari di vigne zappati, potati, accarezzati, guardati cogli occhi assorti dei castelli in aria! e quante cannucce colle immagini di sant'Agata miracolosa, che non erano valse ad arrestare il fuoco! e quante avemarie biascicate colle labbra tremanti! E noi che correvamo ad assistere a quel triste spettacolo in brigate chiassose! e le strade della montagna che erano popolate di notte come alla vigilia di una festa, e i cocchieri che facevano scoppiettare le fruste perché non avevano né vigne né case, e la loro vigna era quella provvidenza dell'eruzione che avrebbe dovuto non finir più, se voleva Dio! e le bettole affollate e fumanti e i campi lungo le siepi, e le storielle dettagliate del disastro che si raccontavano per rendere più piccante lo spettacolo a coloro che spendevano venti lire per andare a vedere! – Quante ricchezze aveva ingoiate il fuoco, quanti campi aveva distrutto, quanto erano distanti i boschi del barone A. e quanto potevano valere i nocciuoleti del marchese B., minacciati dall'eruzione. – Insomma i particolari più desolanti, come il pepe della pietanza, che vi facevano sospirare dal piacere pensando che non ci avevate nemmeno un palmo di terra da quelle parti.
Un tale, il giorno prima, vi possedeva una vigna che gli fruttava tremila lire all'anno, una ricchezza, sebbene non avesse altro, per sé e per la sua numerosa famiglia. Tutt'a un tratto vennero a dirgli che il fuoco divorava la sua ricchezza, e lo lasciava povero e pazzo come si dice. Egli accorse a cavallo dell'asino, e trovò il vignaiuolo affaccendato a levare le imposte del palmento, e le tegole del tetto, le doghe delle botti, tutto ciò che si poteva salvare, come avevano fatto quei del casolare. Il padrone, giungendo alla porta senz'uscio del palmento, dinanzi alla sua vigna che gli fumava e gli crepitava sotto gli occhi, filare per filare, domandò al vignaiuolo con la faccia bianca: – Perché avete levato le tegole e le imposte, e le doghe delle botti? – Per salvarle dal fuoco – rispose il contadino. – Il fuoco fra tre ore sarà qui. – Lasciate stare ogni cosa – disse il padrone. – Io non ho più bisogno di palmento, né avrò più cosa metterci nelle botti. Io non ho più nulla.
Egli non aveva nemmeno la zappa da camparsi la vita, come il suo vignaiuolo. Poi baciò il cancello della vigna, che ancora rimaneva in piedi, e se n'andò tirandosi dietro l'asinello.
Io non ho assistito a quella scena, ma essa mi è rimasta stampata dinanzi gli occhi più nettamente del casolare che ho visto distruggere dalle lave. E sentendo di quell'altra catastrofe che ha devastato Reggio ho pensato a quei poveretti che si sono voltati a guardare di lontano la vigna inondata, o la casuccia distrutta ed hanno detto: – Io non ho più cosa metterci nelle botti quest'anno, né nel granaio, io non ho più nulla – come quel tale che aveva baciato per l'ultima volta il cancello della sua vigna, e se n'era andato tirandosi dietro l'asinello.
# Casamicciola
Quando giunse la notizia del disastro che aveva colpito Ischia mi parve di rivedere l'isoletta, quale mi era sfilata dinanzi agli occhi attraverso gli alberi del battello a vapore, in una bella sera d'autunno.
La mensa era ancora apparecchiata sul ponte, e gli ultimi raggi del sole indoravano il marsala nei bicchieri. Dei viaggiatori alcuni s'erano già levati, e passeggiavano su e giù. Altri, coi gomiti sulla tovaglia, guardavano l'immensa distesa di mare che imbruniva sotto i caldi colori del tramonto su cui Ischia stampavasi verde e molle, e dove la riva s'insenava come una coppa. Casamicciola, bianca, sembrava posare su di un cuscino di verdura.
A tavola due che tornavano dal Giappone discorrevano di seme di bachi. Una coppia misteriosa era andata a rannicchiarsi a ridosso del tubo del vapore. Un giovane che non aveva mangiato quasi, e stava seduto in un canto, pallido, col bavero del paletò rialzato, guardava l'isoletta con occhi pensierosi e lenti, in fondo alle occhiaie incavate.
Tutt'a un tratto sul profilo dell'isola che spiccava dalla luce diffusa del crepuscolo, apparve netto e distinto un fabbricato, quasi sorgesse d'incanto, e l'ultimo raggio di sole scintillò sui vetri, come l'accendesse.
Quel dettaglio del paesaggio che si animava all'improvviso apparve così chiaro e luminoso come se si fosse avvicinato d'un tratto.
Tutti si volsero ad ammirare lo spettacolo, e i negozianti di cartoni giapponesi tacquero un momento. Soltanto la coppia ch'era andata a nascondersi dietro il fumajuolo non si mosse, e gli occhi del giovane pallido che teneva il bavero rialzato non si animarono neppure.
Così succede ogni dì; e due sole preoccupazioni bastano per sé stesse, l'amore e la malattia, l'origine e la fine della vita. Quasi cotesta riflessione fosse venuta istintivamente a tutti in quel momento, si cominciò a parlare dell'azione benefica che hanno le acque e l'aria di Casamicciola, e dei malati che vanno a cercarvi la salute o la speranza. Invece il giovane dal paletò, pensava probabilmente, come si fa delle cose che si desiderano, alle gioie tranquille e ignorate che dovevano esserci in quell'isoletta verde, fra quelle casette bianche, dietro quei vetri scintillanti. E quando i vetri si spensero, e la casa si dileguò ad un tratto quasi al mutare di una lanterna magica, e i contorni dell'isoletta sfumarono nel mare livido, il suo volto si offuscò.
Adesso quella casetta bianca è forse distrutta, e degli occhi senza lagrime e senza sorriso ne contemplano le rovine, dalle occhiaie incavate, su dei visi pallidi.
# I dintorni di Milano
L'impressione che si riceve dall'aspetto del paesaggio prima d'arrivare a Milano, per quaranta o cinquanta chilometri di ferrovia, è malinconica. La pianura vi fugge dinanzi verso un orizzonte vago, segnato da interminabili file di gelsi e di olmi scapitozzati, uniformi, che non finiscono mai; cogli stessi fossati diritti fra due file di alberelli, colle medesime cascine sull'orlo della strada, in mezzo al verde pallido delle praterie. Verso sera, allorché sorge la nebbia, il sole tramonta senza pompa, e il paesaggio si vela di tristezza.
D'inverno un immenso strato di neve a perdita di vista, costantemente rigato da sterminate file d'alberi nudi, tirate colla lenza, a diritta, a sinistra, dappertutto, sino a perdersi nella nebbia. Di tratto in tratto, al fischio improvviso della macchina, vi si affaccia allo sportello, e scappa come una visione un campanile di mattoni, un fienile isolato e solitario. Sicché finalmente appena nella sconfinata pianura bianca, fra tutte quelle linee uniformi, vi appare nel cielo smorto la guglia bianca del Duomo, il vostro pensiero si rifugia frettoloso nella vita allegra della grande città, in mezzo alla folla che si pigia sui marciapiedi, davanti ai negozi risplendenti di gas, sotto la tettoia sonora della Galleria, nella luce elettrica dei Gnocchi, nella fantasmagoria di uno spettacolo alla Scala, dove sboccia come in una serra calda la festa della luce, dei colori e delle belle donne.
I dintorni di Milano sono modellati sulle linee severe di questo paesaggio. Basta salire sul Duomo in un bel giorno di primavera per averne un'impressione complessiva. È un'impressione grandiosa ma calma. Al di là di quella vasta distesa di tetti e di campanili che vi circonda, tutta allo stesso livello, si spiega la pianura lombarda, di un verde tranquillo, spianata col cilindro, spartita colle seste, solcata da canali diritti, da strade più diritte ancora, da piantagioni segnate col filo, senza un'ondulazione di terreno e senza una linea capricciosa in gran parte. L'occhio la percorre tutta in un tratto sino alla cinta delle Alpi ed alle colline della Brianza. E se rimaneste un giorno intero lassù non ne avreste un'impressione nuova, né scoprireste un altro dettaglio. È la stessa cosa percorrendo i dintorni immediati della città. Sempre le stesse strade più o meno diritte, fiancheggiate dagli stessi alberi; il medesimo fossato da una parte, o il medesimo canale dall'altra, lo stesso muro grigio, rotto di tanto in tanto dal portone di una fabbrica, sormontato da un fumaiuolo nero che sporca il cielo azzurro, gli stessi orti chiusi tra filari di gelsi e divisi in scompartimenti di cavoli e lattughe senza mutar di prospettiva. Sicché la cosa più difficile per un viandante pare che dovrebbe essere di riconoscere la sua strada fra quelle altre cento strade che si somigliano tutte, e per un proprietario di ritrovare il suo podere fra tutti quei poderi fatti sul medesimo stampo.
Nondimeno il milanese ha la passione della campagna. Bisogna vederlo a San Giorgio o in qualche altra festa campestre per farsene un'idea. Appena la stagione comincia a farsi mite e il ciglio dei fossati a verdeggiare, tutti corrono _fuori del dazio_ , a godersi il verde sminuzzato a quadretti, e ad empirsi i polmoni di polvere. Cotesto è il motivo di tante osterie di campagna, di tante _isole_ , di tanti giardini piantati in botti da petrolio. Allora le strade melanconiche, i ciglioni intristiti, i quadrelli di verdura pallida formicolano di un'altra vita, risuonano di organetti, di chitarre, di allegria chiassosa e bonaria.
L'uniformità del fondo dà alcunché di piccante alla varietà delle macchiette. Qui il paesaggio, in un orizzonte sconfinato, è circoscritto costantemente tra due file di alberi, lungo due muri polverosi, fra le sponde di un canale diritto, smorto, che sembra immobile, ombreggiato dacché spuntano i primi germogli sinché cadano le ultime foglie, e i raggi del sole non hanno più colori né festa. La mucca che leva il muso grondante d'acqua, un gruppo di contadine che lavorano nei campi, e mettono sul prato la nota gaia delle loro gonnelle rosse, la carretta che va lentamente per la stradicciuola, un desco zoppicante sotto il pergolato di un'osteria, coll'operaio in maniche di camicia, e la sua donna coi gomiti sulla tovaglia e gli occhi imbambolati, due cavalli da lavoro accanto a una carretta colle stanghe in aria, davanti a una porta chiusa, sono tutti i quadri della campagna milanese, su di un fondo uniforme. Lo spettacolo grandioso di un tramonto bisogna andare a vederlo in Piazza d'Armi, su quella bella spianata che corre dal Castello all'Arco del Sempione; e tuttavia l'effetto più grandioso gli viene dalle linee stupende del monumento, sul fondo opalino, e da quei cavalli di bronzo che si stampano come una visione del bello dell'arte, in alto, nella gloria degli ultimi raggi.
Ma la ineffabile melanconia di quell'ora non l'ho mai provata come in una delle Certose dei dintorni di Milano. Colà, in mezzo a mirabili pagine d'arte, mentre la luce muore nelle invetriate dipinte, vi sorprende uno strano sentimento della vanità dell'arte e della vita, un incubo del nulla che vi si stringe attorno da ogni parte, dalla campagna silenziosa e uniforme. Io non ho mai passata un'ora più tetra come quella che provai in uno di quei cortiletti di verdura cupa della Certosa di Pavia, chiusi fra quattro mura di cimitero, e allietati da quattro file di bosso, nel caldo meriggio d'aprile, in cui non si udiva che il ronzare delle mosche.
Di cotesta impressione alquanto melanconica del paesaggio milanese ne avete un effetto anche ai Giardini pubblici, dove mettendo sottosopra il tranquillo suolo lombardo sono riesciti a rendere un po' del vario e pittoresco che è la bellezza della campagna. Il popolo però li ha cari, e nei giorni di festa e di sole ci reca in folla la sua allegria e la sua vita. Tutto ciò infine prova che Milano è la città più città d'Italia. Tutte le sue bellezze, tutte le sue attrattive sono nella sua vita gaia ed operosa, nel risultato della sua attività industre. Il più bel fiore di quella campagna ricca ma monotona è Milano; un prodotto in cui l'uomo ha fatto più della natura. Che importa a Milano se non ha che 3 o 400 metri di passeggiata, da Porta Venezia al ponte della via Principe Umberto? I suoi equipaggi non sono splendidi quanto quelli della Riviera di Chiaja e delle Cascine? e la prima domenica di quaresima, quando il sole scintilla sugli arnesi lucenti, e sui colori delicati, per tutte quelle file di cocchi e di cavalli, in mezzo a quella folla elegante che formicola nei viali, col fondo maestoso di quelle Alpi ancora bianche di neve, il cielo trasparente e gli ippocastani già picchettati di verde, lo spettacolo non è bello? e quando il teatro alla Scala comincia ad esser troppo caldo anche per le spalle nude, e l'alba imbianca troppo presto sulle finestre delle sale da ballo, Milano non ha la sua Brianza per farvi trottare i suoi equipaggi? non ha i laghi per rovesciarvi la piena della sua vita elegante? non ha Varese per farvi correre i suoi cavalli? Le passeggiate e i dintorni di Milano sono un po' lontani, è vero; ma sono fra i più belli del mondo.
Io mi rammento ancora della prima gita che feci al Lago di Como, in una giornata soffocante di luglio, dopo una di quelle estati di lavoro e di orizzonti afosi che vi mettono in corpo la smania del verde e dei monti.
La prima torre sgangherata che scorsi in cima alla montagna posta a guardia del lago mi si stampò dinanzi agli occhi come un faro di pace, di riposo, di freschi orizzonti. Il paesaggio era ancora uniforme. Tutt'a un tratto, dalle alture di Gallarate, vi si svolge davanti un panorama che è una festa degli occhi. Allorché vi trovate per la prima volta sul ponte del battello a vapore, rimanete un istante immobile, e colla sorpresa ingenua del piacere stampata in faccia, né più né meno di un contadino che capiti per sorpresa in una sala da ballo. L'ammirazione è ancora d'impressione, vaga e complessiva. Non è lo spettacolo grandioso del Lago Maggiore, né quello un po' teatrale del Lago di Lugano visto dalla Stazione. È qualche cosa di più raccolto e penetrante. Tutto il Lago di Como a prima vista è in quel bacino da Cernobbio a Blevio, e la prima idea netta che vi sorga è di sapere da che parte se n'esca.
A poco a poco comincia a sorgere in voi come un'esuberanza di vita, quasi un'esultanza di sensazioni e di sentimenti, a misura che lo svariato panorama si va svolgendo ai vostri occhi. Sentite che il mondo è bello, e se mai non l'avete avuta, principia a spuntare in voi, come in un bambino, la curiosità di vederlo tutto, così grande e ricco e vario, di là di quelle cime brulle, oltre quei boschi che si arrampicano come un'immensa macchia bruna sui dossi arditi, dopo quei campanili che sorgono da un folto d'alberi, di quelle cascate che biancheggiano un istante nella fenditura di un burrone, di quelle ville posate come un gingillo, su di un cuscino di verdura, che vi creano in mente mille fantasie diverse, e la vostra immaginazione popola di figure leggiadre, dietro le stoie calate ed i vetri scintillanti, in quelle barchette leggiere che battono il remo silenzioso come un'ala, e si dileguano mollemente, con un cinguettìo lontano di voci fresche, strascinandosi dietro delle bandiere a colori vivaci. È come un sogno in mezzo a cui passate, e vi sfila dinanzi Villa d'Este elegante, Carate civettuolo, Torno severo, e Balbianello superbo. Poi, come tutt'a un tratto vi si allarga dinanzi la Tremezzina quasi un riso di bella fanciulla, nell'ora in cui sulla Grigna digradano le ultime sfumature di un tramonto ricco di colori, e Bellagio comincia a luccicare di fiammelle, e il ramo di Colico si fa smorto, di là di Varenna, e Lenno e San Giovanni vi mandano le prime squille dell'Avemaria, voi vi chinate sul parapetto a mirare le stelle che ad una ad una principiano a riflettersi sulla tranquilla superficie del lago, e appoggerete la fronte sulla mano sentendovi sorgere in petto del pari ad una ad una tutte le cose care e lontane che ci avete in cuore, e dalle quali non avreste voluto staccarvi mai.
# Il come, il quando ed il perché
Il signor Polidori, e la signora Rinaldi si amavano – o credevano di amarsi – ciò che è precisamente la stessa cosa, alle volte; e in verità, se mai l'amore è di questa terra, essi erano fatti l'uno per l'altro: Polidori si godeva quarantamila lire di entrata, e una pessima riputazione di cattivo soggetto, la signora Rinaldi era una donnina vaporosa e leggiadra, e aveva un marito che lavorava per dieci, onde farla vivere come se possedesse quarantamila lire di rendita. Però sul conto di lei non era corsa la più innocente maldicenza, sebbene tutti gli amici di Polidori fossero passati in rivista, col fiore all'occhiello, dinanzi alla fiera beltà. Finalmente la fiera beltà era caduta – il caso, la fatalità, la volontà di Dio, o quella del diavolo, l'avevano tirata pel lembo della veste.
Quando si dice _cadere_ intendesi che aveva lasciato cadere sul Polidori quel primo sguardo languido, molle, smarrito, che fa tremare le ginocchia al serpente messo in agguato sotto l'albero della seduzione. Le cadute a rotta di collo son rare, e alle volte fanno scappare il serpente. La signora Rinaldi, prima di scendere da un ramo all'altro, voleva vedere dove metteva i piedi, e faceva mille graziose moine col pretesto di voler fuggire verso le cime alte. Da circa un mese ella si era appollaiata sul ramoscello della corrispondenza epistolare, ramoscello flessibile e pericoloso, agitato da tutte le aurette profumate. – Avevano cominciato col pretesto di un libro da chiedere o da restituire, di una data da precisare, o che so io – la bella avrebbe voluto fermarvisi un pezzo, su quel ramo, a cinguettare graziosamente, perché le donne cinguettano sempre a meraviglia, così cullandosi fra il cielo e la terra; Polidori, il quale aveva vuotato il sacco, divenne presto arido, laconico, categorico che era una disperazione. La poveretta chiuse gli occhi e le ali, e si lasciò scivolare un altro po'.
– Non ho letto la vostra lettera; né voglio leggerla! – gli disse incontrandolo all'ultimo ballo della stagione, mentre seguivano la fila delle coppie. – Giacché non volete essere quello che vi avevo ideato, lasciatemi rimanere quale voglio essere io.
Polidori la fissava serio serio, tormentandosi i baffi, ma colla fronte china. Gli altri ballerini che non avevano nessuna ragione per stare a chiacchierare nel vano dell'uscio, li spingevano verso il salone. La donna arrossì, quasi fosse stata sorpresa in un abboccamento secreto con lui.
Polidori – il serpente – notò quella vampa fugace. – Sapete che vi obbedirò ad ogni costo, rispose semplicemente.
La croce di brillanti scintillò sul petto di lei, sollevandosi in trionfo. Tutta la sera la signora Rinaldi ballò come una pazza, passando da un ballerino all'altro, tirandosi dietro uno sciame di adoratori, cogli occhi ebbri di festa, luccicanti come le gemme che le formicolavano sul seno anelante. Però ad un tratto, trovandosi faccia a faccia colla sua immagine in un grande specchio, si fece seria e non volle ballar più. Rispondeva a tutti di sentirsi stanca, molto stanca; e macchinalmente cercava cogli occhi suo marito. Non c'era nemmen lui, quell'uomo! In quei dieci minuti che rimase accasciata sul canapè, senza curarsi che la sua veste si affagottava sgarbatamente, le passarono davanti agli occhi delle strane fantasie, insieme alle coppie che ballavano il valzer. Polidori solo non ballava, né si vedeva più. – Che uomo era mai costui? Finalmente lo scorse in fondo a una sala deserta, faccia a faccia con una testa pelata, che non doveva aver nulla da dire, sorridendo come un uomo per cui il sorriso sia indifferente anch'esso. – Ella avrebbe preferito sorprenderlo colla più bella signora della festa, in parola d'onore! – Polidori non se ne avvide. Si alzò, premuroso sempre, e le offrì il braccio.
In quel momento, proprio in quel momento doveva cacciarlesi fra i piedi anche suo marito, che cercava di lei. Allora, bruscamente, aggiustandosi sull'omero la scollatura della veste, con un leggiadro movimento della spalla, disse piano a Polidori, così piano che il fruscìo della seta coprì quasi il suono della voce.
– Sia pure, domani alle nove, ai Giardini.
Polidori s'inchinò profondamente e la lasciò passare, raggiante e commossa, al braccio del marito.
Giammai mattino di primavera non era sembrato così misteriosamente bello alla signora Rinaldi nella sua villa deliziosa della Brianza, e giammai ella non l'avea contemplato con occhio più distratto attraverso al cristallo scintillante del suo _coupé_ , come quando il suo legnetto attraversava rapidamente la piazza Cavour. Il sole inondava i viali del giardino, caldo e dorato, sull'erba che incominciava a rinverdire; l'azzurro del cielo era profondo. Coteste impressioni, ad insaputa di lei, riverberavansi nei suoi grandi occhi neri, che guardavano lontano, non sapeva ella stessa dove, né che cosa, mentre appoggiava la mano e la fronte pallida alla manopola. Di tanto in tanto un brivido la faceva stringere nelle spalle, un brivido di stanchezza o di freddo.
Appena la carrozza si fermò al cancello, ella trasalì, e si tirò indietro vivamente, quasi suo marito si fosse affacciato all'improvviso allo sportello. Esitò alquanto prima di scendere, colla mano sulla maniglia, pensando vagamente a quell'aspetto nuovo, sotto cui le si affacciava alla mente suo marito; poi mise il piede a terra e si calò il velo sul viso: un velo fitto, nero, tempestato di puntini, attraverso al quale gli occhi acquistavano alcunché di febbrile, e i lineamenti una rigidità di fantasma. La carrozza si allontanò di passo, senza far rumore, da carrozza discreta e ben educata.
Il giardino sembrava destato anch'esso prima dell'ora, e tutto sorpreso d'incominciar la sua giornata così presto. Degli uomini in manica di camicia lo lavavano, lo pettinavano, gli facevano la sua toeletta mattutina. Le poche persone che si incontravano avevano l'aspetto di trovarsi là a quell'ora per la prima volta, e per ordine del medico anche loro; osavano interrogare il velo della passeggiatrice mattiniera, e indovinare il profumo del fazzoletto nascosto nel manicotto che ella si premeva sul petto con forza. Un vecchio che si trascinava lentamente, cercando il sole di marzo, si fermò a guardarla, com'ella fu passata, appoggiandosi al bastone malfermo, e tentennò il capo tristamente.
La signora Rinaldi si arrestò dinanzi alla sponda del laghetto, saettando a dritta e a sinistra un'occhiata guardinga, cercando qualche cosa o qualcuno. Il mormorìo fresco dell'acqua, e lo stormire lieve lieve degli ippocastani la isolavano completamente; allora sollevò alquanto il velo, e cavò dal guanto un bigliettino meno grande di una carta da giuoco. Per due o tre minuti l'acqua seguitò a scorrere, e le foglie a stormire per conto loro. La donna aveva gli occhi assorti, avidi, umidi di sogni.
Tutt'a un tratto un passo frettoloso le fece rizzare il capo, e il sangue le avvampò sulle guance, come se gli occhi ardenti del nuovo arrivato le avessero sfiorato il viso con un bacio. Polidori stava per portare la mano al cappello, quando ella gli arrestò il gesto con uno sguardo impercettibile, e gli passò vicino senza fissarlo.
Camminava a capo chino, ascoltando lo stridere della sabbia sotto i suoi stivalini, senza guardare dinanzi a sé. Di tanto in tanto si metteva il fazzoletto alla bocca; per riprender fiato, quasi il suo cuore divorasse avidamente tutta l'aria che la circondava. L'onda lenta del ruscello l'accompagnava chetamente, borbottando sottovoce, addormentando le ultime sue paure; l'ombra dei cedri e il silenzio del viale deserto la penetravano vagamente, con sottile voluttà.
Quando si fermò dinanzi alla gabbia del leopardo il petto le scoppiava e i ginocchi le tremavano forte, ché accanto a lei si era fermato anche Polidori, guardando attentamente il superbo animale, con la curiosità che avrebbe mostrato un contadino sbandato per quelle parti, e le disse piano: – Grazie!
Ella non rispose, si fece rossa rossa, e strinse con forza i ferri della stia a cui appoggiava la fronte. Cotesta sensazione le faceva bene sulla epidermide della mano senza guanto. Chi avrebbe potuto immaginare che quella semplice parola, scambiata di furto, in fondo a quel deserto, dovesse vibrare tanto deliziosamente! No! davvero! C'era da perderci la testa! Ella si sentiva avvampare fin sulla nuca, che ei, ritto dietro le sue spalle, poteva vedere arrossire; un'onda di parole sconnesse e tumultose le montavano alla testa, la ubbriacavano; parlava del ballo dove si era divertita assai; di suo marito il quale era partito all'alba, quand'ella non aveva ancora chiuso gli occhi. – Però non sono stanca! quest'aria fresca fa bene, tanto bene! ci si sente rinascere, non è vero?
– Sì! è vero! rispose Polidori guardandola fiso negli occhi; ma ella non osava levarli di terra.
– Quando sarò in Brianza voglio levarmi col sole tutti i giorni. In città facciamo una vita impossibile. Ma però voi altri signori dovete preferirla.
Parlava in fretta, e con voce un po' troppo alta e squillante, sorridendo spesso, a caso; gli era grata inconsciamente che ei non osasse interromperla, non osasse mischiare la sua voce a quella di lei. Finalmente Polidori le disse: – Ma perché non avete voluto ricevermi a casa vostra?
Ella gli piantò gli occhi in viso per la prima volta dacché erano lì, sorpresa, dolorosamente sorpresa. – Finora in tutto quello che avevano fatto, in tutto quello che avevano detto, il male non c'era stato che vagamente, in nube, nella loro intenzione, con squisita delicatezza che i suoi sensi finissimi assaporavano deliziosamente, come il leopardo sdraiato ai loro piedi si godeva il raggio caldo del sole, ammiccando la larga pupilla dorata, con quel medesimo inconscio e voluttuoso stiramento di membra. Richiamata così bruscamente alla realtà, stringeva le mani e le labbra con un'espressione dolorosa; gli occhi le si velarono quasi, seguendo nello spazio l'incantesimo che si era rotto, e gli fissò in volto quegli occhi stralunati. Tutta l'esperienza che possedeva Polidori non seppe fargli leggere quello che vi si scorgeva. – Ah! disse poi con voce mutata, sarebbe stato più prudente!...
– Siete crudele! mormorò Polidori.
– No! rispose ella sollevando il capo, un po' rossa, ma con accento fermo. Non sono come tutte le altre signore, non sono prudente!... quando mi romperò il collo, vorrò godermi l'orrore del precipizio sotto di me! Tanto peggio per voi se non capite.
Allora ei le afferrò la mano per forza, divorando tutta la sua bellezza palpitante con uno sguardo assetato, e balbettò:
– Volete?... volete?...
Ella non rispose, e fece uno sforzo per ritirare la mano.
Polidori implorava la sua grazia con parole concitate, deliranti. Le ripeteva una domanda, una preghiera, sempre la stessa, con diverse inflessioni di voce che andavano a ricercare la donna nelle più intime fibre di tutto il suo essere, ella ne sentiva la vampa; le sembrava di esserne avviluppata e divorata, soverchiata da un languore mortale e delizioso; e cercava di svincolarsi, pallida, smarrita, colle labbra convulse, spiando il viale di qua e di là con occhi pazzi di terrore, contorcendosi sotto quella stretta possente, facendo forza con tutte e due le mani febbrili per strapparsi da quell'altra mano che sentiva ardere sotto il guanto.
Infine, vinta, fuori di sé, balbettò:
– Sì! sì! sì! e fuggì dinanzi a qualcuno di cui si udiva avvicinarsi il calpestìo.
Uscendo dal giardino era così sconvolta che stette per buttarsi sotto i cavalli di una carrozza. Aveva avuto un appuntamento! Quello era stato un appuntamento! E ripeteva macchinalmente, balbettando: – È questo! è questo! Si sentiva tutta piena ed ebbra di cotesta parola, e le sue labbra smorte agitavansi senza mandare alcun suono, vagamente assaporando la colpa.
Andò barcollando sino alla prima carrozza che incontrò; e si fece condurre dalla sua Erminia, quasi in cerca di aiuto. La sua amica, vedendosela comparire dinanzi con quel viso, le corse incontro fin sull'uscio del salotto. – Che hai?
– Nulla! nulla!
– Come sei bella! Cos'hai?
Ella, invece di rispondere, le saltò al collo e le fece due baci pazzi.
La signora Erminia era abituata alle sfuriate d'amicizia della sua Maria. Si misero a guardare insieme le fotografie che avevano viste cento volte, e i fiori che erano da un mese sul terrazzino.
In quel momento, per combinazione, passava Polidori nel _phaeton_ del suo amico Guidetti, col sigaro in bocca, e salutò la signora Erminia allo stesso modo come avrebbe potuto salutare Maria, se l'avesse scorta rincantucciata fra gli arbusti, premendosi le mani sul petto che voleva scoppiarle. Era una cosa da nulla; ma uno di quei nonnulla che penetrano in tutto l'essere di una donna come la punta di un ago. Allora, tornando a casa, la signora Rinaldi scrisse a Polidori una lunga lettera, calma e dignitosa, onde pregarlo di rinunciare a quell'appuntamento, di cui le aveva strappata la promessa in un momento di aberrazione, un momento che rammentava ancora con confusione e rossore, per sua punizione. C'era tanta sincerità nella contraddizione dei suoi sentimenti, che quell'istante d'abbandono, dopo un'ora sembrava infinitamente lontano, e se qualche cosa di vivo vibrava tuttora fra le linee della lettera, era solo il rimpianto di sogni che si dileguavano così bruscamente. Ella faceva appello all'onore e alla delicatezza di lui per farle dimenticare il suo errore, e lasciarle la stima di sé stessa.
Polidori si aspettava quasi quella lettera: la signora Rinaldi era troppo inesperta per non pentirsi dieci volte, prima di aver motivo di pentirsi davvero; ei fece una cosa che gli provò come quella donnina inesperta avesse ridestato in lui un sentimento schietto e forte con tutta la freschezza delle prime impressioni: le rimandò la lettera accompagnata da questa breve risposta:
«Vi amo con tutto il rispetto e la tenerezza che deve inspirare la vostra innocenza. Vi rimando la lettera che mi avete diretta, perché non sarei degno di conservarla, e non oserei distruggerla. Ma l'imprudenza che avete commesso scrivendo una tal lettera è la prova migliore della stima in cui deve avervi ogni uomo di cuore».
– Mio marito! esclamava Maria con una strana intonazione di voce. Ma mio marito è felicissimo! La rendita sale e scende per fargli piacere, i bachi sono andati bene, le commissioni piovono da ogni parte. C'è un cinquanta per cento di utili netti!
Erminia la stava a guardare a bocca aperta.
– Senti, bambina, tu hai la febbre. Mesciamoci del thè.
Due giorni dopo, per guarire della febbre, che le aveva trovato la sua Erminia, le disse:
– Andrò in Brianza con Rinaldi. L'aria, l'ossigeno, la quiete, il canto degli usignoli, la famiglia... Che peccato non ci abbia dei bambini da cullare!
Là, sotto gli alberi folti, di faccia ai larghi orizzonti, sentiva una strana irritazione contro quella pace che la invadeva lentamente, suo malgrado, dal di fuori. Andava spesso sulle balze pittoresche verso il tramonto, a sciuparvi gli stivalini, e a montarsi la testa di proposito con dei sentimenti presi a prestito nei romanzi. Polidori aveva avuto il buon gusto di eclissarsi con garbo, restando a Milano, senza far nulla di teatrale e di convenzionale, come uno che sa mettere della cortesia anche a farsi dimenticare. – Né ella avrebbe saputo dire se pensasse ancora a lui; ma provava delle aspirazioni indefinite, che nella solitudine le tenevano compagnia, l'avviluppavano mollemente e tenacemente in quell'inerzia pericolosa, e parlavano per lei nel silenzio solenne che la circondava, e l'uggiva. Ella sfogavasi a scrivere delle lunghe lettere alla sua amica, vantandole le delizie ignorate della campagna, la squilla dell'avemaria fra le valli, il sorger del sole sui monti; facendole il conto delle ova che raccoglieva la castalda, e del vino che si sarebbe imbottigliato quell'anno.
– Parlami un po' più dei tuoi libri e delle tue corse a cavallo, rispondeva la Erminia. Di' a tuo marito che non ti lasci andare al pollaio, o che ci venga anche lui.
E un bel giorno, dopo un certo silenzio, si mise in viaggio, un po' inquieta, e andò a trovare la sua Maria.
– T'ho fatto paura? le disse costei. M'hai creduto un'anima desolata in via di annientarsi?
– No. T'ho creduto una che si annoia. Qui è una vera Tebaide: non c'è che da darsi a Dio o al diavolo. Vieni con me, a Villa d'Este. Voi mi permettete che ve la rubi, non è vero, Rinaldi?
– Ma io desidero che ella si diverta e sia allegra.
A Villa d'Este c'era davvero da stare allegri: musica, balli, regate, corse sui vaporini, escursioni nei dintorni, un mondo di gente, bellissime toelette, e Polidori, il quale era l'anima di tutti i divertimenti.
La signora Rinaldi non sapeva che ci fosse anche lui; e Polidori, se avesse potuto prevedere la sua venuta, le avrebbe reso il servigio di non farsi trovare a Villa d'Este. Ma oramai aveva accettato certo incarico nell'organizzare le regate, e non poteva muoversi senza dar nell'occhio prima che le regate avessero avuto luogo. Egli fece capire tutto ciò alla signora Rinaldi, brevemente e delicatamente, la prima volta che si incontrarono nel salone, facendole in certo modo delle scuse velate, e scivolando sul passato con disinvoltura. Maria, superato quel primo istante di turbamento, si era sentita rinfrancare non solo, ma, per una strana reazione, il contegno riservato di lui le metteva in corpo degli accessi matti d'ironia. Egli diceva che sarebbe partito subito dopo le regate, perché aveva promesso di trovarsi con alcuni amici in Piemonte, per una gran caccia, e veramente gli rincresceva lasciare tante belle signore a Villa d'Este.
– Davvero? domandò la signora Rinaldi con un certo risolino. Chi le piace dippiù?
– Ma... tutte, rispose tranquillamente Polidori, la sua amica Erminia per esempio.
Proprio! Ella non ci aveva mai pensato: la sua amica Erminia doveva far girare la testa ai signori uomini a preferenza di ogni altra, col suo visino piccante, e il suo spirito da diavolessa; così noncurante degli omaggi a cui era avvezza naturalmente – e marchesa per sopramercato – di quelle marchese che portano la loro corona sì fieramente, che ogni mortale sarebbe lietissimo di farsi accoppare per coglierne un fiore.
Colla sua Erminia erano sempre insieme, sul lago, sul monte, nel salone, sotto gli alberi. Adesso ella la osservava come se la vedesse per la prima volta; la studiava, la imitava e qualche volta anche le invidiava dei nonnulla. Senza volerlo, aveva scoperto che la sua Erminia, con tutte le sue arie da regina, era un tantino civetta, di quella civetteria che non impegna a nulla, ma contro la quale nondimeno tutti gli uomini vanno a rompersi il naso. Era un affar serio! Non si poteva fare un passo senza trovarsi fra i piedi Polidori, il bel Polidori, corteggiato come un re da tutte quelle signore, il quale senza aver l'aria di avvedersene comprometteva orribilmente l'Erminia – il peggio era che non se ne avvedeva neppur lei, e che tutti non accettavano ad occhi chiusi le risate che ella ne faceva. La signora Rinaldi pensava che se non fosse stato un tasto tanto delicato, ella l'avrebbe fatto suonare all'orecchio della sua amica, e le avrebbe fatto osservare che suono falso rendeva.
Perciò si sforzava di non farle scorgere nemmeno la pena che tutto quell'armeggìo le arrecava, pel bene che voleva ad Erminia, ben inteso – di Polidori poco le importava – era un uomo e faceva il suo mestiere, oramai!... eppoi era di quelli che sanno consolarsi. Ma Erminia aveva tutto da perdere a quel giuoco, con un marito come il suo, che le voleva bene, ed era proprio un marito ideale. Che talismano possedeva dunque quel Polidori per ecclissare un uomo come il marchese Gandolfi nel cuore di una donna bella, intelligente e corteggiata come l'Erminia? Certe cose non si sanno spiegare.
Per nulla al mondo avrebbe voluto che anima viva si fosse accorta di quel che succedeva, e avrebbe voluto chiudere gli occhi a tutti gli altri come li chiudeva lei; ma francamente, c'era da perdere la pazienza.
– Mia cara, io non mi raccapezzo più, le diceva Erminia ridendo, tranquilla, come se non si trattasse di lei. – Cos'hai? Alle volte mi sembra che io debba averti fatto qualcosa di grosso a mia insaputa!
Oibò! quella povera Erminia come s'ingannava!... non le aveva fatto altro che la pena di vederla impaniarsi spensieratamente in quel pasticcio; anzi di lasciarvisi impaniare, perché quel Polidori sembrava impastarlo e rimpastarlo a suo grado con un'abilità diabolica. Doveva averne fatte molte di grosse quell'uomo, per aver acquistato quella maestria; era proprio un pessimo soggetto!
– Cara Maria! le disse Erminia un bel giorno, e con un bel bacione. Mi sembra che quel Polidori ti trotti un po' più del dovere per la testa. Guardati! è un individuo pericoloso, per una bambina come te!
– Io? – rispose ella stupefatta. – Io?... e non sapeva trovare altre parole sotto quegli occhioni acuti di Erminia.
– Tanto meglio! tanto meglio! M'hai fatto una gran paura! tanto meglio!
– Per una bambina, pensava Maria, non mi usa molti riguardi, la mia Erminia! Certe cose cavano gli occhi!
La signora Rinaldi era spietata per i corteggiatori eleganti, per gli innamorati ad ora fissa, nella passeggiata del parco o nelle serate di musica, pei conquistatori in guanti di Svezia. Una volta che Polidori si permise di fare qualche osservazione rispettosa in propria difesa, ella gli lanciò in faccia uno scoppio di risa squillanti.
– Oh! oh!
Egli parve impallidire, colui, alfine! Siccome le altre signore gli ronzavano sempre attorno come api a Polidori – la colpa era di quelle signore che lo guastavano – ella soggiunse:
– Non vi fate scorgere, ne sarei desolata.
– Per chi?
– Per voi, per me... e per gli altri – per tutto il mondo.
Questa volta ei non si lasciò sconcertare dal sarcasmo, e rispose con calma:
– Non mi preme che di voi.
Ella avrebbe voluto colpirlo in viso con un altro getto di quella ilarità spietata e mordente, ma il riso le morì sulle labbra, dinanzi all'espressione che quelle due parole davano a tutta la fisonomia di lui.
– Potete insultarmi, rispose egli, ma non avete il diritto di dubitare del sentimento che avete messo nel mio cuore.
Maria chinò il capo, vinta.
– Non ho rispettato ciecamente la vostra volontà, quale sia stata? Vi ho chiesto una spiegazione? Non ho prevenuto il vostro desiderio? e non son riescito a far le viste di aver dimenticato quello che nessun uomo al mondo potrebbe dimenticare... da voi?... E se ho sofferto, per questo, c'è alcuno al mondo che mi abbia visto soffrire?
Egli parlava con voce calma, con l'atteggiamento tranquillo che davano a quelle parole pacate un'eloquenza irresistibile.
– Voi!... balbettò Maria.
– Io! ribatté Polidori, che vi amo ancora, e che non ve lo avrei detto giammai.
Ella che si era fermata per strappare le foglie degli arbusti, fece due o tre passi per allontanarsi da lui, povera bambina! Polidori non ne fece uno solo per seguirla.
La signora Rinaldi era divenuta a un tratto malinconica e fantastica. Stava delle lunghe ore col libro aperto alla medesima pagina, colle dita vaganti sulla tastiera del pianoforte, col ricamo abbandonato sui ginocchi, a contemplare l'acqua, i monti e le stelle. Lo specchio del lago riverberava tutte le sfumature dei suoi pensieri più indefiniti, e provava una squisita voluttà a sentirseli ripercuotere dentro di sé, intenta, assorta. Perciò sfuggiva le allegre brigate e preferiva errare in barchetta sul lago, sola, quando i monti vi stendevano larghe ombre verdi, o quando i remi luccicavano fra le tenebre, come spade d'acciaio, o quando il tramonto vi spirava tristamente con vaghe striscie amaranto; frapponeva la tenda fra sé e i barcaiuoli, e coricata sui cuscini godeva a sentirsi cullata sull'abisso, ad immergervisi quasi, tuffando la mano nell'acqua, sentendosene guadagnare tutta la persona con un brivido misterioso; le piaceva sprofondare il suo sguardo nel buio interminato, al di là delle stelle, e fantasticare su quel che doveva rischiarare qualche lumicino lontano che tremolava fra il buio, nella china dei monti. Cercava i viali erbosi, i misteriosi silenzi del boschetto, o lo spettacolo del lago in quelle ore in cui il sole vi splendeva come su di uno specchio, o tutte le finestre dell'albergo stavano ancora chiuse, e la rugiada luccicava sull'erba del prato, e le ombre erano folte sotto gli alberi giganteschi, e lo scricchiolare della sabbia sotto i suoi passi le sussurrava all'orecchio misteriose fantasticherie; spesso andava a leggere o a passeggiare sulla sponda del laghetto, nei viali remoti dei _Campi Elisi_ , quando la luna si posava dolcemente sul lago e le accarezzava le mani bianche, o quando le finestre del salone stampavano nel buio del viale larghi quadrati di luce fredda, e la musica del salone faceva vagare arcane fantasie sotto le grandi ombre silenziose ed addormentate. Al di là di quelle ombre misteriose, dietro quei vetri scintillanti, il movimento della festa ammorzato, velato, acquistava una fusione di colori, di linee e di suoni, che lo rendeva affascinante, qualcosa fra il baccanale e la danza degli spiriti alati; allora respirando la vertigine, rimaneva lì, colla fronte sui vetri, con un formicolìo leggero alla radice dei capelli.
Una sera, tutt'a un tratto, la si vide comparire in mezzo al ballo come una visione affascinante, più pallida e più bella che mai, e con qualcosa che nessuno le aveva mai visto sulla bocca e negli occhi. La folla si apriva commossa dinanzi a lei; Erminia andò ad abbracciarla; uno sciame di eleganti giovinotti le fece ressa attorno per strapparle la promessa di un giro di valzer o di una contradanza; ella si fermò un istante con quel medesimo sorriso sulle labbra, e quegli occhi splendenti come le lucciole del viale, cercando intorno, e come scorse Polidori gli buttò il fazzoletto.
– Dio salvi la regina! esclamò Polidori piegando un ginocchio.
– Ti rubo il tuo ballerino, sai, disse Maria tutta festante alla sua Erminia. Ho una voglia matta di fare un bel giro di valzer anche io.
Polidori era uno di quei ballerini che le signore si disputano coi sorrisi e a colpi di ventaglio sulle dita – quando il sorriso ha fatto troppo effetto. Possedeva la forza e la grazia, lo slancio e la mollezza; nessuno sapeva rapirvi come lui verso le sfere spumanti d'ebbrezza color di rosa con un colpo di garetto, adagiandovi sul braccio destro come su di un cuscino di velluto. Dicevano che egli solo possedesse quell'intelligenza squisita dello Strauss, che vi fa perdere il fiato e la testa, e sapeva mettere nel braccio, nei muscoli, in tutta la persona, la foga, l'abbandono, l'estasi. – Non voglio che balliate più! – Non voglio che balliate con altre – gli disse Maria fermandosi anelante, colle guancie rosse, cogli occhi un po' velati – e fu tutto per quella sera.
Ah! come era trionfante, e come il cuore le ballava dentro il petto, mentre quel cavaliere invidiato l'accompagnava fra la folla ammiratrice! e mentre si ravvolgeva stretta nella sciarpetta nera in mezzo al viale, dove i rumori della festa si dileguavano, e le fantasticherie sorgevano, vaghe, senza forma, ma assetate ancora! Pareva di essere in preda a un sogno delizioso, quando al valzer successe un notturno di Mendelson, un notturno che le passava anch'esso fra i capelli e sulla fronte, e fra le spalle, come una mano di velluto fresca e odorosa. A un tratto una figura nera si frappose dinanzi alla luce delle finestre che cadeva sul viale; il suo sogno le sorgeva improvviso dinanzi come un'ombra. Ella si alzò di soprassalto, sbigottita, in tumulto, balbettando qualche parola sconnessa che voleva dir no! no! no! e andò a ricovrarsi nel salone, rifugiandosi in mezzo al rumore e alla luce – la luce che le faceva socchiudere gli occhi abbarbagliati, e il rumore che la stordiva gradevolmente, la lasciava intontita e sorridente, un po' rigida e pensosa. Erminia l'accarezzava quasi fosse un ninnolo leggiadro; quelle signore dicevano ad una voce che era proprio carina, così accerchiata dai più eleganti cacciatori di avventure, colle spalle al muro, come una cerbiatta addossata alla roccia: si sarebbe detto che le tremolasse negli occhi la lagrima della sconfitta.
Polidori fu degli ultimi ad assalirla, da cacciatore che la sorte aveva destinato pel colpo di grazia; e sembrava mosso a pietà della vittima, giacché parlandole con un viso serissimo della pioggia e del bel tempo, si limitava a farle il suo briciolo di corte, domandandole con grande interesse di cose indifferentissime: se avesse fatto la sua gita in barca, se il giorno dopo sarebbe andata alla sua solita passeggiata mattutina verso i _Campi Elisi_. – Ella lo guardò negli occhi senza mai rispondere. Ei non insistette altro.
Erminia si era messa al piano, e tutti stavano intenti ad ascoltarla; Maria non aveva occhi che per lei, anche quando li fissava vagamente nelle fantasie dell'ignoto, perché era lei che le evocava quelle fantasie e l'affascinava con esse: la sala intera splendida e calda fremeva di armonia. Erano di quei fatali momenti in cui il cuore si dilata con violenza dentro il petto e soverchia la ragione.
Maria rabbrividiva dalla testa ai piedi, accasciata nella poltrona, colla fronte nella mano, e Polidori le sussurrava sul capo parole ardenti che le facevano fremere come cosa animata i ricci dei capelli sulla nuca bianca. La poveretta non vedeva più nulla, né la sala splendente, né la folla commossa, né gli occhi lucenti e penetranti di Erminia, e si abbandonò a quel che credeva il suo destino, senza forza, coll'occhio vitreo, come una morente.
– Sì! sì! mormorò con un soffio.
Polidori si allontanò pian piano, per lasciarla rimettere, e andò a fumare la sua sigaretta nella sala del bigliardo.
La brezza del lago fece vacillare tutta notte le fiammelle dei candelabri posti sul caminetto di lei, che si guardava nello specchio per delle ore intere, senza vedersi, con occhi fissi, arsi dalla febbre.
Il signor Polidori passeggiava da un pezzo pel viale deserto in un'ora mattutina che gli ricordava un convegno di caccia; non si accorgeva del paesaggio incantevole per altra cosa che per sprofondarvi delle lunghe occhiate impazienti. Di tratto in tratto si fermava in ascolto, e rizzava il capo proprio come un levriere. Finalmente si udì un passo leggiero e timido di selvaggina elegante. Maria giungeva, e appena scorse Polidori, sebbene sapesse di trovarlo là, si arrestò all'improvviso, sgomenta, immobile come una statua. Il suo fine profilo arabo sembrava tagliare il velo fitto. Polidori, a capo scoperto, si inchinò profondamente, senza osare di toccarle la mano, né di rivolgerle una sola parola.
Ella, anelante, turbata, sentiva per istinto quanto fosse imbarazzante il silenzio: – Sono stanca! mormorò con voce rotta. – L'emozione la soffocava.
Così dicendo seguitò ad inoltrarsi pel viale che saliva serpeggiando per la china del monte, ed ei le andava accanto, senza parlare, soggiogati entrambi da una forte commozione. Così giunsero ad una specie di monumento funerario. Maria si fermò ad un tratto appoggiando le spalle alla roccia e col viso fra le mani. Infine scoppiò in lagrime. Allora ei le prese le mani, e vi appoggiò lievemente le labbra, come uno schiavo. Allorché sentì finalmente che il tremito di quelle povere manine andava calmandosi, le disse piano, ma con un'intonazione ineffabile di tenerezza:
– Dunque vi faccio paura?
– Voi non mi disprezzate ora? disse Maria. – Non è vero?
Egli giunse le mani, in un'espressione ardente di passione ed esclamò:
– Io? Disprezzarvi io?
Maria sollevò il viso disfatto e lo fissò con occhi sbarrati, e colle lagrime ancora sul viso mormorava confusamente parole insensate: – È la prima volta!... ve lo giuro! Ve lo giuro, signore!...
– Oh! esclamò Polidori con impeto. – Perché mi dite questo? a me che vi amo? che vi amo tanto!
Quelle parole vibravano come cosa viva dentro di lei; un istante ella se le premé forte colle mani dentro il petto, chiudendo gli occhi; ma immediatamente le avvamparono in viso, come avessero compìto in un lampo tutta la circolazione del suo sangue, e le avessero arso tutte le vene. – No! no! ripeteva; ho fatto male, ho fatto assai male! sono stata una stordita. Credetemi, signore! Non sono colpevole; sono stata una stordita; sono davvero una bimba, lo dicono tutti, lo dicono anche le mie amiche. – La poverina cercava di sorridere, guardando di qua e di là stralunata. – Ho bisogno che non mi disprezziate!
– Maria! esclamò Polidori.
Ella trasalì, e si tirò indietro bruscamente, spaventata dall'udire il suo nome. Polidori chino dinanzi a lei, umile, tenero, innamorato, le diceva:
– Come siete bella! e come è bella la vita che ha di questi momenti!
Maria si passava le mani sugli occhi e pei capelli, confusa, smarrita, e s'accasciava su di sé stessa, e ripeteva quasi macchinalmente: – Se sapeste che affare grosso è stato l'attraversare il viale, quel viale che ho fatto tutti i giorni. Non avrei mai creduto che potesse essere così! Davvero! non credevo! – E sorrideva per farsi coraggio, senza osare di guardar lui, abbandonata contro il sasso che le faceva da spalliera, tirandosi i guanti sulle braccia, ancora leggermente convulse, e seguitava a chiacchierare a modo del fanciullo che canta di notte per le strade onde farsi coraggio. – Sono stata disgraziata! sì, confesso che sono un cervellino strano! Ho delle pazze tendenze per quel mondo che forse non è altro se non un sogno, un sogno di gente inferma, sia pure! alle volte mi pare di soffocare fra tanta ragione in cui viviamo; sento il bisogno d'aria, di andarla a respirare in alto, dove è più pura ed azzurra. Non è mia colpa se non mi persuado di esser matta, se non mi rassegno alla vita com'è, se non capisco gli interessi che preoccupano gli altri. No! non ci ho colpa. Ho fatto il possibile. Sono in ritardo di parecchi secoli. Avrei dovuto venire al mondo al tempo dei cavalieri erranti. – Il suo leggiadro sorriso aveva una melanconica dolcezza e s'abbandonava senz'accorgersene all'incanto che contribuiva a crearsi ella stessa. – Beato voi che potete vivere a modo vostro!
– Io vorrei vivere ai vostri piedi.
– Tutta la vita? domandò ella ridendo.
– Tutta la vita.
– Badate che vi stanchereste, gli rispose gaiamente. Voi dovrete stancarvi spesso! ripeté Maria con uno sguardo che cercava di rendere ardito e sicuro.
Polidori la trovava deliziosa nel suo imbarazzo – soltanto quell'imbarazzo si prolungava troppo.
Prima di venire a quell'appuntamento, nell'istante supremo di passar l'uscio, Maria aveva provato tutte le pungenti emozioni che danno la curiosità dell'ignoto, l'attrattiva del male, il fascino dello sgomento che le serpeggiava nelle vene con brividi arcani e irresistibili; con una confusione tale di sentimenti e di idee, di impulsi e di terrore, che l'avevano spinta a precipitarsi nell'ignoto suo malgrado, in una specie di sonnambulismo, senza sapere precisamente cosa andasse a fare. Se Polidori le avesse steso le braccia al primo vederla, probabilmente ella si sarebbe spaccata la testa contro la rupe alla quale adesso appoggiavasi mollemente, con abbandono. Ora, incoraggiata dal vedersi ai piedi quell'uomo contrastato e invidiato, sentiva una deliziosa sensazione al contatto di quel muschio vellutato che le accarezzava le spalle; come le parole che egli le diceva tenere e ferventi le accarezzavano dolcemente l'orecchio e se ne sentiva invadere mollemente, come da un delizioso languore. Egli era così gentile, così rispettoso e così buono! non osava toccarle la punta delle dita, e si contentava di sfiorarla dolcemente col soffio ardente di quella passione che lo teneva prostrato dinanzi a lei quasi dinanzi a un idolo. Tutto ciò era senza ombra di male, e carino, carino. A poco a poco Polidori le aveva preso la mano, ed ella senza accorgersene gliela aveva abbandonata. Anche lui era sinceramente e fortemente commosso in quel momento, e cercava gli occhi di lei con occhi assetati ed ebbri. Ella senza vederli ne sentiva la fiamma, non osava levare i suoi, e il riso le moriva sulle labbra; non aveva la forza di ritirare le mani ad ogni nuovo tentativo che faceva, quasi il suono di quelle parole le addormentasse vagamente in un sonno dolcissimo l'anima e la coscienza, la facesse entrare in un'estasi angosciosa; Polidori non poteva saziarsi di ammirarla in quell'atteggiamento, abbandonata su di sé stessa, colle braccia inerti, la fronte china e il petto anelante, e infine esclamò con uno slancio di passione, stendendo le braccia convulse:
– Come siete bella, Maria, e come vi amo!
Ella si rizzò di botto, seria e rigida, quasi sentisse dirselo per la prima volta.
– Voi lo sapete che vi amo tanto! da tanto tempo! ripeteva lui.
Ella non rispondeva; curvando all'indietro tutta la persona, e a testa bassa, in atteggiamento sospettoso, colle sopracciglia aggrottate, agitando macchinalmente le mani, come se cercasse farsene schermo contro qualche cosa, colle labbra pallide e serrate. Ad un tratto, levando gli occhi sul viso sconvolto di lui, incontrando quegli occhi, mise un strido soffocato, e si arretrò sino all'ingresso di quella specie di monumento sepolcrale, bianca di terrore, difendendosi colle braccia stese da quella passione che l'atterriva ora che vedeva cosa fosse, guardandola in faccia per la prima volta, balbettando:
– Signore!... signore!...
Egli ripeteva fuori di sé, supplichevole, in un'implorazione affascinante di delirio e d'amore:
– Maria! Maria!...
– No! ripeteva costei smarrita, no!...
Polidori si arrestò di botto, e si passò due o tre volte la mano sulla fronte e sugli occhi con un gesto disperato. Indi le disse con voce rauca:
– Voi non mi avete mai amato, Maria!
– No! no! lasciatemi andare! ripeteva ella, quando Polidori s'era già allontanato. Signore!... signore!...
Polidori subiva suo malgrado la forte commozione di quell'istante, ed era tutto tremante anch'esso come quella povera ingenua.
– Sentite, abbiamo fatto male! ripeteva ella con voce convulsa. Abbiamo avuto torto... ve lo giuro, ve lo giuro... Abbiamo fatto male... – e si sentiva venir meno.
In quel punto, all'improvviso, si udì rumore fra le piante e lo scalpiccìo di chi sopraveniva si arrestò poco lontano, come esitante.
– Maria! chiamò una voce talmente alterata che nessuno di loro due la riconobbe: Maria!
Polidori, ridivenuto l'uomo di prima da un momento all'altro, prese vivamente Maria per un braccio e la spinse pel viale da dove era venuta la voce, e in un lampo scomparve fra gli andirivieni del sepolcreto. Maria arrivando nel viale, si trovò faccia a faccia con Erminia, pallida anch'essa, che cercava a fatica di dissimulare il suo turbamento, e voleva spiegarle qualche cosa, dandosi un'aria indifferente. Maria le piantò in viso certi occhi che avevano una strana espressione.
– Che vuoi? le chiese soltanto, con voce sorda dopo alcuni istanti di un silenzio che sembrò eterno.
– Oh! Maria!... rispose Erminia, buttandole le braccia al collo.
E fu tutto. Ritornarono indietro l'una al fianco dell'altra, senza aprire bocca e a capo chino. Come furono in vista dell'albergo, sentirono tutte e due a un tempo di dover assumere un contegno. – Lucia mi aveva detto ch'eri scesa in giardino, disse Erminia, e ciò mi ha fatto venire il desiderio di fare una passeggiata mattutina anch'io, col pretesto di venire in traccia di te.
– Grazie! rispose Maria semplicemente.
– Però comincia ad esser troppo tardi per passeggiare. Il sole è già caldo.
Maria infatti aveva preso un colpo di sole che l'aveva abbacinata e stordita. Era rimasta come scossa e turbata in tutto il suo essere. Alle volte macchinalmente si stringeva le mani, come per riconoscersi, o per cercarvi qualche cosa, un'impronta del passato, e chiudeva gli occhi. Quando incontrava degli sguardi curiosi, e tutti le sembravano curiosi, oppure quelli della sua amica, avvampava in viso. Stava rincantucciata nel suo appartamento il più che poteva, e quindi molti credevano che fosse partita. La sola vista di Erminia le faceva corrugare la fronte, e dava un non so che di fosco a tutta la sua fisonomia. Però era abbastanza donna di mondo per sapere dissimulare sino a un certo punto i suoi sentimenti, quali essi fossero. Erminia, che non ne era illusa, provava un vero rammarico.
– Io son sempre la tua Erminia, sai! le diceva ogni volta che poteva, scuotendole amorevolmente le mani. Io son sempre la tua Erminia, quella di prima! quella di sempre!
Maria sorrideva a fior di labbra, gentile e distratta.
– Hai torto, vedi! ripeteva Erminia... Ti inganni!... t'inganni, se credi che io non ti voglia più il bene di prima!
Ella aveva infatti delle sollecitudini materne per la sua Maria, delle sollecitudini che sovente indispettivano costei, come se prendessero l'aspetto di una sorveglianza amorevole e discreta. Un giorno Erminia la sorprese mentre stava incominciando una lettera; e le domandò semplicemente se suo marito le avesse scritto; la domanda veniva così male a proposito, che Maria fu quasi per arrossire, come se fosse stata nel punto di dover rispondere una bugia.
– No! mio marito non mi guasta tanto. È troppo occupato.
– Sì, è troppo occupato! affermò Erminia senza rilevare l'ironia della risposta, è seriamente occupato. Affoga negli affari, poveretto!
– Che dici mai? se sono la sua passione, l'unica sua passione!
– Lo credi? domandò Erminia, fissandole in faccia quei suoi occhioni acuti.
– Ma sì! rispose Maria con un risolino che le contraeva gli angoli della bocca, e aggiunse ancora, come correttivo: – Non ho alcun motivo di esser gelosa però. Mio marito non giuoca, non va al caffè, non è cacciatore, non ama i cavalli, non legge che il listino della Borsa – nulla, ti dico!
– È vero; non ama che te!
Maria inchinò il capo con un sorrisetto contraffatto; ma non aggiunse verbo per un pezzo, e poi, amaramente:
– Avete ragione, sono anche un'ingrata!
– No, non sei ingrata; sei una donnina viziata, una testolina guasta, che vede falso in molte cose e che non ci vede in certe altre. Il solo torto di tuo marito è di non averti aperto gli occhi sul gran bene che ti vuole.
– Fortunatamente che ha incaricato te di dirmelo.
– Sì, io che ti voglio bene, anch'io! bene davvero!... Vuoi che partiamo domattina?
– Oooh!
– Ti rincresce?
– No, mi sorprende soltanto la risoluzione improvvisa, così come si fa nelle commedie, per le ragazze che hanno abbozzato un romanzetto...
– Scusami; ti ho proposto di venire con me... Ma se vuoi restare...
– No, voglio venire anch'io. Solamente bisogna trovare un pretesto plausibile, per non far pensare al romanzo a tutti i curiosi che ci vedranno ordinare così in furia le nostre valigie.
– Il motivo è bello e trovato, tanto più che è il motivo vero. Io vado ad incontrare mia suocera che arriva domani da Firenze, e tu naturalmente vieni con me, per non rimaner sola a Villa d'Este.
– Benissimo! E giacché dobbiamo partire, più presto sarà, meglio sarà. Desidero andare col primo treno.
Partirono infatti di buon mattino. A lei scoppiava il cuore passando dinanzi a quelle finestre chiuse, sulle quali l'ombra dei grandi alberi dormiva tuttora, uscendo da quel viale deserto, ove si era aggirata fantasticando tante volte.
Il lago, nella pace di quell'ora, aveva un incantesimo singolare, e ogni menomo particolare del paesaggio si animava, sembrava che fosse vissuto con lei, le si stampava nell'intimo del cuore profondamente. Appena fu nel vagone aprì il libro che aveva portato apposta, e vi nascose il viso e gli occhi pieni di lagrime. Erminia seppe non avvedersi di nulla, ed ebbe l'accortezza di lasciarle assaporare voluttuosamente il dolore del distacco.
Alla stazione trovarono la carrozza di Erminia, la quale volle accompagnare l'amica sino a casa. – Rinaldi non è a Milano – le disse rispondendo al movimento di sorpresa che aveva fatto Maria non trovando nessuno ad aspettarla. È andato a Roma.
– Senza scrivermelo! senza lasciarmi una parola! mormorò Maria.
– Sì, ha scritto. La lettera deve averla mio marito.
Ma subito s'interruppe, perché cominciava a spaventarsi dell'agitazione che si andava manifestando sul viso di Maria. – Infine, le disse, tosto o tardi devi pur saperlo. Rinaldi è corso a Roma per regolare degli affari... Sai... quando si è lontani non vanno sempre come dovrebbero andare. Tuo marito era inquieto. Colla sua gita accomoderà tutto.
– Cos'è stato? balbettava Maria, turbata maggiormente da quell'annunzio perché la sorprendeva in quel momento. Cos'è avvenuto?
– Non ti spaventare; tuo marito sta bene. È accaduto che uno dei suoi debitori è fallito. Questione di denaro.
– Ah! disse Maria respirando; e un'ombra d'ironia le tornò sul viso.
Suo marito sembrava che facesse apposta onde giustificare il sorrisetto amaro di lei. Era così preoccupato del suo affare che non aveva più testa per nessun'altra cosa al mondo. Passarono parecchi giorni senza che ei si facesse vivo altrimenti. Alla fine arrivò un telegramma che mise in grande costernazione il socio di lui, il quale partì subito per Roma.
– Oh! esclamò allora Maria con quell'intonazione pungente che le era divenuta abituale da otto giorni. Ma dev'essere proprio un affar serio! Del resto per mio marito sarà sempre un affar serio. Vuol dire che il mio posto, in questa circostanza, sarebbe vicino a lui. Non me lo dice; ma si capisce che non me ne ha scritto nulla per delicatezza. E giacché il socio è andato a raggiungerlo, dovrei partire anch'io.
Malgrado la leggerezza che ostentava, fu sorpresa, e rimase inquieta osservando che Erminia approvava il suo progetto. Per un istante un'idea nera le si affacciò alla mente e le scolorò il viso; ma subito dopo tornò a ridere nervosamente come prima.
– Se mio marito non mi avesse ben avvezzata a lasciarlo fare un po' a suo modo, ci sarebbe davvero di che spaventarsi.
– Spaventarsi di che? di fare un viaggio sino a Roma? nella bella stagione, e nel paese più bello?...
– Hai ragione; sarà quasi come andare in villeggiatura. Tanto, Roma o la Brianza è lo stesso. E tu non torni a Villa d'Este?
– No.
– Oh!...
– Accompagno mia suocera a Firenze.
– Che peccato!... parlo di Villa d'Este, perché ci dev'essere una brillante compagnia in questo momento. Sei proprio una brava figliuola, dovrebbe dirti tua suocera.
La sera stessa partì per Roma; ma era in uno stato febbrile che non sapeva spiegarsi, e la sua inquietudine aumentava avvicinandosi al termine del suo viaggio che le parve eterno. Trovò suo marito tanto mutato in così breve tempo, che al primo vederlo ne fu quasi spaventata. Rinaldi le strinse le mani con effusione; ma sembrò più che sorpreso del suo arrivo improvviso. Egli era così sconvolto che non faceva altro che ripeterle: – Perché sei venuta? Perché venire?...
– Non avevo mai visto mio marito così! diceva Maria ad Erminia alcuni mesi dopo, la prima volta che la rivedeva dopo che era tornata a Milano. Non credevo che la fisonomia di quell'uomo potesse destare tale impressione, né che egli sapesse dire di quelle parole, né che la sua voce avesse di quei suoni che vi sconvolgono l'anima da cima a fondo. Non l'avevo mai visto così!
Anch'essa era molto mutata, la povera Maria! aveva una ruga impercettibile fra le sopracciglia, che solcava finamente il candore purissimo della sua fronte, e alle volte stendeva come un'ombra su tutta la sua fisonomia.
– Sì: sono stati giorni terribili, mi par di sentirmeli ancora dentro il petto, come un gruppo nero, come una fitta dolorosa che mi è quasi cara, tanto è profonda e radicata. Ormai hanno stampato in me un'orma così indelebile che non potrei scancellarla senza farmi male. Che momento, quando sorpresi mio marito colla pistola in pugno! che momento! E come ebbi la forza di avviticchiarmi a lui per impedirgli di morire – giacché egli voleva morire, me lo ha detto dopo. Non aveva il coraggio di dirmi che non poteva più comperarmi né cavalli, né palco alla Scala, né gioielli, nulla! e piangeva, come piangono certi uomini che non hanno pianto mai, con quelle lagrime che vi scavano un solco dentro all'anima. Quante cose mi son passate in un lampo per la testa in quel momento in cui sentivo contro il mio quel cuore che batteva ancora per me, e per me sola! e contro il quale nascondeva il viso che ardeva!... Tu sei stata assai gentile a venirmi a trovare ora che sono salita a un quarto piano. Tu sei stata molto gentile!
– Ma tu non lo sei gran fatto, cara Maria, facendomi di questi ringraziamenti. Vuol dire che non avevi una bella opinione di me!
– No! ma che vuoi? quando si son viste tutte le cose che ho viste!... e poi la disgrazia ha questo di peggio, che ci rende ingiusti... Figurati che quando era corsa la voce che io fossi vedova!... mi ha fatto un certo senso il vedere che a nessuno fosse venuto in mente che ero rimasta senza appoggio, laggiù a Roma... nessuno di quelli che dicevano di avere per me tanta amicizia! Ma non mi lagno, sai! Avevo torto verso di te poi, ti voglio sempre bene!
Esitò alquanto e infine le buttò le braccia al collo con impeto.
– Perdonami! perdonami! Sono stata ingiusta contro di te, contro di tutti! Ho avuto torto tante volte!
Erminia le ricambiava la stretta, assai commossa anche lei, ma senza risponder verbo.
– Ero folle! mormorò dopo un'altra esitazione, col viso contro il petto di Erminia. Ora non ci penso più.
– Ed io non ci ho mai pensato, disse alfine Erminia ridendo al suo solito, ma con grande sincerità di viso e di accento.
Maria rizzò il capo vivamente e le piantò in faccia due occhioni fiammeggianti: – Mai pensato? mai?
– Mai.
– Ma allora... allora non l'ho amato nemmen io! No! davvero? Mai!
# Nella stalla
Le mucche, lungo le rastrelliere, si voltavano indietro a fiutare quel tramestìo che si era fatto attorno alla lettiera della _Bigia._ La pioggia batteva contro le impannate; e le bestie scuotevano le catene sonnolente: di quando in quando, nell'ombra che non arrivavan mai a dissipare le lanterne polverose si udiva il tonfo di quelle che si accovacciavano, ad una ad una nello strame alto, dei muggiti brevi e sommessi, un ruminare svogliato, il fruscìo della paglia. Di tanto in tanto le mucche inquiete levavano il capo, tutte in una volta.
La _Bigia_ aveva ai piedi un vitellino, ancora tutto molle e lucente nella lettiera, e lo leccava e lo lisciava muggendo sotto voce. – Di fuori si udiva un rombo che cresceva, dappertutto. Poco dopo accadde un gran trambusto nelle stanze superiori: dei passi precipitosi, e dei mobili che strisciavano sul pavimento. Uno spalancare di usci e di finestre e delle voci che chiamavano nel cortile.
Quindi si udirono delle schioppettate e delle strida di donne che piangevano. Il gallo, in cima alla scala, saettava il capo, spaventato, chiocciando. Di fuori il cane uggiolava.
Ad un tratto le bestie cominciarono a muggire tutte in una volta, fiutando verso l'uscio, cogli occhi spaventati, e tiravano forte le catene, come cercassero di strapparle.
Per tutta la corsìa oscura corse un volo pesante e schiamazzante di galline. Immediatamente si udì il rombo vicino che scuoteva i muri, e sembrava montare verso le finestre. La _Bigia_ allora levava il muso fumante verso le impannate, e metteva un muggito lungo e doloroso. Poi tornava a fiutare il vitellino, raccoccolato colle zampe sotto il ventre.
Il cane non uggiolava più. Della gente correva pel cortile, delle voci affannate, delle grida. L'uscio si spalancò all'improvviso, ed entrò un'ondata d'acqua sporca. Allora nella stalla successe un trambusto, un rovinìo, tutta una fila di mucche avea strappata l'asse, alla quale erano legate, e scappava all'impazzata trascinandosela dietro, inciampando le une colle altre, mentre le galline fuggivano schiamazzando fra le loro gambe.
Nella corte, su di un palo, ardeva un fascio di legna secca, e illuminava tutto intorno l'acqua nera, che luccicava dove cadevano le scintille. – Le bestie irruppero dalla stalla come una valanga, rompendo, scavalcando ogni cosa, sguazzando nella pozzanghera, la _Bigia_ in mezzo. Poi tornò indietro, levando il muso, con lunghi muggiti, verso le finestre della cascina. Andava e veniva per la corte colla coda ritta, infine si decise a rientrare nella stalla. Il vitellino era là coll'acqua al collo, la madre tentava di spingerlo dolcemente verso l'uscio, scalpicciando in mezzo all'acqua. Ad ogni momento levava il capo verso il soffitto come per chiamare aiuto. Giunse un'altra ondata che gorgogliò al posto dove era il vitello, poi si agitò disperatamente e ribollì; la lanterna era sempre accesa nella stalla nera che sembrava barcollante. Infine l'onda si allargò quieta ed immobile dappertutto. Allora la _Bigia_ scappò muggendo al vento, colla coda ritta, l'occhio pazzo di terrore; e si perse nell'oscurità profonda.
# Passato!
Qui quando la città è più festosa e la folla più allegra penso alla campagna lontana, laggiù, fra i miei monti dietro il mare azzurro.
Penso ai sentieri verdeggianti, alle siepi odorose, alle lodole che brillano nel sole, alla canzone solitaria che sale dai campi, monotona e triste come un ricordo d'altre patrie.
Penso a quell'ora dolce del tramonto quando l'ultimo raggio indora le nevi della montagna e il fumo svolgesi dai casolari, e le campane degli armenti risuonano nella valle, e la campagna si nasconde lentamente nella notte.
Penso a quell'ora calda di luglio quando il sole innonda la pianura riarsa, e il cielo fosco di caldura sembra pesare sulla terra e il grillo sulle stoppie canta la canzone dell'ora silenziosa. Penso alle notti profonde, alle lucciole innamorate, al coro dei vendemmiatori, al rumore lontano dei carri che sfilano nella pianura odorosa di fieno, ai cespugli immobili e neri come spettri nel raggio misterioso della luna.
Penso alle lunghe notti d'inverno, spazzate dal vento e dagli acquazzoni; agli alberi che gemono nel temporale, e vi cantano fantastiche storie cui sorridono gli occhi dei vostri cari, raccolti intorno alla lampada domestica.
Penso alla mia fanciullezza, che sembra sia tutta trascorsa in quella nota campagna; penso a quei colli, a quei valloni, a quei sentieri, a quella fontana, davanti alla quale è passata tanta gente e da sì lontano, a quel cespuglio su cui moriva il sole d'autunno quel giorno in cui ci passaste anche voi con me per l'ultima volta. Quell'ultimo raggio di sole mi strinse il cuore come un addio, e mi fece provare, senza saper perché, quella vaga angoscia dei giorni spensierati dell'infanzia, che ci fa presentire le amarezze della vita, come un senso di vaga e dolorosa dolcezza.
Penso a quel sasso in cui ho segnato il primo amore dei miei tredici anni, quando non conoscevo ancora altri dolori se non che quelli creatimi dalla mia fantasia.
Ora che il dolore so cosa sia, il dolore vero, quello che vi immerge le unghie nella carne viva e vi ricerca le fibre del cuore, quello che mi divorava le lagrime, le sensazioni e le idee, quando la morte entrò nella mia casa... penso ancora a quei luoghi, a quelle scene serene che mi tornavano dinanzi agli occhi feroci come un'ironia nell'ora terribile di quell'angoscia; penso al muricciuolo di quella fontana al quale ci eravamo appoggiati con quei miei cari che non son più, a quell'erba, che si è piegata sotto i loro passi, a quelle pietre sulle quali si erano seduti.
Ora l'erba è morta anch'essa, ed è risorta tante volte. Il sole l'ha bruciata, e la pioggia l'ha fatta rinascere.
Quando le nuove gemme hanno verdeggiato sulla siepe lì accanto nei bei giorni di aprile essi non sapevano più nulla di voi, miei cari!
Io che son rimasto, penso a quell'erba che non è più la stessa, a quelle pietre che dureran ancora, mentre voi siete passati su di loro – e per sempre; penso che dell'altra erba spunta e muore fra le pietre della vostra fossa; e quando penso che lo strazio feroce di questo dolore non è più così vivo dentro di me, che ogni strappo dell'anima lentamente va rimarginandosi, mi viene uno sconforto amaro, un senso desolato del nulla d'ogni cosa umana, se non dura nemmeno il dolore, e vorrei sdraiarmi su quell'erba, sotto quei sassi, anch'io nel sonno, nel gran sonno.
# Mondo piccino
Gesualdo, sin da fanciulletto, non si rammentava altro: suo padre, compare Cosimo, che tirava la fune della chiatta, al Simeto, con Nanni Lasca, Ventura, e l'Orbo; e lui a stendere la mano per riscuotere il pedaggio. Passavano lettighe, passavano vetturali, passava gente a piedi e a cavallo d'ogni paese, e se ne andavano pel mondo, di qua e di là del fiume.
Prima compare Cosimo faceva il lettighiere, di suo mestiere. Una volta, la vigilia di Natale – giorno segnalato – tornando da un viaggio, trovò a Primosole che sua moglie stava per partorire: – Comare Menica stavolta vi fa una bella bambina – gli dicevano tutti all'osteria. E lui contento come una Pasqua s'affrettava ad attaccare i muli alla lettiga per arrivare a casa prima di sera. Il baio, birbante, da un po' lo guardava di malocchio per certe perticate a torto, che se l'era legate al dito. Come lo vide spensierato, mentre si chinava ad affibbiargli il sottopancia, affilò le orecchie a tradimento – jjj! – e gli assestò un calcio che l'azzoppò per sempre.
Sua moglie, poveretta, appena lo seppe, voleva saltare giù dal letto, e correre a Primosole, se non era il dottore don Battista che l'acchiappò per la camicia: – Come le bestie, voialtri villani! Non sapete cosa vuol dire una febbre puerperale!
– Signor don Battista, come posso lasciare quel poveretto in mano altrui, ora che è in quello stato fuorivia?
– Date retta al medico, diceva comare Stefana. – Vostro marito andrete a trovarlo poi. Credete che vi scappa?
Poscia il baliatico, la malannata, il bisogno dei figliuoli, e il tempo era passato. Compare Cosimo per buscarsi il pane s'era messo con quelli della chiatta, a Primosole, insieme a Gesualdo, e prometteva sempre d'andar al paese per veder la moglie e la bambina, un giorno o l'altro. – Verrò a Pasqua. Verrò a Natale. – Con ogni conoscente che passava mandava sempre a dire la stessa cosa; tanto che comare Menica non ci credeva più, e Gesualdo, ogni volta, guardava il babbo negli occhi, per vedere se diceva davvero.
Ma succedeva che a Pasqua e a Natale si aveva una gran folla da tragittare, sicché quando spirava scirocco e levante, e il fiume era grosso, c'erano più di cinquanta vetture che aspettavano all'osteria di Primosole. Lo zio Cosimo bestemmiava contro il maltempo che gli levava il pan di bocca, e la sua gente si riposava: Nanni Lasca bocconi, dormendo sulle braccia in croce, Ventura all'osteria, e l'Orbo cantava tutto il giorno, ritto sull'uscio della capanna, a veder piovere, guardando il cielo cogli occhi bianchi.
Comare Menica avrebbe voluto andar lei a Primosole, almeno per sentire come stava suo marito, e fargli vedere la bambina, che suo padre non la conosceva neppure, quasi non l'avesse fatta lui. – Andrò appena avrò presi i denari del filato, diceva anch'essa. – Andrò dopo la raccolta delle olive, se m'avanza qualche soldo. – Così passava il tempo anche per lei. Intanto fece una malattia mortale di quelle che don Battista se ne lavava le mani come Pilato. – Vostra moglie è malata malatissima – sentiva dire compare Cosimo dallo zio Cheli, da compare Lanzise, e da tutti quelli che arrivavano dal paese. Stavolta egli voleva correre davvero, a piedi, come poteva. – Prestatemi due lire pel viaggio, compare Ventura. – Compare Ventura rispondeva: – Aspettate prima se vi portano qualche buona notizia, benedett'uomo che siete! Alle volte, intanto che voi siete per via, vostra moglie gli succede di guarire e voi ci perdete il viaggio inutilmente. L'Orbo invece gli suggeriva di far dire una messa alla Madonna di Primosole ch'è miracolosa per le febbri d'aria e gli accidenti. Infine giunse la notizia che a comare Menica gli avevano portato il Viatico. – Vedete se avevo ragione di dirvi di aspettare? osservò Ventura. – Cosa andavate a fare se non c'era aiuto?
Il peggio era pegli orfani, che la mamma è come la chioccia pei suoi pulcini. Gesualdo stava con suo padre a buscarsi il pane alla chiatta di Primosole. Ma Titta, suo fratello, e Lucia, l'ultima nata, erano rimasti alle spalle degli zii lontani, che gli davano il pane duro e la mala parola. E meglio fu per compare Cosimo che il Signore gli chiuse gli occhi prima che vedesse quel che n'era del sangue suo. A Primosole l'Orbo gli diceva che coll'aiuto di Dio poteva viverci e morire al pari di lui, che vi mangiava pane da quarant'anni, e ne aveva vista passare tanta della gente. Passavano conoscenti, passavano viandanti che non s'erano visti mai, e nessuno sapeva d'onde venissero, a piedi, a cavallo, d'ogni nazione, e se ne andavano pel mondo, di qua e di là del fiume. – Come l'acqua del fiume stesso che se ne andava al mare, ma lì pareva sempre la medesima, fra le due ripe sgretolate; a destra le collinette nude di Valsavoia, a sinistra il tetto rosso di Primosole; e allorché pioveva, alle volte per settimane e settimane, non si vedeva altro che quel tetto triste nella nebbia. Poi tornava il bel tempo, e spuntava del verde qua e là, per le roccie di Valsavoia, sul ciglio delle viottole, nella pianura fin dove arrivava l'occhio. Infine giungeva l'estate e si mangiava ogni cosa, il verde dei seminati, i fiori dei campi, l'acqua del fiume, gli oleandri che intristavano sulle rive, coperti di polvere.
La domenica cambiava. Lo zio Antonio, che teneva l'osteria di Primosole faceva venire il prete per la messa; mandava la Filomena, sua figliuola, a scopare la chiesetta ed a raccattare i soldi che i devoti vi lasciavano cadere dal finestrino per le anime del Purgatorio. Accorrevano dai dintorni, a piedi, a cavallo, e l'osteria si riempiva di gente. Alle volte arrivava anche il Zanno, che guariva ogni male, o don Liborio, il merciaiuolo, con un grande ombrellone rosso, e schierava la sua mercanzia sugli scalini della chiesuola, forbici, temperini, nastri e refe di ogni colore. Gesualdo si affollava insieme agli altri ragazzi, per vedere, ma suo padre gli diceva: – No, figliuol mio, questa è roba per chi è ricco e ha denari da spendere.
Gli altri invece compravano: bottoni, tabacchiere, pettini d'osso che imitavano la tartaruga, e Filomena frugava dappertutto colle mani sudicie, senza che nessuno gli dicesse niente perché era figliuola dell'oste. Anzi don Liborio un giorno le regalò un bel fazzoletto giallo e rosso che passò di mano in mano. – Sfacciata! dicevano le comari – fa l'occhio a questo e a quello per avere dei regali!
Dopo Gesualdo li vide tutti e due dietro il pollaio che si tenevano abbracciati. Filomena, la quale stava all'erta per timore del babbo, si accorse subito di quegli occhietti che si ficcavano nella siepe, e gli saltò addosso con la ciabatta in mano. – Cosa vieni a fare qui, spione? Se racconti quel che hai visto, guai a te! – Ma don Liborio la calmava con belle maniere. – Lasciatelo stare quel ragazzo, comare Mena, ché gli fate pensare al male senza saperlo.
Però Gesualdo non poteva levarsi dagli occhi il viso rosso di Filomena e le manacce di don Liborio che brancicavano. Allorché lo mandavano pel vino all'osteria, si piantava dinanzi al banco della ragazza, che glielo mesceva con faccia tosta, e lo sgridava:
– Guardate qua, cristiani! Non gli spuntano ancora peli al mento, quel moccioso; e ha negli occhi la malizia!
Passò del tempo. Lo zio Antonio maritava Filomena con Lanzise, uomo dabbene, il quale non sapeva niente. Però ci aveva il fatto suo lì vicino, terre e buoi, e un pezzo di vigna in collina, dicevano. Il matrimonio fece chiasso, tanto che venne anche don Liborio a vender roba pel corredo. La sera mangiava all'osteria di Primosole. Non si sa come, a motivo di un conto sbagliato, attaccarono lite collo zio Antonio; e don Liborio gli disse – becco!
Compare Antonio era un omettino cieco da un occhio che a vederlo non l'avreste pagato un soldo. Però si diceva che aveva più di un omicidio sulla coscienza, e a venti miglia in giro gli portavano rispetto. Al sentirsi dire quella mala parola sul mostaccio, senza dire né uno né due, andò a pigliare lo schioppo accanto al letto. Sua moglie allora, ch'era malata d'anni ed anni, si rizzò a sedere in camicia strillando: – Aiuto, che s'ammazzano! santi cristiani!
E Filomena per dividerli, buttava piatti e bicchieri addosso a don Liborio gridando: – Birbante! ladro! scomunicato!
– Che vi pare azione d'uomo cotesta, compare Antonio? – rispose don Liborio con quella faccia di minchione. – Io non ci ho altro addosso che questo po' di temperino.
– Avete ragione, disse lo zio Antonio, e andò a posare lo schioppo senza aggiunger altro.
Più tardi Gesualdo raccattava un po' di frasche sulla riva, quando vide venirsi incontro don Liborio, con quella faccia gialla di traditore, che si guardava attorno sospettoso, e gli disse: – Te' un baiocco, e va' a dire a compare Antonio che l'aspetto dietro la siepe, per quella faccenda che sa lui. Ma che nessuno ti senta, veh!
La sera trovarono compare Antonio lungo disteso dietro una macchia di fichi d'India, col suo cane accanto che gli leccava la ferita. – Come è stato, compare Antonio? Chi v'ha dato la coltellata? – Compare Antonio non volle dirlo. – Portatemi sul letto per ora. Se campo poi ci penso io, se muoio ci pensa Dio. – Questo fu don Liborio che me l'ammazzò! strillava la moglie. E Filomena badava a ripetere: – Birbante! ladro! scomunicato!
– Io lo so chi l'ha ammazzato – diceva Gesualdo agli altri ragazzi. – Ma non posso dirlo.
Venne il giudice cogli sbirri, a fare la generica; ma nessuno aveva visto nulla, e lo zio Antonio non rispondeva altro: – Se vivo ci penso io, se muoio ci pensa Dio. – Così se ne andò in paradiso dopo due giorni, senza dir nulla, e Filomena ci guadagnò che perdette il marito, per quella parolaccia di becco, che a Lanzise gli era giunta all'orecchio.
Anche don Liborio tornò a passare da quelle parti, fresco come una rosa, dopo ch'era scorso del tempo, e dell'acqua n'era passata sotto la chiatta. – Il mio mestiere è di andare pel mondo di qua e di là – diceva agli amici, che da un pezzo non lo vedevano. E sebbene Gesualdo si fosse fatto grande, e avesse già i peli al mento, lo riconobbe subito e gli disse: – Tu sei quello che andavi pel vino all'osteria, che ci siamo visti dell'altre volte. Ti rammenti? – Egli aveva ingrandito il suo negozio, e si tirava dietro un ragazzetto carico delle sue scarabattole, il quale andava vociando nei villaggi e lungo le fattorie: – Forbici! temperini! tela fina e fazzoletti alla moda! – Lo conoscete questo ragazzo? – disse anche don Liborio a compare Cosimo. – È Titta vostro figlio, che v'ho portato per baciarvi la mano. Vedete come si è fatto grande? Ora con me impara il mestiere, e si farà uomo. – Lo zio Cosimo si lasciò baciar la mano, che non gli pareva vero, e tutti della chiatta, anche Gesualdo, fecero festa a Titta, che era come il Figliuol Prodigo.
Poi, dopo ch'ebbero mangiato e bevuto, se n'andarono pei fatti loro, Titta vociando come al solito, nell'infilare le cinghie delle scarabattole. – Forbici! temperini! Tela fina e fazzoletti alla moda! – E prima d'accomiatarsi, don Liborio conchiuse parlando collo zio Cosimo: – Vedete? Ora dovreste cercare di collocare all'osteria anche l'altra figliuola vostra, Lucia, che non ha nessuno al mondo, e comincia a farsi grande e bella. Se no va a finir male.
Ma prima d'arrivare a collocare la ragazza all'osteria venne un'annata asciutta, che la gente moriva come le mosche, e compare Cosimo prese le febbri anche lui. Siccome era vecchio e pieno di guai, andava predicando: – Questa è l'ultima mia annata.
Non sentiva più i dolori della sciatica; non abbaiava più la notte, e stava quieto nel suo lettuccio, al buio. Soltanto appena udiva chiamar la barca, di qua e di là del fiume, rizzava il capo come poteva, per amor del guadagno, e gridava: – O gente!
Però non potevano lasciarlo morire come un cane, senza medico. Ventura, l'Orbo, e alle volte anche Nanni Lasca, ne parlavano fra di loro, accanto all'uscio, vedendo lo zio Cosimo lungo disteso come un morto, colla faccia color di terra, e si grattavano il capo. Infine risolvettero di chiamargli la Gagliana, una vecchietta che faceva miracoli a venti miglia in giro. – Vedrete che la Gagliana vi guarirà in un batter d'occhio – dicevano al moribondo: È meglio di un dottore, quel diavolo di donna! – Lo zio Cosimo non rispondeva né sì né no; e pensava alla sua Menica, che se n'era andata al modo istesso, e ai suoi figliuoli ch'erano sparsi pel mondo, come i pulcini della quaglia. Poi, nel forte della febbre, tornava a piagnuccolare:
– Chiamatemi pure la Gagliana. Non mi lasciate morire senza aiuto, signori miei!
La Gagliana la battezzò febbre pericolosa, di quelle che è meglio mandare pel prete addirittura. Giusto era domenica, e si udiva vociare all'osteria. Tutto ciò a Gesualdo, grande e grosso come un fanciullone di vent'anni, gli rimase fitto in mente: i curiosi che venivano a vedere sulla porta, la Gagliana la quale brontolando cercava nelle tasche il rimedio che ci voleva, e il moribondo che guardava tutti uno ad uno, cogli occhi attoniti. L'Orbo, a canzonare la Gagliana che non sapeva trovare il rimedio fatto apposta, le domandava:
– Cosa ci vuole per farmi tornare la vista, comare Gagliana?
Lo zio Cosimo morì la notte istessa. Peccato! Perché il lunedì si trovò a passare lo Zanno, il quale ci aveva il tocca e sana per ogni male nelle sue scarabattole. Lo menarono appunto a vedere il morto. Ei gli toccò il ventre, il polso, la lingua, e conchiuse:
– Se c'ero io lo zio Cosimo non moriva. Gesualdo quand'ebbe finito di piangere si trovò orfano e senza impiego. Quelli della chiatta volevano fargli la camorra perché era un fanciullone. Per fortuna c'era la Filomena che cominciava a farsi vecchia, e nessuno la voleva per quella storia di don Liborio. Ora che Gesualdo aveva messo i peli al mento, ella gli faceva gli occhi dolci come agli altri, e gli diceva ogni volta:
– Io, alla morte di mia madre, da qui a cent'anni, ci avrò la mia roba, grazie a Dio! E il marito che volessi prendere starebbe come un principe. – L'Orbo che faceva il mezzano, per un bicchiere di vino, confermava: – La roba l'ho vista io, con questi occhi! – Ma la mamma, se la va dello stesso passo, campa cent'anni davvero! – Osservava Gesualdo, che il suo giudizio, alla grossa, l'aveva anche lui. Infine si lasciò persuadere: – Per me, se voi siete contenta, io sono contento pure.
E come fu maritato, sebbene la suocera non morisse mai, stette davvero da principe, tanto che non parlò mai più di muoversi di là dov'era sempre stato, sin da ragazzetto. A destra i sassi delle collinette di Valsavoia, a sinistra il fiume giallo colla chiatta, e la capanna dei barcaiuoli sola nella nebbia triste della sera. Questo solo era mutato. Anche l'Orbo se n'era andato sotterra, nel pezzetto di trifoglio dietro la chiesa, dov'erano seppelliti compare Cosimo e lo zio Antonio, e dove sarebbe andata la suocera, da lì a cent'anni, quando il Signore la chiamava. Intanto nel trifoglio giuocavano i figliuoli che la Filomena gli aveva fatti, ed egli andava a mietere l'erba per le sue bestie. Un bel giorno, su di un carro, arrivò una ragazzetta con un fardello sotto il braccio, e si fermò all'osteria dicendogli: – Sapete, son vostra sorella Lucia. – Filomena le fece festa, e acconsentì anche a pigliarsela in casa pei servizi grossi. Ma due cognate stanno male insieme, specie quando una ha le mani lunghe, e un altro bel giorno Lucia se ne fuggì in compagnia di un altro ragazzetto che stava lì alla chiatta di Primosole, per scansare certe busse di Filomena che altrimenti non gliele avrebbe levate il Papa. E nemmeno se ne seppe più nulla. La gente diceva che la zia Filomena aveva messo la gonnella al marito, e infatti egli lasciava fare per amor della pace e dei figliuoli. Di altre chiacchiere colla moglie non ce ne furono se non che il giorno in cui don Liborio si trovò a passare da Primosole colle sue scarabattole, e Gesualdo voleva farlo entrare per non perdere la pratica.
– Tua moglie ha ragione, osservò don Liborio più prudente. Quel ch'è stato è stato, e cogli anni anche a lei è venuto il giudizio.
Poi mentre aspettava la chiatta per passare il fiume gli diede conto di suo fratello Titta, che l'aveva lasciato all'ospedale, per una rissa fatta alla fiera di Lentini, dove s'era buscata una coltellata, e di Lucia che faceva la mala vita.
– Sai, quando ci si casca una volta, è difficile tornare a galla, fra le donne oneste. È stata anche in prigione, perché dice che aveva fatto morire la sua creatura. Il birbante fu quello che l'abbandonò col bambino sulle spalle. Ma tutti nei suoi panni avrebbero fatto come lui.
Egli parlava ancora che la chiatta scompariva nella nebbia, e non si vedeva più. Gesualdo rimase sulla riva colla nebbia nel cuore anche lui; ma dopo, colla minestra calda, e il vino buono, la Filomena riescì a fargli scacciare la malinconia. È vero che il sangue non è acqua, ma il sangue di compare Cosimo, dacché era rimasto invalido a Primosole, era destinato a sperdersi di qua e di là pel mondo come la gente che passava sulla chiatta. Filomena, per confortare suo marito, ora che cogli anni era venuto il giudizio, gli diceva che i poveretti non si riuniscono altrove che al camposanto, dove sarebbero andati a dormire in pace l'uno dopo l'altro, prima la sua mamma, da lì a cent'anni, dopo loro, e dopo di loro i loro figli, che intanto vi andavano a trastullarsi come egli andava a mietervi l'erba per le sue bestie.
# La Barberina di Marcantonio
Anni sono, quando Barbara, orfanella, sposò Marcantonio, mugnaio, parve che chiappasse un terno a secco. Pazienza i 40 anni dello sposo, ma la prima moglie di lui gli aveva lasciato il mulino, e un orticello, che si affacciava dentro le finestre, un mese ogni anno, col verde delle piante, e altro ben di Dio. Marcantonio aveva sposata l'orfanella per fare una buona azione, dopo la morte della buon'anima e scacciare la malinconia, che sembrava fissa in casa col rumore di quella ruota che girava sempre, notte e giorno, nel torrentello chiuso in mezzo a una forra scura, e non si udiva altro, in quella solitudine. Amici e parenti furono invitati alle nozze, si fece festa sul praticello davanti al mulino, e brindisi a tutto andare, alla sposa che era fina e bianca come la farina di prima qualità, e al mugnaio ch'era ancora in gamba – costò cinquanta svanziche quell'allegria – ché allora nel Veneto correvano ancora le svanziche e gli Austriaci.
Solo il Moccia che aveva il vino cattivo badava a predicare: – Andate là che ve ne pentirete!
In seguito venne la processione dei figliuoli, che non finivano più. Barberina allampanava a quel mestiere di far la chioccia, smunta e pallida, nella tristezza di quella buca senza verde e senza sole. Tuttavia non si smarriva d'animo, ed era il braccio destro del mulino, diceva suo marito. Correva la voce che dalla mamma avesse preso il malsottile. Il fatto era che i figliuoli, quanti ne faceva, gli morivano presto, quasi mancasse l'aria in quel fosso. Il medico predicava che era umido e malsano. – Cosa potevano farci? Quella era la loro casa e ogni loro bene. – Poi in maggio i rami rinverdivano, e su per l'erta, di faccia alle finestre, spuntavano dei fiorellini gialli e rossi. La Barbara ci portava i bimbi in collo, a godersi il bel sole.
Ma morivano egualmente. Ella sola non moriva, e continuava a far figliuoli, come un castigo di Dio, invecchiata e ischeletrita quasi fosse la morte che partoriva. Il dottore aveva un bel chiamarsi in disparte Marcantonio, e dirgli il fatto suo. L'altro rispondeva, mordendosi le mani: – Cosa posso farci? Questa è la volontà di Dio!
Finalmente quando Dio volle, la Barbara finì col dare alla luce un'ultima bambina, come non avesse avuto più sangue nelle vene, e lo avesse dato tutto alla figliuola. Pareva che si fosse addormentata; e quella notte erano soli nel mulino, mentre il vento e la pioggia volevano portarselo via.
La bimba crebbe fine e delicata, e la chiamarono Barberina come la madre.
– Tutta lei, buon'anima! – esclamava Marcantonio. A sedici anni era già una donnina, magra e pallida al pari della mamma, ma brava massaia come lei. Al babbo che andava innanzi negli anni, gli metteva la vecchiaia nella bambagia. Il Signore si vedeva che gliela aveva lasciata per supplire la buon'anima che era in paradiso, e con quel tesoro in casa Marcantonio non aveva bisogno di ammogliarsi la terza volta.
Però la Barberina della mamma aveva anche la vita corta. Al principio dell'inverno cominciò a tossire, e a sputar sangue di nascosto. Il medico, che li conosceva di madre in figlia, conchiuse: – Non ve l'avevo detto? Ha il male di sua madre. – E Marcantonio quel giorno pianse di nascosto anche lui.
Nondimeno, siccome la malattia procedeva lentamente, a poco a poco si abituarono entrambi, e non ci pensavano più. Quando le tornava la febbre, alla ragazza, o tossiva più del solito, cercavano se aveva preso freddo, se si era bagnata le mani, o altri motivi simili, e non chiamavano neppure il medico.
Nel finire della state, una sera che diluviava come in marzo, arrivò il Moccia, vecchio anche lui adesso, che passava di tanto in tanto dal mulino, quand'era da quelle parti. E raccontò che la campagna, al basso, era tutta allagata.
La Barberina, che non lasciava il letto da qualche tempo e non dormiva più, esclamò:
– Poveretti!
– Voi altri – finì il Moccia – se continua a piovere e a crescere la piena del fiume, fareste bene ad andarvene anche voi.
Marcantonio, col cuore serrato per la figlia che non si poteva muovere, rispose che il fiume era lontano, e non c'era pericolo.
Poi il Moccia se ne andò, ed egli lo accompagnò col lume.
– Sapete – gli disse il Moccia. – La Barberina mi par che stia proprio male stasera.
– O babbo – chiese la Barberina. – Cosa ha detto il Moccia?
– Dice che la piena è grande; ma non ci badare. Tutt'al più, se il torrente ingrossa anch'esso, smonterò la ruota.
Sul tardi la ruota si fermò da sé; e Barberina, che aveva il sonno leggero dei malati, chiamò il babbo. Marcantonio prese il lume e scese per la botola. Laggiù l'acqua nera gorgogliava, e luccicava dove batteva il lume. La Barberina, al vedere risalire il babbo pallido e turbato, tornò a chiedere:
– Che c'è, babbo?
– La piena – rispose stavolta Marcantonio.
– O poveretti noi! E tutto quel grano ch'è laggiù! E la casa? Ed io non posso aiutarvi!
Marcantonio pensava appunto a lei, che non poteva muoversi. – Ora mi vesto, diceva la ragazza. Ora vengo ad aiutarvi.
Ma le forze le mancavano, per quanto si affannasse, con quelle povere braccia stecchite, e quegli omeri aguzzi che volevano bucare la camicia. Per fortuna tornò il Moccia, che non era potuto andare più avanti, a motivo della piena, ed altre anime pietose, le quali si erano ricordate di Marcantonio e della figliuola moribonda che affogavano nel mulino. All'udir picchiare alla finestra, il vecchio prese animo.
– O Vergine santa! Ch'è mai successo? – esclamava Barberina con quegli occhi spaventati dentro le occhiaie nere. L'avvolsero nelle coperte, e la fecero uscire dalla finestra, che Dio sa come ci arrivò la poveretta.
Al di fuori tutta la forra dove scorreva il torrentello era nera e spumosa. Dappertutto, dove passavano col carretto di Barberina, gente in fuga, e masserizie per aria. Pure, al veder lei, si fermavano a compassionarla. All'alba si vide il fiume che si allargava dappertutto, come un mare.
Le avevano fatto un po' di riparo, come meglio potevano, lì nell'argine affollato di gente e bestiame, con del fieno e delle coperte, e lei badava a ripetere:
– Oh Vergine Maria, cos'è successo?
– È successo – rispose il Moccia – che abbiamo addosso il castigo di Dio. Non avete inteso che verrà la cometa?
Ella, vedendo piovere su quei rifugiati, stretti sull'argine, andava dicendo, senza pensare a lei, che poco poteva starci:
– E quei poveretti? E se si sfascia l'argine? E il grano? E la casa? E il mulino? E come farete, babbo, senza di me?
– Una cosa da far compassione alle pietre – conchiuse il Moccia, a vederla andarsene così, in mezzo a quella rovina.
# Tentazione!
Ecco come fu. – Vero com'è vero Iddio! Erano in tre: Ambrogio, Carlo e il Pigna, sellaio. Questi che li aveva tirati pei capelli a far baldoria: – Andiamo a Vaprio col tramvai. – E senza condursi dietro uno straccio di donna! Tanto è vero che volevano godersi la festa in santa pace.
Giocarono alle bocce, fecero una bella passeggiata sino al fiume, si regalarono il bicchierino e infine desinarono al _Merlo bianco_ , sotto il pergolato. C'era lì una gran folla, e quel dell'organetto, e quel della chitarra, e ragazze che strillavano sull'altalena, e innamorati che cercavano l'ombrìa; una vera festa.
Tanto che il Pigna s'era messo a far l'asino con una della tavolata accanto, civettuola, con la mano nei capelli, e il gomito sulla tovaglia. E Ambrogio, che era un ragazzo quieto, lo tirava per la giacchetta, dicendogli all'orecchio: – Andiamo via, se no si attacca lite.
Dopo, al cellulare, quando ripensava al come era successo quel precipizio, gli pareva d'impazzire.
Per acchiappare il tramvai, verso sera, fecero un bel tratto di strada a piedi. Carlo, che era stato soldato, pretendeva conoscere le scorciatoje, e li aveva fatto prendere per una viottola che tagliava i prati a zig zag. Fu quella la rovina!
Potevano essere le sette, una bella sera d'autunno, coi campi ancora verdi che non ci era anima viva. Andavano cantando, allegri della scampagnata, tutti giovani e senza fastidi pel capo.
Se fossero loro mancati i soldi, oppure il lavoro, o avessero avuto altri guai, forse sarebbe stato meglio. E il Pigna andava dicendo che avevano spesi bene i loro quattrini quella domenica.
Come accade, parlavano di donne, e dell'innamorata, ciascuno la sua. E lo stesso Ambrogio, che sembrava una gatta morta, raccontava per filo e per segno quel che succedeva con la Filippina, quando si trovavano ogni sera dietro il muro della fabbrica.
– Sta a vedere – borbottava infine, ché gli dolevano le scarpe. – Sta a vedere che Carlino ci fa sbagliare strada!
L'altro, invece, no. Il tramvai era là di certo, dietro quella fila d'olmi scapitozzati, che non si vedeva ancora per la nebbiolina della sera.
«L'è sott'il pont, l'è sott'il pont a fà la legnaaa...» Ambrogio dietro faceva il basso, zoppicando.
Dopo un po' raggiunsero una contadina, con un paniere infilato al braccio, che andava per la stessa via. – Sorte! – esclamò il Pigna. – Ora ci facciamo insegnar la strada.
Altro! Era un bel tocco di ragazza, di quelle che fan venire la tentazione a incontrarle sole. – Sposa, è questa la strada per andare dove andiamo? – chiese il Pigna ridendo.
L'altra, ragazza onesta, chinò il capo, e affrettò il passo senza dargli retta.
– Che gamba, neh! – borbottò Carlino. – Se va di questo passo a trovar l'innamorato, felice lui!
La ragazza, vedendo che le si attaccavano alle gonnelle, si fermò su due piedi, col paniere in mano, e si mise a strillare:
– Lasciatemi andare per la mia strada, e badate ai fatti vostri.
– Eh! che non ce la vogliamo mangiare! – rispose il Pigna. – Che diavolo!
Ella riprese per la sua via, a testa bassa, da contadina cocciuta che era.
Carlo, a fine di rompere il ghiaccio, domandò:
– O dove va, bella ragazza... come si chiama lei?
– Mi chiamo come mi chiamo, e vado dove vado.
Ambrogio volle intromettersi lui: – Non abbia paura, che non vogliamo farle male. Siamo buoni figliuoli, andiamo al tramvai pei fatti nostri.
Come egli aveva la faccia d'uomo dabbene, la giovane si lasciò persuadere, anche perché annottava, e andava a rischio di perdere la corsa. Ambrogio voleva sapere se quella era la strada giusta pel tramvai.
– M'hanno detto di sì – rispose lei. – Però io non son pratica di queste parti. – E narrò che veniva in città per cercare di allogarsi. Il Pigna, allegro di sua natura, fingeva di credere che cercasse di allogarsi a balia, e se non sapeva dove andare, un posto buono glielo trovava lui la stessa sera, caldo caldo. E come aveva le mani lunghe, ella gli appuntò una gomitata che gli sfondò mezzo le costole.
– Cristo! – borbottò. – Cristo, che pugno! – E gli altri sghignazzavano.
– Io non ho paura di voi né di nessuno! – rispose lei. – Né di me? – E neppure di me? – E di tutti e tre insieme? – E se vi pigliassimo per forza? – Allora si guardarono intorno per la campagna, dove non si vedeva anima viva.
– O il suo amoroso – disse il Pigna per mutar discorso – o il suo amoroso come va che l'ha lasciata partire?
– Io non ne ho – rispose lei.
– Davvero? Così bella!
– No, che non son bella.
– Andiamo, via! – E il Pigna si mise in galanteria, coi pollici nel giro del panciotto – Perdio! se era bella! Con quegli occhi, e quella bocca, e con questo, e con quest'altro! – Lasciatemi passare – diceva ella ridendo sottonaso, con gli occhi bassi.
– Un bacio almeno, cos'è un bacio? Un bacio almeno poteva lasciarselo dare, per suggellare l'amicizia. Tanto, cominciava a farsi buio, e nessuno li vedeva. – Ella si schermiva, col gomito alto. – Corpo! che prospettiva! – Il Pigna se la mangiava con gli occhi, di sotto il braccio alzato. Allora ella gli si piantò in faccia, minacciandolo di sbattergli il paniere sul muso.
– Fate pure! picchiate sinché volete. Da voi mi farà piacere! – Lasciatemi andare, o chiamo gente! – Egli balbettava, con la faccia accesa: – Lasciatevelo dare, che nessun ci sente. – Gli altri due si scompisciavano dalle risa. Infine la ragazza, come le si stringevano addosso, si mise a picchiare sul sodo, metà seria metà ridendo, su questo e su quello, come cadeva. Poscia si diede a correre con le sottane alte.
– Ah! lo vuoi per forza! lo vuoi per forza! – gridava il Pigna ansante, correndole dietro.
E la raggiunse col fiato grosso, cacciandole una manaccia sulla bocca. Così si acciuffarono e andavano sbatacchiandosi qua e là. La ragazza furibonda mordeva, graffiava, sparava calci.
Carlo si trovò preso in mezzo per tentare di dividerli. Ambrogio l'aveva afferrata per le gambe onde non azzoppisse qualcheduno. Infine il Pigna, pallido, ansante, se la cacciò di sotto, con un ginocchio sul petto. E allora tutti e tre, al contatto di quelle carni calde, come fossero invasati a un tratto da una pazzia furiosa, ubbriachi di donna... Dio ce ne scampi e liberi!
Ella si rialzò come una bestia feroce, senza dire una parola, ricomponendo gli strappi del vestito e raccattando il paniere. Gli altri si guardavano fra di loro con un risolino strano. Com'ella si muoveva per andarsene, Carlo le si piantò in faccia col viso scuro: – Tu non dirai nulla! – No! non dirò nulla! – promise la ragazza con voce sorda. Il Pigna a quelle parole l'afferrò per la gonnella. Ella si mise a gridare.
– Ajuto!
– Taci!
– Ajuto, all'assassino!
– Sta' zitta, ti dico!
Carlino l'afferrò alla gola.
– Ah! vuoi rovinarci tutti, maledetta! – Ella non poteva più gridare, sotto quella stretta, ma li minacciava sempre con quegli occhi spalancati dove c'erano i carabinieri e la forca. Diventava livida, con la lingua tutta fuori, nera, enorme, una lingua che non poteva capire più nella sua bocca; e a quella vista persero la testa tutti e tre dalla paura. Carlo le stringeva la gola sempre più a misura che la donna rallentava le braccia, e si abbandonava, inerte, con la testa arrovesciata sui sassi, gli occhi che mostravano il bianco. Infine la lasciarono ad uno ad uno, lentamente, atterriti.
Ella rimaneva immobile stesa supina sul ciglione del sentiero, col viso in su e gli occhi spalancati e bianchi. Il Pigna abbrancò per l'omero Ambrogio che non si era mosso, torvo, senza dire una parola, e Carlino balbettò:
– Tutti e tre, veh! Siamo stati tutti e tre!... O sangue della Madonna!...
Era venuto buio. Quanto tempo era trascorso? Attraverso la viottola bianchiccia si vedeva sempre per terra quella cosa nera, immobile. Per fortuna non passava nessuno di là. Dietro la pezza di granoturco c'era un lungo filare di gelsi. Un cane s'era messo ad abbaiare in lontananza. E ai tre amici pareva di sognare quando si udì il fischio del tramvai, che andavano a raggiungere mezz'ora prima, come se fosse passato un secolo.
Il Pigna disse che bisognava scavare una buca profonda, per nascondere quel ch'era accaduto, e costrinsero Ambrogio per forza a strascinare la morta nel prato, com'erano stati tutti e tre a fare il marrone. Quel cadavere pareva di piombo. Poi nella fossa non c'entrava. Carlino gli recise il capo, col coltelluccio che per caso aveva il Pigna. Poi quand'ebbero calcata la terra pigiandola coi piedi, si sentirono più tranquilli e si avviarono per la stradicciuola. Ambrogio sospettoso teneva d'occhio il Pigna che aveva il coltello in tasca. Morivano dalla sete, ma fecero un lungo giro per evitare un'osteria di campagna che spuntava nell'alba; un gallo che cantava nella mattinata fresca li fece trasalire. Andavano guardinghi e senza dire una parola, ma non volevano lasciarsi, quasi fossero legati insieme.
I carabinieri li arrestarono alla spicciolata dopo alcuni giorni; Ambrogio in una casa di malaffare, dove stava da mattina a sera; Carlo vicino a Bergamo, che gli avevano messo gli occhi addosso al vagabondare che faceva, e il Pigna alla fabbrica, là in mezzo al via vai dei lavoranti e al brontolare della macchina; ma al vedere i carabinieri si fece pallido e gli s'imbrogliò subito la lingua. Alle Assise, nel gabbione, volevano mangiarsi con gli occhi l'un l'altro, ché si davano del Giuda. Ma quando ripensavano poi al cellulare com'era stato il guaio, gli pareva d'impazzire, una cosa dopo l'altra, e come si può arrivare ad avere il sangue nelle mani cominciando dallo scherzare.
# La chiave d'oro
A Santa Margherita, nella casina del Canonico stavano recitando il Santo Rosario, dopo cena, quando all'improvviso si udì una schioppettata nella notte.
Il Canonico allibì, colla coroncina tuttora in mano, e le donne si fecero la croce, tendendo le orecchie, mentre i cani nel cortile abbaiavano furiosamente. Quasi subito rimbombò un'altra schioppettata di risposta nel vallone sotto la Rocca.
– Gesù e Maria, che sarà mai? – esclamò la fante sull'uscio della cucina.
– Zitti tutti! – esclamò il Canonico, pallido come il berretto da notte. – Lasciatemi sentire.
E si mise dietro l'imposta della finestra. I cani si erano chetati, e fuori si udiva il vento nel vallone. A un tratto riprese l'abbaiare più forte di prima, e in mezzo, a brevi intervalli, si udì bussare al portone con un sasso.
– Non aprite, non aprite a nessuno! – gridava il Canonico, correndo a prendere la carabina al capezzale del letto, sotto il crocifisso. Le mani gli tremavano. Poi, in mezzo al baccano, si udì gridare dietro il portone: – Aprite, signor Canonico; son io, Surfareddu! – E come finalmente il fattore del pianterreno escì a chetare i cani e a tirare le spranghe del portone, entrò il camparo, Surfareddu, scuro in viso e con lo schioppo ancora caldo in mano.
– Che c'è, Grippino? Cos'è successo? – chiese il Canonico spaventato.
– C'è, vossignoria, che mentre voi dormite e riposate, io arrischio la pelle per guardarvi la roba – rispose Surfareddu.
E raccontò cos'era successo, in piedi, sull'uscio, dondolandosi alla sua maniera. Non poteva pigliar sonno, dal gran caldo, e s'era messo un momento sull'uscio della capanna, di là, sul poggetto, quando aveva udito rumore nel vallone, dove era il frutteto, un rumore come le sue orecchie sole lo conoscevano, e la Bellina, una cagnaccia spelata e macilenta che gli stava alle calcagna. Bacchiavano nel frutteto arance e altre frutta; un fruscìo che non fa il vento; e poi ad intervalli silenzio, mentre empivano i sacchi. Allora aveva preso lo schioppo d'accanto all'uscio della capanna, quel vecchio schioppo a pietra con la canna lunga e i pezzi d'ottone che aveva in mano. Quando si dice il destino! Perché quella era l'ultima notte che doveva stare a Santa Margherita. S'era licenziato a Pasqua dal Canonico, d'amore e di accordo, e il 1º settembre doveva andare dal padrone nuovo, in quel di Vizzini. Giusto il giorno avanti s'era fatta la consegna di ogni cosa col Canonico. Ed era l'ultimo di agosto: una notte buia e senza stelle. Bellina andava avanti, col naso al vento, zitta, come l'aveva insegnata lui. Egli camminava adagio adagio, levando i piedi alti nel fieno perché non si udisse il fruscìo. E la cagna si voltava ad ogni dieci passi per vedere se la seguiva. Quando furono al vallone, disse piano a Bellina: – Dietro! – E si mise al riparo di un noce grosso. Poi diede la voce: – Ehi!...
– Una voce, Dio liberi! – diceva il Canonico – che faceva accapponar la pelle quando si udiva da Surfareddu, un uomo che nella sua professione di camparo aveva fatto più di un omicidio. – Allora – rispose Surfareddu – allora mi spararono addosso a bruciapelo – panf! – Per fortuna che risposi al lampo della fucilata. Erano in tre, e udii gridare. Andate a vedere nel frutteto, che il mio uomo dev'esserci rimasto.
– Ah! cos'hai fatto, scellerato! – esclamava il Canonico, mentre le donne strillavano fra di loro. – Ora verranno il giudice e gli sbirri, e mi lasci nell'imbroglio!
– Questo è il ringraziamento che mi fate, vossignoria? – rispose brusco Surfareddu. – Se aspettavano a rubarvi sinché io me ne fossi andato dal vostro servizio, era meglio anche per me, che non ci avrei avuto quest'altro che dire con la giustizia.
– Ora vattene ai Grilli, e di' al fattore che ti mando io. Domani poi ci avrai il tuo bisogno. Ma che nessuno ti veda, per l'amor di Dio, ora ch'è tempo di fichidindia, e la gente è tutta per quelle balze. Chissà quanto mi costerà questa faccenda; che sarebbe stato meglio tu avessi chiuso gli occhi.
– Ah no, signor Canonico! Finché sto al vostro servizio, sfregi di questa fatta non ne soffre Surfareddu! Loro lo sapevano che fino al 31 agosto il custode del vostro podere ero io. Tanto peggio per loro! La mia polvere non la butto via, no!
E se ne andò con lo schioppo in spalla e la Bellina dietro, ch'era ancor buio. Nella Casina di Santa Margherita non si chiuse più occhio quella notte pel timore dei ladri e il pensiero di quell'uomo steso a terra lì nel frutteto. A giorno chiaro, quando cominciarono a vedersi dei viandanti sulla viottola dirimpetto, nella Rocca, il Canonico, armato sino ai denti e con tutti i contadini dietro, si arrischiò ad andare a vedere quel ch'era stato. Le donne strillavano: – Non andate, vossignoria!
Ma appena fuori del cortile si trovarono fra i piedi Luigino, che era sgattajolato fra la gente.
– Portate via questo ragazzo – gridò lo zio canonico. – No! voglio andare a vedere anche io! – strillava costui. E dopo, finché visse, gli rimase impresso in mente lo spettacolo che aveva avuto sotto gli occhi così piccolo.
Era nel frutteto, fatti pochi passi, sotto un vecchio ulivo malato, steso per terra, e col naso color fuliggine dei moribondi. S'era trascinato carponi su di un mucchio di sacchi vuoti ed era rimasto lì tutta la notte. I suoi compagni nel fuggire s'erano portati via i sacchi pieni. Lì presso c'era un tratto di terra smossa colle unghie e tutta nera di sangue.
– Ah! signor canonico – biascicò il moribondo. – Per quattro ulive m'hanno ammazzato!
Il Canonico diede l'assoluzione. Poscia, verso mezzogiorno, arrivò il Giudice con la forza, e voleva prendersela col Canonico, e legarlo come un mascalzone. Per fortuna che c'erano tutti i contadini e il fattore con la famiglia testimoni. Nondimeno il Giudice si sfogò contro quel servo di Dio che era una specie di barone antico per le prepotenze, e teneva al suo servizio degli uomini come Surfareddu per campari, e faceva ammazzar la gente per quattro ulive. Voleva consegnato l'assassino morto o vivo, e il Canonico giurava e spergiurava che non ne capiva nulla. Tanto che un altro po' il Giudice lo dichiarava complice e mandante, e lo faceva legare ugualmente dagli sbirri. Così gridavano e andavano e venivano sotto gli aranci del frutteto, mentre il medico e il cancelliere facevano il loro ufficio dinanzi al morto steso sui sacchi vuoti. Poi misero la tavola all'ombra del frutteto, pel caldo che faceva, e le donne indussero il signor Giudice a prendere un boccone perché cominciava a farsi tardi. La fantesca si sbracciò: maccheroni, intingoli d'ogni sorta, e le signore stesse si misero in quattro perché la tavola non sfigurasse in quell'occasione. Il signor Giudice se ne leccò le dita. Dopo, il cancelliere rimosse un po' la tovaglia da una punta, e stese in fretta dieci righe di verbale, con la firma dei testimoni e ogni cosa, mentre il Giudice pigliava il caffè fatto apposta con la macchina, e i contadini guardavano da lontano, mezzo nascosti fra gli aranci. Infine il Canonico andò a prendere con le sue mani una bottiglia di moscadello vecchio che avrebbe risuscitato un morto. Quell'altro intanto l'avevano sotterrato alla meglio sotto il vecchio ulivo malato. Nell'andarsene il Giudice gradì un fascio di fiori dalle signore, che fecero mettere nelle bisacce della mula del cancelliere due bei panieri di frutta scelte; e il Canonico li accompagnò sino al limite del podere.
Il giorno dopo venne un messo del Mandamento a dire che il signor Giudice avea persa nel frutteto la chiavetta dell'orologio, e che la cercassero bene che doveva esserci di certo.
– Datemi due giorni di tempo, che la troveremo – fece rispondere il Canonico. E scrisse subito ad un amico di Caltagirone perché gli comprasse una chiavetta d'orologio. Una bella chiave d'oro che gli costò due onze, e la mandò al signor Giudice dicendo:
– È questa la chiavetta che ha smarrito il signor Giudice?
– È questa, sissignore – rispose lui: e il processo andò liscio per la sua strada, tantoché sopravvenne il 60, e Surfareddu tornò a fare il camparo dopo l'indulto di Garibaldi, sin che si fece ammazzare a sassate in una rissa con dei campari per certa questione di pascolo. E il Canonico, quando tornava a parlare di tutti i casi di quella notte che gli aveva dato tanto da fare, diceva a proposito del Giudice d'allora:
– Fu un galantuomo! Perché invece di perdere la sola chiavetta, avrebbe potuto farmi cercare anche l'orologio e la catena.
Nel frutteto, sotto l'albero vecchio dove è sepolto il ladro delle ulive, vengono cavoli grossi come teste di bambini.
# «Il Carnevale fallo con chi vuoi; Pasqua e Natale falli con i tuoi»
Così andava dicendo compar Menico, a ogni conoscente che incontrava, salutandolo «Viva Maria!» – Il paesetto rideva là al sole, col campanile aguzzo fra il grigio degli ulivi.
– Cosa ci portate a casa, per le feste? – gli chiese il vetturale che gli andava accanto sul basto dondoloni.
– Quel che dà la provvidenza, – rispose compare Menico ridendo fra di sé. La bisaccia per la salita non gli pesava, tanto aveva il cuore leggiero, e gli facevano allegria financo i passeri che si lisciavano le penne, gonfi dal freddo, sulle spine della siepe. La strada ora gli sembrava lunga, dopo tanto tempo.
– È vostra moglie che vi aspetta? – gli disse il vetturale. Compare Menico fece cenno di sì, ridendo sempre fra di sé.
La casa era in fondo al paese. Passò la piazza; passò la beccheria, dove c'era gente che comprava carne; e da per tutto, a ogni cantonata, gli altarini parati a festa, cogli aranci e le ostie colorate. Nelle case il suono delle cornamuse metteva allegria.
In fondo al vicoletto del Gallo si udiva un gridìo di ragazzi che giuocavano alle fossette, colle mani rosse. Compar Menico guardava la finestra, da lontano, per vedere se sua moglie l'aspettava. Ma la finestra era chiusa. C'erano comare Lucia a sciorinare il bucato, e comare Narcisa, che filava al ballatoio per fare la gugliata lunga. Lo sciancato andava zoppiconi a raccogliere le galline che fuggivano schiamazzando.
Compare Menico posò la bisaccia, che gli pesava, e sedette ad aspettare accanto all'uscio chiuso, senza accorgersi delle vicine che ridevano dei fatti suoi, nascoste dietro l'impannata. Aspetta e aspetta, infine lo zio Sandro mosso a compassione gli si accostò passo passo, col fare indifferente e le mani dietro la schiena.
Dopo un pezzetto che stavano seduti accanto colle gambe larghe, guardando di qua e di là, lo zio Sandro domandò:
– Che aspettate la zia Betta, compar Menico?
– Sissignore, vossignoria. Son venuto a fare il Natale.
E vedendo che avrebbe aspettato fino al giorno del giudizio, lo zio Sandro si decise a dirgli:
– O che non sapete nulla, dunque?
– Nossignore, zio Sandro. Che cosa devo sapere?
– Che vostra moglie se n'è andata con Vito Scanna, e si è portata via la chiave.
Compare Menico lo guardò stupefatto, grattandosi la testa. Quindi balbettò:
– E dove se n'è andata?
– Io non lo so, compare Menico. Credevo che lo sapeste.
– Nossignore, io non sapevo niente, – rispose il poveraccio ripigliando la bisaccia. – Non sapevo che mi aspettava a casa questo bel regalo, la festa di Natale.
Tutto il vicinato si scompisciava dalle risa, vedendo compare Menico che s'era fatta dare una scala per entrare dal tetto in casa sua, peggio di un ladro. Egli stette rintanato in casa, festa e vigilia, senza aver animo di mettere il naso fuori.
– Questa ch'è la maniera di fare, servo di Dio? – gli diceva comare Senzia la vedova. – La grazia di Dio che lasciate andare a male, tali giornate! e il crepacuore che covate per dar gusto ai vostri nemici!
Egli non sapeva che dire, in verità; ora il compassionarlo che faceva la zia Senzia lo inteneriva, in mezzo a tutto quel ben di Dio che c'era in casa.
– Che gli mancava, gnà Senzia, ditelo voi? che gli mancava a quella buona donna per farmi questo tradimento?
– Noialtre donne, compare Menico, ci meriteremmo il castigo di Dio, – rispondeva comare Senzia.
Quella era veramente una buona donna, che aveva cura del poveraccio, abbandonato al pari di un orfano, e gli teneva la chiave della casa allorché compare Menico se ne fu tornato in campagna come se le feste per lui non ci fossero mai state.
Lì, nel maggese, gli giungevano altre notizie della moglie: – L'abbiamo vista alla fiera di Mililli. – Vito Scanna se l'è portata a incartar limoni nei giardini di Francofonte. – Tutti gli facevano la predica: – La moglie giovane non va lasciata sola, compare Menico!
Infine il torto cadeva su di lui. In giugno, colla schiera dei mietitori assoldati dal capoccia, giunse al podere anche Vito Scanna, tutto cencioso, senz'altro bene che la sua falce.
– Guardate che non voglio scene fra di voi! – raccomandò il fattore. – Ciascuno al suo lavoro, com'è dovere.
Sicché gli toccò anche vedersi Scanna mattina e sera sotto il naso, mangiare e bere e cantare come la cicala, nelle ore calde, per non sentire il sole. Un giorno che il sole gli scaldò la testa a tutti e due, e volevano bucarsi la pancia colla forca, per amore di quella donna, il fattore li minacciò di scacciarli su due piedi, e convenne aver pazienza. Certo è che Betta doveva fare la mala vita, ora che Vito Scanna l'aveva abbandonata.
Il Signore l'aveva castigata, come soleva dire comare Senzia. Zio Menico portava a casa vino, olio, frumento, al par della formica, nella casa senza padrona, dove la zia Senzia si godeva tutto.
– Solo come un cane non posso starci; – diceva lui, il poveraccio, per scolparsi. – Chi baderebbe alla casa e mi farebbe cuocere la minestra?
Il curato, servo di Dio, cercava di toccargli il cuore, e far cessare lo scandalo, ora che sua moglie era sola e pentita. – Aprite le braccia e perdonatele, come al Figliuol Prodigo, adesso che s'avvicina il Santo Natale.
– Come posso vedermela di nuovo in casa, vossignoria, dopo il tradimento che mi ha fatto? – rispondeva lo zio Menico – senza pensare a Vito Scanna, che stavamo per ammazzarci colla forca, Dio liberi, alla messe!
Dall'altro canto comare Senzia, che mangiava la foglia, ogni volta che vedeva lo zio Menico parlare col curato, gli faceva un piagnisteo, lamentandosi che volevano abbandonarla nuda e cruda in mezzo a una strada.
– Allora vedrete che il castigo di Dio vi sta sul capo, – conchiudeva il prete. – E la gente a sparlare di lui, che si ostinava a vivere nel peccato, come una bestia.
Il castigo di Dio lo colse infatti a Ragoleti con una febbre perniciosa, peggio di una schioppettata. Lo portarono in paese su di un mulo, che aveva già la morte sulla faccia. Sua moglie allora corse insieme al viatico, colla faccia pallida e torva, e siccome la zia Senzia era ancora lì, umile e atterrita, si mise i pugni nei fianchi, e la scacciò di casa sua come una mala bestia.
Ora ella era la padrona. Compare Menico in un angolo non parlava e non contava più. Appena chiusi gli occhi, la vigilia dell'Immacolata, sua moglie si vestì di nero da capo a piedi, senza perdere un minuto.
E coi vicini, i quali si erano accostati, in occasione della disgrazia, parlavano spesso del morto, poveretto, che aveva lavorato tutta la vita per fare un po' di roba, e grazie a Dio, lasciava la vedova nell'agiatezza. Ma quando Vito Scanna tornava a ronzarle attorno, vestito di nuovo, come un moscone, essa si faceva la croce e gli diceva: – Via di qua, pezzente!
# Olocausto
Il sermone del Paradiso chiudeva il corso degli esercizi spirituali per le monache, dopo la sottile analisi delle colpe recondite, la fosca descrizione del gastigo, e gli anatemi contro il peccato. La voce del predicatore adesso levavasi alta ed esultante nel sole di Pasqua che scintillava sulle dorature della volta. Giù in chiesa una dozzina di donnicciuole pregavano inginocchiate dinanzi all'altare della Vergine splendente di ceri. Dietro la grata del coro biancheggiavano confusamente i soggoli e i visi delle suore impalliditi nella clausura e nella penitenza; luccicavano degli occhi perduti nell'estasi di visioni luminose. La voce del missionario, grave e calda, scendeva ai toni bassi come una confidenza e una carezza, saliva trionfante come un inno, modulava i pensieri e le aspirazioni di tutte quelle vergini tentate e sbigottite dal mondo, andava a ricercare le più intime fibre di quei cuori chiusi nelle sacre bende e li faceva palpitare avidamente, aveva tutti gli slanci, le trepidazioni, come dei sospiri d'amore e d'estasi che morivano ai piedi della croce, e facevano intravvedere quasi un balenìo d'ali iridiscenti, dei brividi di carni rosee di cherubini che passavano fra nuvole trasparenti, in un'aureola, in ampie distese color di cielo e color d'oro. L'uomo era tutto in quella voce, in quell'inno, in quella letizia: il viso scorgevasi appena, come trasfigurato, nell'ombra del pulpito: degli occhi luminosi, ardenti di fede, pieni di visioni celesti, il viso pallido ed ascetico, immateriale, il segno austero della tonsura sui capelli giovanili, e la mano bianca ed immacolata che accennava, essa sola in luce, fuori della nicchia scura, e pareva stendersi verso le peccatrici, per sollevarle al cielo in un amplesso di perdono e d'affetto, dopo essersi levata minacciosa a fulminare, dopo esser scesa a frugare nei cuori, dopo aver sentito palpitare la tentazione, e i fremiti e le ribellioni della carne. Ora quella mano facevasi lieve, morbida e carezzevole, al pari della voce che addolcivasi in un mormorìo affettuoso e in una promessa soave, nella quale passava l'alito caldo di carità, di pietà immensa, e si umiliava, e implorava, e facevasi complice delle povere anime turbate e derelitte, per incoraggiarle, sostenerle e attirarle a Dio.
Egli parlava rivolto al coro, quasi attratto anch'esso dalla simpatia ardente che vi destava, come indovinasse i cuori che rispondevano al suo e gli si aprivano sitibondi. Ivi pure delle teste tonsurate si chinavano, delle labbra tremavano commosse, dei veli candidi palpitavano sui seni incontaminati, sfiorati soltanto dai fremiti che sorgono dalle tenebre, nelle notti irrequiete e paurose.
Il sagrestano s'alzò d'appiè del pulpito e andò ad accendere le altre candele dell'altare – una gloria di fiammelle tremolanti, delle goccie di splendore nella mattinata limpida, nella gaiezza primaverile, nel profumo dei fiori e dell'incenso, nel suono grave dell'organo che levavasi dalle profondità misteriose del coro – un canto alato, un inno di grazie e di gloria che irrompeva, e libravasi al cielo trionfante. Fra le monache raccolte nel coro una voce bella e fresca intuonò il _Tantum ergo_ , una voce di donna che sembrava cantare la giovinezza, l'amore, i sogni, l'azzurro, i fiori e la vita in quell'inno religioso, una voce che aveva le lagrime, le estasi, i sorrisi, la gioventù, la bellezza, e li deponeva trepidante ai piedi dell'altare. Il frate orava in ginocchio, a capo chino. Sembrava che a quel canto si riverberassero delle sfumature rosee sulla nuca bianca d'adolescenza casta e prolungata. Egli stesso sembrava quasi immateriale fra le pieghe molli della tonaca nera che cadeva sui gradini dell'altare, simile a una veste muliebre. Poi sorse un'irradiazione abbagliante, una gloria di raggi che eclissò, nell'aureola dell'ostensorio gemmato, l'uomo segnato dalla stola d'oro, come in una croce, sulla cotta spumante di trine al pari di un abito da sposa. Tutte le teste si prostrarono umiliate. Le campane squillarono alte in un coro festante, insieme alle note gravi e sonore dell'organo che vibravano sotto la volta dorata della chiesa, irrompevano dalle finestre dipinte, pel cielo azzurro, nella primavera gioconda, sotto il sole radioso, mentre il canto moriva in un'estasi sovrumana.
Suor Crocifissa era rimasta accanto all'organo, colle mani ancora erranti sulla tastiera, le labbra palpitanti dell'inno d'amore mistico, smarrita nella visione interiore di quegli splendori che alla sua anima esaltata dalla musica, dalla reclusione, dal digiuno, dal cilicio e dalla preghiera in comune recavano uno sgomento e una dolcezza nuova della vita, un turbamento degli echi e degli incitamenti che venivano a morire sotto le mura del convento colla canzone errante, coi rumori del vicinato, colla carezza della luna che entrava dall'alta inferriata a posarsi sul lettuccio verginale, e tentava il mistero pudibondo della cella solitaria, e vi destava le curiosità timide, le fantasie vagabonde, e gli scrupoli vaghi che annidavansi nell'ombra. Ella sentiva ora una bramosia calda, un desiderio quasi carnale di mondarsi l'anima e lo spirito di quelle allucinazioni peccaminose, di difendersi dal mondo, di agguerrirsi contro la tentazione, coll'aiuto di quell'uomo il quale discerneva la via della colpa coi suoi occhi luminosi e insinuavasi nei cuori colla voce soave, e scacciava il peccato colla mano fine e bianca, e parlava dell'amore eterno con accento d'innamorato. – Accostarsi a lui, essere con lui, confondersi in lui. – Avere in quell'uomo purificato dal sacramento il consigliere, il conforto, l'amico, il confidente, il perdono, la verità e la luce.
Una suora la toccò dolcemente sull'omero. Ella si scosse e la seguì vacillante, cogli occhi ardenti di fede, premendo colle mani ceree in croce sul seno il cuore che sbigottiva di passione, chinando il capo umiliato dall'umana miseria nella benda che chiudeva le trecce recise e incorniciava il viso di un'altra bianchezza fredda, sbattuta, stirata d'angoscia, illividita da vigilie tormentose, come la sua povera anima sbigottita, e chiese alla superiora il permesso di confessarsi al predicatore. L'abbadessa acconsentì, alzando la mano a benedire, leggendo forse le stesse inquietudini dolorose che avevano provato la sua giovinezza trascorsa in quelle sopracciglia lunghe e nere, e in quelle labbra dolorose, soltanto vive nel viso mortificato ed austero.
Lì, attraverso la grata del confessionario che aguzzava il mistero e rincorava la coscienza trepida, aprirgli il cuore, tutto, coi suoi palpiti, colle sue angoscie, coi suoi pudori. Parlare d'amore con lui, parlargli di colpa e di perdizione, dirgli quello che non avrebbe osato mormorare sottovoce, da sola, ai piedi del crocifisso muto. Udire il suono delle proprie parole, colla fronte ardente su quella grata di ferro dietro alla quale lui ascoltava. Intravvedere il riflesso dei propri pensieri, delle proprie allucinazioni, dei propri terrori su quella testa china. Vedere arrossire e impallidire del pari quella fronte pura. Aver lì, sotto il proprio anelito concitato quel sacerdote, quella coscienza, quell'intelletto, quella carità, quel turbamento, quella simpatia, quell'uomo, trasfigurato dall'abito sacro, legato dal cingolo indissolubile, segnato fra gli eletti della tonsura religiosa, agitato al par di lei, sbigottito come lei, palpitante come lei, mentre la sua voce velata giungeva a lei come attraverso la lapide di una tomba, per consigliare, per sorreggere, per consolare, sommessa, confidente, nel mistero, nel secreto delizioso della chiesa deserta. E vederlo trasalire sotto l'angoscia della passione di lei, vederlo arrossire al riverbero della sua vergogna, vedere il soffio infocato della sua parola che implorava aiuto, scendere sino in fondo a quell'uomo, e destare in lui le debolezze istesse perché ne sentisse la miseria e la pietà, e rifiorirgli nei brividi e nei pallori improvvisi della carne. Sentirsi ricercare nel più profondo del cuore e delle viscere da quella voce dolce e insinuante, nel più vivo, nel segreto, dove s'annidavano e rabbrividivano pensieri, e desideri, e palpiti ch'essa stessa non avrebbe neppur sospettato – la confusione dolce, il rossore trepido, l'abbandono del pudore violentato, – e darsi tutta a lui come in uno smarrimento dei sensi. Scorgere in lui, nel consigliere, nel ministro, nel forte, la simpatia di quelle debolezze, la pietà di quei dolori; sentire nella sua voce commossa l'eco e il fascino trepido delle medesime inquietudini – con una tenerezza trepida per lui, maggiormente esposto al pericolo, votato alla lotta col peccato, solo nel mondo, nella tentazione, senza altra difesa che quell'abito che trasfigurava l'uomo, e il segno irrevocabile della tonsura come un marchio di castità sui suoi capelli castagni – con un desiderio materno di stringersi al petto quel viso impallidito e sbattuto dalle medesime angoscie, quel capo tonsurato in cui bollivano le stesse febbri, onde proteggerlo e difenderlo.
Egli ascoltava, raccolto, colla fronte velata dalla mano scarna, gli occhi vaghi e senza sguardo. Passavano dei bagliori di tanto in tanto in quegli occhi pensierosi, dei fantasmi che dileguavano dinanzi alla volontà severa, dei fremiti destati da quell'alito caldo e profumato di donna, dalla parola commossa, l'ombra di tutte le debolezze, di tutte le miserie, di tutti gli allettamenti, le effusioni, le dolcezze, gli struggimenti, le febbri, le estasi. Con lei rifaceva l'aspro cammino che avevano fatto verso la croce quei piedi delicati. Rivedeva la fanciullezza orfana, l'adolescenza precocemente mortificata, la gioventù scolorita e trista, l'agonia dello spirito e le ribellioni della carne. Fuori, il cielo azzurro, l'ampia distesa dei prati, il sole, la luce, l'aria, lontani, perduti in un mondo al quale non apparteneva più, – e la gran rinunzia di tutto ciò, per sempre! – E pensava qual'eco dovesse avere fra quelle mura claustrali la voce di un uomo o il pianto di un bambino, il brivido che doveva portarvi il profumo di un fiore o un raggio di primavera. – Le fronti pallide che trasalivano, gli occhi spenti che guardavano lontano, le labbra che mormoravano inconsciamente accenti desolati. E sentiva una grande pietà, una gran tenerezza per quelle povere anime che tendevano al cielo strette ancora fra i legami della terra, per quei gemiti d'agonia che si tradivano nella parola esitante e supplichevole, per quelle mani tremanti che si stendevano verso di lui, che cercavano di aggrapparsi alla vita, al perdono, alla fede, alla costanza, e che doveva lasciarsi cadere ai piedi, insensibile e inesorabile, che doveva abbandonare dietro di sé continuando sulla terra il suo pellegrinaggio d'apostolato, e scuotendo i lembi della sua tonaca perché non si contaminasse a quella seduzione, – anch'esso solitario, legato soltanto dalla disciplina dell'ordine alla fredda famiglia religiosa, senza genitori, senza casa, senza patria, passando sulla terra cogli occhi rivolti al cielo, fallendo se inciampava, se le spine del cammino gli insanguinavano le carni, o le voci del mondo penetravano nelle sue orecchie, se la vita batteva nelle sue arterie o tumultuava nel suo cuore, se la tentazione di quell'incognita, il ricordo di quella sconosciuta che si era data a lui in ispirito, in un momento di mistico abbandono, veniva a turbare la sua fantasia o a fargli tremare la preghiera sulle labbra.
Un campanello squillò. Il prete cinse la stola fulgida che lo sollevava dalla terra, e si accinse a comunicarla. Ella genuflessa dinanzi allo sportellino aperto della grata annichilivasi nella contemplazione degli splendori celesti che apriva la sfera d'oro. Un languore soave, una calma infinita, una dolcezza ineffabile per tutto l'essere: la battaglia vinta, il cuore librantesi nella fede, il conforto, la forza, l'ardore di quell'ostia consacrata che scendeva nel suo petto e si confondeva col suo sangue – l'ostia che le posava lui stesso sulle labbra trepide, colle mani trepide, mormorando soavemente le parole sacramentali, chinando gli occhi, dolci, come velati da una visione interiore nelle occhiaie profonde e misteriose, sul viso sbattuto ed emaciato anch'esso. – Egli la vide quel momento solo, in quell'abbandono, in quella bramosia arcana, in quell'estasi, colle pupille smarrite, il viso trasfigurato, in un'irradiazione candida di veli, sporgendo le labbra avide e innamorate.
Essa chinò il capo, nell'atto di ringraziamento, in un torpore e in uno sfinimento delizioso di tutta sé stessa. La chiesa tornò vuota e silenziosa come una tomba.
Il missionario era andato via per sempre, continuando il suo viaggio di carità, lasciando a lei la benedizione di quella pace e di quella fede. Essa lo accompagnava col pensiero per strade e per paesi sconosciuti; vedeva ancora quegli occhi dolci, quel viso emaciato, quella tonaca fluttuante dietro la sua persona esile, in altre chiese risonanti della sua parola, dinanzi ad altre monache palpitanti; lo seguiva nei rumori che giungevano dalla via, nelle notti stellate, nel cielo che stendevasi al di là delle inferriate claustrali. Era un grande sconforto, un isolamento più tristo, come un abbandono. Poi, quando la sua coscienza inquieta cominciò a ridestarsi, pregò una delle sorelle anziane che aveva sofferto e dubitato come lei d'intercedere presso l'antico confessore, il quale si rifiutava a confessarla geloso che essa gli avesse preferito una volta il predicatore di passaggio. Era un vecchio incanutito nel confessionario, con dei grandi occhi chiari e penetranti, abituati a guardare nelle tenebre dei cuori, e il pallore delle lunghe confidenze e delle attese pazienti sulle guancie incavate.
– No. Io non servo di ripiego... M'ha messo da banda una volta; si cerchi un altro confessore...
– Ma essa aveva sempre la speranza...
– Speranza si chiama vossignoria. Essa chiamasi suor Crocifissa.
# La caccia al lupo
Una sera di vento e pioggia, vero tempo da lupi, Lollo capitò all'improvviso a casa sua, come la mala nuova. Picchiò prima pian piano, sporse dall'uscio la faccetta inquieta, e infine si decise ad entrare, giallo al par dello zafferano, e tutto grondante d'acqua.
Fuori l'ira di Dio, lui con quella faccia, e a quell'ora insolita: sua moglie, poveretta, cominciò a tremare come una foglia, ed ebbe appena il fiato di biascicare:
– Che fu?... che avvenne?...
Ma Lollo non rispose nemmeno – Crepa. – Uomo di poche chiacchiere, specie quando aveva le lune a rovescio. Masticò sa lui che parole tra i denti, e seguitò a guardare intorno cogli occhietti torbidi. Il lume era sulla tavola, il letto bell'e rifatto, tanto di stanga all'uscio di cucina, dove polli e galline, spaventati anch'essi pel temporale, certo, facevano un gran schiamazzo, tanto che la donna diveniva sempre più smorta, e non osava guardare in faccia il marito.
– Va bene, – disse lui. – In un momento mi sbrigo.
Appese a un chiodo lo scapolare, posò sulla tavola l'agnella che ci aveva sotto, così legata per le quattro zampe, e sedé a gambe larghe, curvo, colle mani ciondoloni fra le cosce, senza dir altro. La moglie intanto gli metteva dinanzi pane, vino, e la pipa carica anche, che non sapeva più quel che si facesse, in quel turbamento.
– A che pensi? Dove hai la testa? – brontolò Lollo. – Una cosa alla volta, bestia!
Masticava adagio, facendo i bocconi grossi, colle spalle al muro e il naso sulla grazia di Dio. Di tanto in tanto volgeva il capo, e dava un'occhiata all'agnella, che cercava di liberarsi, belando, e picchiava della testa sulla tavola.
– Chetati, chetati! – borbottò Lollo infine. – Chetati, che ancora c'è tempo.
– Ma che volete fare? Parlate almeno!
Egli la guardò quasi non avesse udito, con quegli occhietti spenti che non dicevano nulla, accendendo la pipa tranquillamente, tanto che la povera donna smarrivasi sempre più, e a un tratto si buttò ginocchioni per slacciargli le ciocie fradice.
– No, – disse lui, respingendola col piede. – No, torno ad uscire.
– Con questo tempo? – sospirò lei, tirando un gran respiro.
– Non importa il tempo... Anzi!... anzi!...
Quando parlava così, con quella faccia squallida, e gli occhi falsi che vi fuggivano, quell'omettino magro e rattrappito faceva proprio paura – in quella solitudine – con quel tempaccio che non si sarebbe udito «Cristo aiutami!».
La moglie sparecchiava, in silenzio. Lui fumava e sputacchiava di qua e di là. A un tratto la gallina nera si mise a chiocciare, malaugurosa.
– S'è visto oggi Michelangelo? – domandò Lollo.
– No... no... – balbettò sua moglie, che fu ad un pelo di lasciarsi cader di mano la grazia di Dio.
– Gli ho detto di scavare la fossa... Una bella fossa grande... L'avrà già fatto.
– Oh, Gesummaria! Perché?... perché?...
– C'è un lupo... qui vicino... Voglio pigliarlo.
Ella istintivamente volse una rapida occhiata all'uscio della cucina, e fissò gli occhi smarriti in volto al marito, che non la guardava neppure, chino sulla sua pipa, assaporandola, quasi assaporasse già il piacere di cogliere la mala bestia. Ella, facendosi sempre più pallida, colle labbra tremanti, mormorava: – Gesù!... Gesù!...
– Non aver paura. Voglio pigliarlo in trappola... senza rischiarci la pelle... Ah, no! Sarebbe bella!... con chi viene a rubarvi il fatto vostro... rischiarci la pelle anche! Ho già avvisato Zango e Buonocore. Ci hanno il loro interesse pure.
Fosse il vinetto che gli scioglieva la lingua, o provasse gusto a rimasticare pian piano la bile che doveva averci dentro, non la finiva più, grattandosi il mento rugoso, appisolandosi quasi sulla pipa, ciarlando come una vecchia gazza.
– Vuoi sapere come si fa?... Ecco: gli si prepara il suo bravo trabocchetto... un bel letto sprimacciato di frasche e foglie... l'agnella legata là sopra... che lo tira la carne fresca, il mariolo!... E se ne viene come a nozze, al sentire il belato e la carne fresca... Col muso al vento, se ne viene, e gli occhi lucenti di voglia... Ma appena cade nella trappola poi, diventa un minchione, che chi gliene può fare, gliene fa: sassi, legnate, acqua bollente!
L'agnella, come se capisse il discorso, ricominciò a belare, con una voce tremola che sembrava il pianto di un bambino, e toccava il cuore. Sobbalzava di nuovo a scosse, rizzando il capo, e tornava a batterlo sulla tavola come un martello.
– Basta! basta, per carità! – esclamò la donna, giungendo le mani, quasi fuori di sé.
– No, l'agnella non la tocca neppure, appena si trova preso in trappola con essa... Le gira intorno, nella buca... gira e rigira... tutta la notte, per cercar di fuggirla anche... la tentazione... Come capisse che è finita, e bisogna domandar perdono a Dio e agli uomini... Bisogna vederlo, appena spunta il giorno, con quella faccia rivolta in su, che aspetta i cani e i cacciatori, con gli occhi che ardono come due tizzoni...
Si alzò finalmente, adagio adagio, e si mise a girondolare per la stanza, come un fantasma, strascicando le ciocie fradice, frucacchiando qua e là, col lume in mano.
– Ma che cercate? Che volete? – chiese la povera moglie, annaspandogli dietro affannata.
Egli rispose con una specie di grugnito, e cacciò il lume sotto il letto.
– Ecco, ecco l'ho trovato.
Il turbine in quel momento parve portarsi via la casa. Uno scompiglio in cucina: la donna che strillava, attaccata all'uscio: una ventata soffiò sul lume a un tratto, e buona notte.
– Santa Barbara! Santa Barbara!... Aspettate... Cerco gli zolfanelli... Dove siete? Dove andate? Rispondete almeno!
– Zitta – disse Lollo ch'era corso a stangare la porta di casa. – Zitta, non ti muovere, tu!
E si diede a battere l'acciarino sull'esca, verde come lo zolfanello che aveva acceso, tanto che alla povera moglie tremava il lume in mano.
Egli tornò a girondolare, cheto cheto. Prese un bastoncello di rovere, lo intaccò da un capo e vi legò una funicella di pelo di capra. La moglie, che le erano tornati gli spiriti vitali al veder dileguarsi il temporale, e mostrava di stare attenta anzi a quel lavoro, coi gomiti sulla tavola, e il mento fra le mani, volle sapere: – Che è questo?
– Questo?... Che è questo? – mugolò lui, soffiando e fischiettando. – Questo è il biscotto per chiuder la bocca al lupo... Ce ne vorrebbe un altro per te, ce ne vorrebbe! Ah, ah!... Ridi adesso?... T'è tornato il rossetto in viso?... Voi altre donne avete sette spiriti, come i gatti...
Essa lo guardava fisso fisso, per indovinare quel che covasse sotto quel ghigno; gli si strusciava addosso, proprio come una gatta, col seno palpitante, e il sorriso pallido in bocca.
– Sta ferma, sta ferma, che fai versare l'olio. L'olio porta disgrazia...
– Sì, che porta disgrazia! – proruppe lei. – Ma che avete infine? Parlate!
– To'! To'! Ecco che vai in collera ora!... Le sai tutte, le sai!... Vuoi sapere anche come si fa a pigliarlo? Ecco qua: gli si cala questo gingillo nella buca; il lupo, sciocco, l'addenta; allora, lesto, gli si passa la funicella all'altro capo del bastone, e si lega dietro la testa. L'affare è fatto. Dopo, il lupo potete prenderlo e tirarlo su, che non fa più male!... E ne fate quel che volete... Ma bisogna aspettare a giorno chiaro... Ora vo a preparare la trappola...
– V'aspetto adunque? Tornate?
Lollo andò a staccare lo scapolare grugnendo: – Uhm! ... uhm!... – E tornò a prendere l'agnella. – Vedremo... Il gusto è a vederlo in trappola... che ne fate poi quel che volete... senza dar conto a nessuno... Anzi vi danno il premio al municipio!... Tu sta cheta, sta cheta – ripeté mettendosi l'agnella sotto il braccio. – Sta cheta che il lupo non ti tocca. Ha da pensare ai casi suoi, piuttosto.
Uscì così dicendo, senza dar retta alla moglie, e chiuse l'uscio di fuori.
– Che mi chiudete a chiave? – strillò la donna picchiando dietro l'uscio. – Eh? Che fate?
Lollo non rispose e si allontanò fra l'acqua e il vento.
– Oh Vergine santissima! – esclamò la poveretta aggirandosi per la stanza colle mani nei capelli.
S'aprì invece l'uscio della cucina e comparve Michelangelo, pallido come un morto, e che non si reggeva in piedi.
– Presi!... Siamo presi! – balbettò lei con un filo di voce. – Ci ha chiusi a catenaccio!
Lui da prima voleva fare il bravo. Tirò su i calzoni per la cintola, incrocicchiò le braccia sul petto, tentò di balbettare qualche cosa per far animo alla povera donna: – Va bene!... son qui... t'aspetto!... – Poi, tutt'a un tratto, fosse il naturale suo proprio che lo vincesse, o il nervoso che gli metteva addosso il va e vieni di lei che pareva proprio una bestia presa in gabbia, scappò a correre anche lui all'impazzata, di qua e di là per la stanza, in punta di piedi, pallido stralunato, tentò e ritentò la porta, scosse l'inferriata della finestra, s'arrampicò sulla tavola e sul letto per dar la scalata al tetto, annaspando colle braccia tremanti, cieco di paura e di rabbia.
Infine s'arrese, trafelato, guardando bieco la complice, accusandola d'averlo attirato nel precipizio.
– Ah! – scattò allora su lei, colle mani ai fianchi. – È questa la ricompensa?
– Zitta! – esclamò lui spaventato, chiudendole la bocca colla mano. – Zitta!... Non vedi che abbiamo la morte sul collo?
– Doveva cogliermi un accidente, quando mi siete venuto fra i piedi! – seguitò a sbraitare la donna. – Doveva cogliermi una febbre maligna!
– Ssss!... – fece lui colle mani e la voce stizzosa. – Ssss!...
Si udiva solo il vento, e l'acqua che scrosciava sul tetto. Lei si teneva il capo fra le mani, e lui stava a guardarla, inebetito.
– Ma che disse? Che fece? – biascicò infine. – Alle volte... Ci è parso perché siamo in sospetto...
– No!... – rispose la moglie di Lollo. – È certo! È certo che sapeva!...
– E allora?... allora?... – balbettò Michelangelo, tornando ad alzarsi come fuori di sé.
Il lume, a cui mancava l'olio, cominciava a spegnersi. Egli furioso scuoteva di nuovo porta e finestra, rompendosi le unghie per scalzar l'intonaco, mugolando come una bestia presa al laccio. – Ave Maria, aiutatemi voi! – supplicava invece la donna.
– Prima dovevi dire le avemarie... prima!... – esclamò infine lui.
E cominciò a sfogarsi dicendole ogni sorta d'improperi.
# Nel carrozzone dei profughi
Nel carrozzone dei profughi, due povere donne sedute accanto, col fagotto della roba che avevano avuto al Municipio sulle ginocchia, si narravano i loro guai. Anzi una non parlava più; guardava nella folla con certi occhi stralunati, quasi cercando la figlia che le avevano detto fosse stata salvata da un giovanotto quando trassero anche lei dalle fiamme e dalle macerie. Una ragazza bella come il sole, che chi l'aveva vista una volta l'avrebbe riconosciuta fra mille. L'avevano vista rifugiata sotto un portone – tra i feriti del _Savoia_ – alla stazione. Tutti l'avevano vista fuori che lei! Dalla stazione aveva visto soltanto la sua casa che bruciava, per due ore, sinché il treno stette lì. E ora, mentre cercava la sua creatura, fra la gente, da otto giorni, e pensava a lei che forse la cercava e chiamava aiuto, vedeva ancora quella distruzione e quell'incendio come un rifugio, una disperata certezza.
– Ora son sola – diceva l'altra. – Quando incontrai mio marito, qui, per caso, salvo anche lui, non mi pareva vero. Ma avevo tre figli: una maritata, colla grazia di Dio, e il maggiore che mi portava a casa già la sua giornata... Tutti! Tutti!... Io mi ero alzata appunto pel più piccolo ch'era malato, quando successe il terremoto. Il Signore non mi volle.
Ne parlava tranquillamente, colla faccia gialla e la testa fasciata.
– Ora, quando lui sarà guarito andremo in America.
L'altra alzò gli occhi, soltanto, e la guardò.
– Certo. Che faremo qui?
– In America? – disse un altro profugo. – Non sapete che vita da cani! Peggio dei cani li trattano i cristiani!
Ella a sua volta guardò sbigottita l'altro, come a ripetere: – Che faremo qui?
– Qui siamo nati: qui sono le pietre delle nostre case! dissero gli altri.
# Frammento per «Messina!»
Mi sembra ancora di vederla quella figura sconvolta, uomo o donna, non so. Rammento solo due occhi pazzi e una bocca spalancata, enorme, urlando forse nel gridìo generale, nera anch'essa, ma di un pallore cadaverico. Dibattevasi per farsi largo nella ressa dei profughi giunti con le prime corse, che si accavallavano sul balcone del Municipio all'arrivo di altre barelle e di altri carrozzoni che portavano altri profughi e altri gemiti. Ad un tratto vide, riconobbe qualcuno nella sfilata tragica, laggiù in fondo alla piazza. Si spinse innanzi disperatamente, quasi volesse buttarsi giù e si mise a chiamare, a gridare, a chiedere chissà? un nome, una notizia di vita o di morte, qualcosa che l'altro soltanto poteva udire e comprendere in quel frastuono immenso, dall'altra estremità della piazza immensa, urlando. E l'altro, di laggiù, vide lei sola, in quel formicolìo umano, udì, indovinò il nome e la domanda ansiosa, e rispose certo con una parola, un segno che al di sopra della folla, della confusione, del frastuono giunsero diritti a lei, che si cacciò le mani nella criniera arruffata, senza una parola, senza un grido, e cadde, scomparve nell'ondata di altri che gridano e chiamano ansiosi, dolorosamente egoisti.
# Una capanna e il tuo cuore
A Federico De Roberto
_A te, e per te solo, caro Federico, quest'ultimo raccontino, scritto quasi sotto la dettatura del comune amico che ricordava, fra le risate del crocchio più che maturo, quelle scenette tragicomiche dove spesso vanno a finire i sogni e le illusioni della vita, come in queste paginette le aspirazioni letterarie del tuo_
G.V.
La capanna stavolta era l' _Albergo della Stella_. Quando vi giunsi, fra quelle quattro case arrampicate in cima al monte, dopo una giornata afosa nelle bassure della zolfara, mi parve di essere davvero nelle stelle, all'ombra della tettoia sgangherata che faceva da angiporto.
– Una stanza? – uscì a dire l'ostessa asciugandosi il sugo di pomidoro dalle braccia. – Ma ci abbiamo tutta la compagnia.
– Oh!
– Sicuro, quella delle operette. Però, se si contenta della mia...
Passando pel baraccone tutto a scompartimenti come una stalla, vidi infatti una bella giovane che si rizzò lesta dal tavolato dov'era distesa, e mi salutò arrossendo un poco anche sotto il rossetto della sera innanzi.
Dovetti accontentarmi, poiché non ci era altro, della stamberga con tanto di letto matrimoniale dell'ostessa, e mentre essa apparecchiava un po' di tavola «per quel che c'era», si udì un baccano dalla parte della compagnia.
– È la lavandaia che viene a fare le solite scenate, – disse l'ostessa. – Gente senza educazione. Ora vo a dire che ci sono dei forestieri.
Ma fu inutile, e il diavoletto peggio di prima. Appena fui seduto per mandar giù «un po' di quel che c'era», comparve sull'uscio la ragazza della compagnia.
– Scusi. Avrebbe, per caso, due lire e settantacinque di spiccioli, in piacere?
– Ecco.
– Grazie. Ora torno.
Tornò infatti, collo stesso risolino di palcoscenico. – Che vuole? Scusi tanto. I nostri comici sono tutti fuori. Appena tornano...
– Oh, faccia a suo comodo.
– Buon appetito allora – disse sorridendo anche al piatto che recava l'ostessa.
– E a lei pure, giacché vedo ch'è l'ora.
– Oh, noi... I nostri uomini sono stati invitati a fare una scampagnata dai signori del paese...
– Se vuol favorire dunque...
– Anzi... Molto gentile. Se permette, lo dico anche alla mia amica ch'è napoletana e le piacciono tanto gli spaghetti.
– Tanto piacere anche la sua amica napoletana.
L'ostessa non se lo fece neanche dire e tornò indietro per gli altri spaghetti. La napoletana si fece pregare un po', di là, ma venne lei pure, col salutino del pubblico.
– Il nostro soprano. Una voce! Dovrebbe venire a sentirci, domani sera.
– Domani sera spero di essere a casa mia, finalmente.
– Peccato! Qui non si recita che il sabato e la domenica sera, perché gli altri giorni il nostro pubblico è occupato nelle zolfare.
Il soprano, più contegnoso, si occupava a mandar giù gli spaghetti in punta di forchetta, quasi fosse già il sabato o la domenica sera, dinanzi al pubblico.
– Una vera diva!... E vederla in costume, con quel _décolleté!..._
La diva protestò levando su la forchetta col gomitolo di spaghetti, o per poca modestia, o perché il _décolleté_ non fosse troppo in bella vista.
– Eh, che male c'è se gli uomini hanno occhi per vedere... e mandar giù le platee?... È vero, sì o no? Ditelo anche voi.
Voltandomi, vidi sull'uscio altri visetti che dicevano già di sì, in attesa pur esse.
– Venite, venite anche voi. Il signore è così gentile...
E naturalmente venne anche l'ostessa, carica d'altri piatti.
– La signorina Fides, mezzo soprano. – La signorina Vanda, contralto. – La signorina Ines, contraltino, che al bisogno fa le parti d'amoroso. Come vede i nostri uomini ci lasciano a trarci d'imbarazzo anche nelle parti d'amoroso.
– Vedremo se ci portano almeno dei fiori dalla loro scampagnata.
– Quelli sì, perché non si mangiano.
– Che delizia! – sospirò allora la diva. – Che paesaggi avete da queste parti... sotto questo sole!...
– A chi lo dice!
– No? Non è del paese lei?
– È che l'ho avuto tutto il giorno sulla testa, quel sole!
Dopo gli spaghetti venne del baccalà, poi delle ova sode, poi del caciocavallo, insomma «un po' di quel che c'era», e dei fichi d'India, già bell'e sbucciati dalle mani stesse della locandiera, chi ne volesse. Le artiste dicevano sempre di sì; tanto che dopo i fichi d'India chiesero del cognac.
– Cognac non ce n'è. Abbiamo della menta-sèlse. Ma ora, dopo tavola...
– Non importa. È per fare i brindisi.
Prima naturalmente a me, ch'ero stato tanto gentile. Poi sfilarono altri nomi e altri ricordi, che brillarono un istante in quegli occhietti lustri.
– A te!... – Sempre! – A quella prima notte... di luna!...
– Tutta roba passata! – sentenziò la stella napoletana. – _Tout passe, tout lasse, tout casse..._ – E volle anche spiegare il suo francese alle compagne che sgranavano gli occhi. – Passa via... ti lascio. La canzone finisce sempre così.
– Sempre, no. Tu lo sai bene... – Ella si strinse nelle spalle. – Il tuo avvocato...
– Un avvocato!
– Sissignore! E ha lasciato moglie e figliuoli per venire a fare il suggeritore.
– Un bell'affare! E quella megera s'è permessa anche di venire a farmi delle scene, coi suoi mocciosi, in casa mia!
– Poveretti! Bisognava sentirli piangere...
– Al cuore non si comanda, – conchiuse una delle signorine Ines o Fides. – Certo, se si sapesse prima...
– Prima – il caso – l'incontrarsi in quegli occhi che vi mangiano dalla platea quando vi viene la nota giusta. – Le scioccheriole che vi contano all'uscita dal teatro – la scappatella che sembrava di passaggio, ahimè!... Ciascuna rammentava la sua, in quel momento di vino tenero. Gli occhi ancora umidi, o pei ricordi di prima, o per quelli della scena. – Così, senza saper come, la scioccheriola che mutavasi in duetto serio – o la passatina sotto la finestra che andava a finire nella stanzetta in due. Poi il destarsi a bocca asciutta – o amara – o tra gli sbadigli e i «non mi seccare», ch'è peggio. – O peggio ancora la farsetta che minaccia di cambiarsi in tragedia... – Come quando si dovette levar le tende in fretta e furia, tutta la compagnia che non c'entrava affatto... E a un pelo di rimborsar gli abbonati per giunta! – conchiuse la signorina Fides.
– Oh, questa poi!...
– Sì, in un paesetto qui vicino, allorché quelli del partito contrario vollero giocare un tiro al sindaco che veniva a fare quattro chiacchiere con una di noi; e una bella notte, quando volle tornare a casa della moglie, gli fecero trovare murata la porta della locanda coi materiali della strada in riparazione. Allora figuriamoci!...
Essa non aveva fatto alcun nome; ma tutte le altre guardavano sottecchi da una parte, ridendo, però col naso sul piatto. La napoletana che invece aveva il naso in su, rimbeccò subito:
– Tu stai zitta, che di queste disgrazie non ne capitano certo pei tuoi begli occhi al tuo banchiere!
– Anche un banchiere?
– Sì, quello che scopa le tavole.
Fides scattò inviperita: – Prima di scopare le tavole contava dei bei bigliettoni, quello!
– E te li buttava dietro in fiori per le serate e il braccialetto col _sempre_ d'oro. Per questo dovette fare i conti col principale, che gli sbatté in faccia lo sportello della banca, e te lo lasciò appeso al collo, col _sempre_ del braccialetto!
Io cercai di mettere qualche buona parola, anzi le loro parole stesse: – Cose che succedono. Se si sapesse prima...
– Prima o poi, quello era un galantuomo e rimase un galantuomo. Povero, ma onorato. Perciò quando me lo vidi comparire dinanzi, con le tasche vuote ma tanto di cuore aperto... ed anche le braccia, mentre mi diceva: – Eccomi... Son qua...
Ella singhiozzava quasi, col tovagliolo al viso, ripetendo quelle parole, tanto che le amiche le si strinsero intorno a confortarla, e la stessa napoletana volle ricordare come succedono queste cose:
– Si sa. Ogni giorno che veniva, le ariette e i duettini... Una bella seccatura a sentirli mattina e sera...
– Egli aveva una vocetta promettente allora – aggiunse la signorina Vanda.
– E per sua disgrazia leggeva anche dei romanzi, tanto che gli pareva vero...
– Io glielo dissi – riprese Fides con gli occhi ancora umidi. – E che vuoi fare adesso? – Son qua... Son qua... – Non sapeva dir altro, con quel viso pallido, e quelle braccia aperte... Anch'io ero là... E mi chiamo Fede... La mano nella mano dunque...
– Ecco! Sino alla prima voltata.
– Voltata no, e neppure corda al collo – rispose Fides con gli occhi adesso asciutti. – Io devo fare l'artista, e non posso voltare le spalle a questo e a quello se mi dicono che piaccio.
– O quando fanno dei regalucci.
– Bisogna mandare avanti la baracca anche.
Quando gli uomini, a sera, tardi, dopo aver mangiato bene e bevuto meglio tornarono alla capanna ed al cuore, furono liti e questioni invece di fiori e paroline dolci. La vocetta mezzo soprano di Fides che strillava: – Ah, sei stato a far l'assolo? Anch'io ci ho trovato qui per il duetto. Prendi!
L'avvocato perdeva il suo tempo a perorare di qua e di là, scusando queste e quelli e cercando di metter pace. La napoletana gli sbatté con lo scarpone sul muso:
– Porco! Ci vorrebbero qui i tuoi mocciosi a piangerti per il pane, adesso!
Mentre li vidi comparire dinanzi io pure, il giorno dopo; lui con la gota fasciata, a spiegarmi quel che doveva essere stato il po' di chiasso che forse avevo udito nella notte. Ma la napoletana, ancora imbronciata, tagliò corto:
– Basta, basta. Arrivederci dunque. Il mondo è tondo, e chi non muore si rivede.
Io non ho più rivisto quegli occhi rapaci e quel _décolleté_ petulante.
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www.librimondadori.it
_Tutte le novelle_
di Giovanni Verga
© 2017 Mondadori Libri S.p.A., Milano
La presente edizione raccoglie i due volumi Oscar di _Tutte le novelle_ usciti finora separatamente.
Ebook ISBN 9788852084331
COPERTINA || COVER DESIGN: LEFTLOFT | PRISMATIC PICTURES / BRIDGEMAN IMAGES / MONDADORI PORTFOLIO
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaBook"
} | 2,036 |
Q: Como saber cuantas palabras tiene una cadena en mips(Mars) tengo la cadena "Hola mundo" en A y quiero saber cuantas palabras forman A y que ese numero lo guarde en D como en la figura que os dejo abajo. Si me podéis echar un cable en eso se lo agradecería mucho. Gracias de antemano
A → "Hola Mundo"
D → 2
.data
A: .asciiz "Hola Mundo"
B: .space 100
C: .space 100
D: .space 100
.text
add $t0, $t0 , $zero #pares
addi $t1,$t1,1 #impares
la $s0, A #cargas todo la cadena
la $s1, B
la $s2, C
la $s3, D
bucleParImpar:
add $t2, $t0,$s0
lb $t3, 0($t2)
sb $t3, 0($s1)
beq $t3,0, exit
addi $s1,$s1,1
addi $t0,$t0,2
add $t2, $t1,$s0
lb $t3, 0($t2)
beq $t3,0, exit
addi $s2,$s2,1
addi $t1,$t1 ,2
sb $t3, 0($s2)
j bucleParImpar
exit:
li $v0 10
syscall
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 4,265 |
Q: Mutator runs on update but cell data unchanged I want to create a new field reservationAction and put into my table as a column Reservation defined as:
{title: "Reservation", field: "reservationAction", mutator: reservationMutator},
with reservationMutator as:
var reservationMutator = function(value, data, type, params, component) {
console.log(data);
if (!data.checkoutable) return null;
if (data.is_reserved) {
return "Free";
}
return "Get";
}
is_reserved and checkoutable are pre-existing fields of my data.
When the page initially loads, and table is created using ajax, the cell shows the correct string for Reservation. When is_reserved is changed server-side, I call table.updateOrAddData([newData]) (as part of websocket event-handler).
The problem:
When table.updateOrAddData([newData]) run, I can see the custom mutator get triggered
and from the console.log() line, see that the reservationAction is correctly set in the log. But the table itself is showing the old value. Other (non-mutating) columns are updated on the table as expected. Am I missing something or is this a bug?
If instead I use table.replaceData(), then both console, and table show correct value. But I would want to avoid doing this on each websocket event for performance reasons.
Version: I've tried all 5+.
Any help would be appreciated!
jsfiddle
A: Don't know if this is a workaround or how I'm actually supposed to do it in the first place but, doing row.reformat() seems to do what I expect. Oh well.
table.updateOrAddData([row_obj])
.then(function(rows){
rows.forEach(row => {
row.reformat();
});
});
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 2,884 |
Charles Hanbury-Tracy, 1st Baron Sudeley (28 December 1778 – 10 February 1858), known as Charles Hanbury until 1798 and as Charles Hanbury Tracy from 1798 to 1838, was a British Whig politician.
Early life
Hanbury-Tracy was born on 28 December 1778. He was the third son of John Hanbury of Pontypool Park in Monmouthshire. The family derived its wealth from its ownership of the Pontypool Ironworks. He was educated at Rugby School (1790) and matriculated at Christ Church, Oxford on 1 February 1796.
Career
Hanbury-Tracy was appointed High Sheriff of Gloucestershire for 1800–01 and High Sheriff of Montgomeryshire for 1804–05. He was elected to the House of Commons for Tewkesbury in 1807 in the Whig interest, a seat he held until 1812 and again from 1832 to 1837.
Hanbury-Tracy served as the Chairman of the Commission to judge the designs for the new Houses of Parliament in 1835. In 1838 Hanbury-Tracy was raised to the peerage as Baron Sudeley, of Toddington in the County of Gloucester. He later served as Lord Lieutenant of Montgomeryshire between 1848 and 1858.
Personal life and death
Hanbury-Tracy married his cousin the Hon. Henrietta Susanna Tracy, only child of Henry Leigh Tracy, 8th Viscount Tracy by Susannah Weaver, on 29 December 1798. Five days before the marriage he assumed by Royal licence the additional surname of Tracy.
Through this marriage, the ancient estate of Toddington Manor in Gloucestershire came into the Hanbury family. Lord Sudeley at first had the original house renovated, but later constructed a new house in Gothic style nearby. Later still in the 1840s he was responsible for the rebuilding of Gregynog Hall in Montgomeryshire.
Lady Sudeley died on 5 June 1839. Lord Sudeley survived her by 19 years and died in February 1858, aged 79. He was succeeded in the barony by his son Thomas, who also succeeded him as Lord Lieutenant of Montgomeryshire. Sudeley's younger son the Honourable Henry was a politician.
They had issue:
Hon Henrietta Hanbury-Tracy
Thomas Hanbury-Tracy, 2nd Baron Sudeley
Hon Henry Hanbury-Tracy (1802–1889), MP for Bridgnorth
Hanbury-Tracy died on 10 February 1858.
Notes
References
Kidd, Charles, Williamson, David (editors). Debrett's Peerage and Baronetage (1990 edition). New York: St Martin's Press, 1990,
External links
1778 births
1858 deaths
People from Pontypool
People educated at Rugby School
Alumni of Christ Church, Oxford
Barons in the Peerage of the United Kingdom
Lord-Lieutenants of Montgomeryshire
Members of the Parliament of the United Kingdom for English constituencies
UK MPs 1807–1812
UK MPs 1832–1835
UK MPs 1835–1837
UK MPs who were granted peerages
High Sheriffs of Gloucestershire
High Sheriffs of Montgomeryshire
Peers of the United Kingdom created by Queen Victoria
Hanbury-Tracy family | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 621 |
\section{Introduction}
We describe here a program of the categorical basis for Physics.
The overall motivation for this program arises out of following
considerations.
As Physics is our attempt to conceptually grasp the happenings
around us, and as Mathematics is a language for succinctly
expressing the associated conceptions, the most general
Mathematics would help us express the most general of such
conceptions. As a result, we would hopefully encompass the
entirety of physical phenomena within any such most general
description.
This point of principle was advocated along with the Universal
Theory of Relativity whose developmental stages can be found in
\cite{utr-foundations}. We also note that this universal
relativity is based on Einstein's general principle of relativity
that the Laws of Physics have the same mathematical form
irrespective of (the state of motion of) the system of reference,
any physical body. In difference with other attempts \cite{qg,
oziewicz} at providing a foundation for the physical entirety, we
seek to base universal relativity on the most general categorical
considerations for reasons arising out of this point of principle.
Then, in summary of the contents of \cite{utr-foundations}, what
is really needed is a way of dealing with and extracting the
needed ``information'' from the most general category because it
is the currently known most general mathematical structure. In
this context, an appropriate notion of (real-valued or not)
measures \cite{utr-foundations,cat-m} over a generic category is
the way.
\subsection{General Description of This Program}
The following part of Introduction specifically keeps in sight the
purpose of Mathematics for Physical Theories, rather than losing
it with details of mathematical considerations. In what follows,
we therefore discuss relevant conceptions without precise
mathematical details, which follow the end of this general
discussion of the involved issues.
To understand Nature, we ``associate'' a mathematical structure,
let it be any, with physical bodies, and study changes in that
mathematical structure to ``model'' changes in physical bodies.
When observations of Nature or results of concerned experiments
agree with the ``predictions'' of our model, we claim to
successfully ``explain'' the associated observable physical
phenomena.
Using different mathematical structures to represent physical
bodies, we also construct various such models, and compare them.
Then, a mathematical model explaining the largest body of
observational data with the least number of associated physical
conceptions is our fundamental understanding about Nature. We also
advance, mathematically easy, models that ``approximate'' the
fundamental model. The grand dream of physicists is of a
fundamental mathematical model, the Theory of Everything, which
explains {\em all\/} observations of Nature - the physical
entirety.
As is quite well known, Newtonian theories, even though they were
quite successful in explaining many observations of Nature, failed
to ``naturally'' explain observations related to electromagnetic
radiation, and various (quantum) experiments.
Einstein, in a remarkable insight, realized that Newtonian
theories were all based on the Special Principle of Relativity. By
additional principle of the constancy of the speed of light for
inertial systems of reference, he then formulated his Special
Relativity. Newtonian model is an approximation of this Special
Relativity. Successes of Special Relativity then convinced
\cite{einstein} Einstein that the ``strategy'' of ``Relativity''
for formulating model of the Physical World is truly an
appropriate one.
As a straightforward step, Einstein then proposed the General
Principle of Relativity, a statement of ``strategy'' that the Laws
of Physics be such that they have the same (mathematical) form
irrespective of the state of (motion of) the system of reference,
any physical body. With this strategy, Einstein, likewise with
Newton, aimed at a comprehensive theoretical description of the
physical entirety.
But, ``changes'' to mathematical structure representing physical
bodies also ``mean'' changes to reference physical bodies. The
(General or Universal) Principle of Relativity \cite{einstein,
utr-foundations} then requires those mathematical laws, to be the
Laws of Physics, which do not depend on even the mathematical
structure that we may associate with a physical body. This is then
``the'' meaning of General Covariance.
Now, any mathematical structure can be an ``object'' or an
``element'' of a collection of similar mathematical structures.
For example, a group, a ``structured'' set, can be an element of a
collection of {\em all\/} groups. Of course, we then have to avoid
set-theoretic paradoxes, like Russell's paradox, while making such
collections. This is always achievable by adopting a suitable
definition of a set such that a collection of all sets is not a
set, but what we ``name'' as a class. Furthermore, the collection
of all classes is also not a class, but what we ``name'' as a
conglomerate; and so on \cite{cat-b}. With these definitions,
Russell's paradox is then a harmless statement that a
``collection'' \footnote{Then, by a collection, we will always
mean a ``gathering'' or an ``accumulation'' of elements such that
set-theoretic paradoxes do not arise in its considerations.} of
all elements, gathered according to a defining property, does not
have the ``defining'' property of its elements.
A change of one mathematical structure to another of its
collection is called as an ``arrow'' connecting ``objects'' (of
that collection). An arrow then has a source (domain) and a target
(co-domain) as objects. Every arrow (relation) need not be a
function in the mathematical sense. An identity arrow of an object
is then an identity transformation of the associated mathematical
structure.
Mathematically, the collection of all such arrows forms a partial
binary algebra, and with, remarkably naturally arising, additional
compatibility properties, a Category \cite{cat-b}. It is a
mathematical structure completely specified \cite{cat-b} by only
the arrows. For a category, we also form sub-collections, called
as the {\em hom-collections}, of {\em all\/} the arrows from one
to another of its objects. This categorical structure is then
quite ``separate'' \footnote{That is why, in contrast to most of
the mathematical literature on this subject, we will call any such
structure simply as a category.} from the issues of the set
theory.
For example, a category of a group has only one object and group
elements as arrows. Every arrow of a group category is an
iso-arrow (isomorphism) of the only object of the group category,
for an inverse of every group element is a member of the group. A
category of a monoid also has only one object and monoid elements
as arrows. But, only the monoid identity is an iso-arrow of the
only object of this category, for the inverses of general monoid
elements are not members of the monoid.
The object-free structure of a category is then the fundamental
mathematical structure of {\em all\/} the mathematical structures,
as we can always form a collection of mathematical structures
similar to any chosen one and consider changes of one to others of
that collection as a category.
Different categories can now be ``related'' to each other by {\em
functors}, which are the partial binary algebra preserving maps
that also preserve identities and compositions of arrows. Functors
from one to another category always exist.
Notably, categorical can then be the mathematical structure of the
collection of all categories, when we form the category of all
categories \cite{lawvere}, for a category is a mathematical
structure with a functor changing it to another similar structure.
Now, we can ``reorganize'' arrows of any category in different
collections that can themselves be treated as (new) arrows, and by
ensuring that the conditions of the definition of a category are
satisfied, form another category. ``New'' categories from
``known'' categories are then obtainable.
Functors connecting two (fixed) categories can also be collected
to form a partial binary algebra, and a category, called as a
functor category, is also obtainable with ``natural
transformations'' or ``functor morphisms'' as arrows connecting
such functors.
Now, in the setting of the standard set theory, a set-theoretic
(standard or usual) measure is \cite{m-theory} a set-function that
forms a commutative monoid or an abelian group of addition over
(countable) collections of pairwise mutually disjoint sets.
Fundamental to set-theoretic measures are the additivity of
measures and the pairwise disjointedness of involved sets. It is
only when these hold that a measure is a unique association of a
set with an element of the (commutative monoid or) abelian group
of addition. We then use \cite{m-theory} ``other'' properties of
the monoid or group of addition, for example, topological ones, to
formulate our (general) notions of the continuity, the
differentiability, the metric etc.
For an abelian group of addition, the addition function, denoted
by $+$, is defined over the arrows with the same source and the
same target, and the composition of arrows of this group category
is left and right distributive over $+$, with the identity element
of the group of addition behaving as a ``zero arrow'' \cite{cat-b}
of this category with only one object. A category with this
additive structure is an {\em additive category}. An abelian group
and a commutative monoid of addition are its obvious examples.
In general, a category need not possess an ``additive structure''
over its collection of arrows, ``addition'' being a very specific
function on the collection of categorical arrows. Furthermore, no
natural notion of the complement of a categorical object is
available in a general category, even though sub-object of an
object corresponds to a subset of a set. Such difficulties had
prevented any definition of measures in the general categorical
context, till the work in \cite{cat-m}, whose strategy for
defining measures on a general category is what is described
below.
A general category, a collection of arrows, always has a
sub-collection of identity arrows of its partial binary algebra of
arrows. Then, we can always form sub-collections (families) of the
objects (identity arrows) of any category. Such a sub-collection
can also be empty, {\em ie}, we can have an empty family.
Intuitively, when we ``combine'' families to form a larger family,
we have the conception of ``addition'' implicit in this operation.
Then, if we ``reorganize'' the arrows of a category in conjunction
with the formation of the families of its objects, we obtain
\cite{cat-m} an additive structure of a commutative monoid over
the hom-collections of ``new'' arrows connecting the families.
Now, {\em co-product\/} is \cite{cat-b} a categorical
generalization of disjoint union of sets. In forming families of
objects of any category, we also generate \cite{cat-m} ``objects''
(families themselves) that are always the co-products of some
other objects (families) of their category. Then, a specific
additive category, to be called as a {\em pointed family category
of a given category}, can always be obtained from {\em any \/}
category by forming families of its arrows, and by forming
correspondingly ``new'' arrows for these families.
Next, the functor category of functors from the pointed family
category of a given category to any additive category has
\cite{cat-m} the additive structure of the latter category. Then,
the functor category of functors from the pointed family category
of a category to the category of a group (monoid) of addition of
real numbers has the additive structure of a group (monoid). It is
a unique association of an object of the former category with an
element of the concerned group (monoid). Such functors, henceforth
to be called as {\em measure functors}, are then (additive
category-based) categorical measures. Such categorical measures
are evidently definable for every category.
Notice here that the category of (group or monoid of) addition of
real numbers can also be replaced with any additive category.
Because functors map identities to identities, notice furthermore
that any measure functor assigns identity arrows of all the
objects of the pointed family category of a given category to only
one arrow, the identity arrow, which is also the only zero arrow,
of the additive category. Moreover, notice that functors preserve
compositions of arrows.
Measure functors that are ``naturally isomorphic'' to each other
form an equivalence class within the collection of all the measure
functors acting on a given category. All members of this
equivalence class provide an association of the ``same'' arrow of
the pointed family category of a category with the ``same'' arrow
of the additive category. Therefore, we need to consider a measure
functor, categorical measure, only modulo its equivalence class.
Now, a given category is ``embedded'' in its pointed family
category as a sub-category, and an ``inclusion functor'' describes
this embedding. (It is a one-one association of the arrows of the
involved categories.) Then, a composition of inclusion functor and
a measure functor is a functor, call it an {\em m-i functor\/}
(notice that an inclusion functor acts first, and then a measure
functor), from that given category to the additive category. Then,
such a composition of the involved functors, an m-i functor is
also an assignment of a (unique) element of additive category with
an object of that given category, it being independent of the
mathematical structure of the objects of that category.
An object of a category can itself be viewed as a category. Then,
there are ``internal'' measures as well as ``external'' measures
definable for it. Notice however that, as a collection of measures
definable for a category, the internal and external measures
belong to the same collection. [That these measures belong to the
same collection can be expected, for example, from the fact that
we can consider distance between two physical bodies, as well as
distance between ``parts'' internal to any physical body. These
are essentially the ``same'' mathematical notions, except that we
call one as ``external'' and the other as an ``internal'' distance
(measure). The same applies to other notions. Distinction between
internal and external measures is then a matter of our
convenience.]
Consider now an endo-functor, {\em ie}, a functor from a given
category to itself. Notice here that an endo-functor acts first,
then the inclusion functor and, in the end, the measure functor.
Endo-functors of any given category can then be classified as
``measure-preserving'' and ``measure non-preserving'' ones,
obviously, relative to the measure functor under considerations.
Then, the same endo-functor need not be preserving all the
measures of its category.
Now, topological structure of the additive (group or monoid)
category (of real numbers) permits definitions of continuity,
differentiability, metric, distance $\cdots$ Essentially,
categorical measures can be varied as per these notions, which are
available for every category. This is, quite naturally, as it is
with the usual or standard theory of measures.
An interplay of measure-preservation and non-preservation now
emerges as the mathematical basis underlying physical phenomena,
when we associate measures with various of our physical
conceptions. For example, consider a positive real-valued
``external'' measure to ``correspond'' to our notion of ``physical
distance'' between bodies. (We use topological properties of the
additive category while making any such correspondence.)
Mathematical law of measure non-preservation under the action of a
categorical endo-functor would then correspond to change in this
physical distance between corresponding physical bodies. Such a
law would, clearly, be a ``differential'' law, because the
topological structure of the additive category can be used to
write the action of an endo-functor in that manner.
Now, any such ``categorical differential structure'' too is
independent of the mathematical structure of the objects of a
category. This is \cite{catfp} then the precise ``mathematical
reason'' as to why the physical world is well describable using
differential equations.
Thus, we obtain categorical interrelationships that are, and only
such interrelationships can perhaps be, ``free'' of mathematical
structures forming a category. It may then be emphasized that
these interrelations arising out of the considerations of
categorical measures are {\em functorial\/} in character. This is
the primary reason for these categorical interrelationships to be
entirely independent of the mathematical structure of the objects
forming a category.
These categorical ``relations'' are then exactly what we needed to
mathematically implement Einstein's General Principle of
Relativity, for these are independent of the mathematical
structure that we associate with any physical body, and therefore,
free of any physical system of reference whatsoever. Clearly, such
``relations'' (of Universal Relativity) constitute then the most
general Laws about Nature \cite{catfp}. This is also the reason
why we can expect such laws to encompass the physical entirety.
Now, the notion of time is that of the periodic motion of a
``clock'' body relative to an ``observer'' body. Within the
present categorical framework, this notion of ``time'' is
obtained, using the notion of ``distance'' in this context, from
the ``periodic'' variations of the ``location'' of one
(categorical) object, the ``clock'' body, in relation to any other
(categorical) object, the ``observer'' body. [Notably, there does
not exist any other notion of ``time'' within this general
categorical context.] Categorical ``velocity'', ``acceleration'',
etc.\ then use such a notion of time.
Of categorical measures is then also the mathematical way using
which we can \cite{catfp} now ``understand'' how one model of
Nature ``approximates or not'' another model, because measures
provide mathematically precise sense of ``closeness'' of models.
With this introduction, we now turn to mathematical considerations
of this program for the categorical basis of the physical
entirety.
In Section \ref{catmeasure}, we consider measures in the
categorical context. In Section \ref{cffp}, we first work out an
explicit example of the physical distance measure to establish the
use of present framework for physical considerations. We also
briefly mention the general procedure for obtaining the Laws of
Physics from the considerations of categorical measures. But, the
general procedure of using categorical measures for assigning
properties to physical bodies is quite involved. It therefore
deserves separate presentation \cite{catfp}. We end this article
with some remarks in Section \ref{conclude}.
\section{Categorical Measures} \label{catmeasure}
A fundamental property of standard or usual or set-theoretic
measures is their (countable) additivity. Categorically, only the
``additivity'' is defined as follows:
\begin{defin} A \underline{monoid} (g\underline{rou}p)
\underline{additivit}y structure on any p\underline{ointed}
category $\cat{A}$ is a function $+$ that
associates with each pair $A\dmorphr{g}{h}B$ of
$\cat{A}$-arrows with common source (or domain) $A$ and common
target (or co-domain) $B$, another $\cat{A}$-arrow, denoted by
$g+h:A\to B$ or by $\displaystyle{A\;\morph{g+h}\;B}$, such that
\begin{description} \item{(M1)} for each pair $(A,B)$ of
$\cat{A}$-objects, the function $+$ induces on the corresponding
hom-collection $[A,B]$ a commutative structure of a monoid (an
abelian group) of addition,
\item{(M2)} the composition of arrows in $\cat{A}$ is left and right
distributive over $+$, {\em ie}, whenever $C\morph{k} A
\dmorphr{g}{h} B \morph{f} D$ are $\cat{A}$-arrows, then $f\circ
(g+h) = (f\circ g) + (f\circ h)$ and $(g+h)\circ k = (g\circ k) +
(h\circ k)$. That is, the composition functions $[B,C]\times [A,B]
\to [A,C]$ are bilinear.
\item{(M3)} The zero arrows of $\cat{A}$ act as monoid (group) identities
with respect to $+$, {\em ie}, for each $\cat{A}$-arrow $f$,
$0+f=f+0=f$. That is, the identity elements of the monoids
(abelian groups) behave as zero arrows whenever the compositions
are defined.
\end{description} \end{defin}
The category $\cat{G}$ of the commutative group as well as the
category $\cat{M}$ of a commutative monoid are obvious examples of
categories having the above additive structure(s). In general, we
will denote by $\cat{A}$ any category possessing a (monoid or
group) additive structure.
To ``construct'' \cite{cat-m} an appropriate category
$\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ of the families of arrows of a generic
category $\cat{C}$, let $A_I$ be the family $(A_i)_{i\in I}$ of
objects of $\cat{C}$, indexed by some collection $I$. With
families $A_I$ as objects, an arrow from $A_I$ to $B_J$ is then a
pair $(f,\mathfrak{f})$ with $f: I \to J$ as a map of collections
and $\mathfrak{f}$ as a family $\mathfrak{f}: \left( A_i
\morphr{\mathfrak{f}_i} B_{j(i)}\right)_{i\in I}$ of arrows in
$\cat{C}$. For arrows $(f,\mathfrak{f}):A_I \to B_J$ and
$(g,\mathfrak{g}):B_J \to C_K$ in the category
$\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, the composition $(g,\mathfrak{g})\circ
(f,\mathfrak{f})$ is defined as the arrow $(h,\mathfrak{h}):A_I
\to C_K$ such that $h=gf$ and $\mathfrak{h}_i =
\mathfrak{g}_{f(i)}\mathfrak{f}_i$. An identity arrow for $A_I$ in
$\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is the identity map $\mathrm{id}_I:I\to I$ and the
family, $\{\mathrm{id}_{A_i} \}_{i\in I}$, of identity arrows for
$\cat{C}$-objects $A_i$, $i\in I$. By this construction, any
category $\cat{C}$ is always {\em fully embedded\/} in the
category $\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, its family category, as a
sub-category.
Every object $A_I$ of the category $\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is a
co-product of its constituent objects $\{A_i\}_{i\in I}$ (viewed
as one-member families) with $\mathbb{I}_i=(i, 1_{A_i}):A_i \to
(A_i)_{i\in I}$ being co-product injections. An initial object of
$\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is an ``empty'' family, while its terminal
object is the ``singleton'' family, and these two are distinct
objects of category $\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$. Hence,
$\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is not a pointed category. It therefore
does not have additive structure defined above.
A pointed category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, freely constructible
from the category $\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, has objects as pairs
$(A_I, A_i)$ where $A_I$ is an object of $\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$
indexed by $I$ with (fixed) $A_i\in A_I$ being a ``base'' object
of this pair. As its arrows, this category has the arrows of
$\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ of the form $(f,\mathfrak{f}) :A_I\to B_J$
such that we also have $(f,\mathfrak{f})A_i =B_j$ with $A_i$ and
$B_j$ being taken as one-member families. That is, we have
$f(i)=j$, and there always exists an arrow $\mathfrak{f}_i:A_i\to
B_j$ in the collection $\mathfrak{f}$. We say that any such arrow
``preserves'' the bases of the families. Its hom-collection,
$\left[ \left(A_I,A_i\right), \left(B_J,B_j\right) \right]$, is a
collection of all such arrows in $\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$. An
identity arrow $\left(\mathrm{id}_I, \{\mathrm{id}_{A_i} \}_{i\in
I}\right): \left(A_I,A_i\right) \to \left(A_I,A_i\right)$ also
exists in such collections with obviously $\left(\mathrm{id}_I,
\{\mathrm{id}_{A_i} \}_{i\in I}\right) A_i=A_i$. An object
$(\{\emptyset\}, \emptyset)$ is a zero object of
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, that was mentioned earlier as the
pointed family category of a category $\cat{C}$. The zero arrows
of $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ are the arrows with empty domain, and
these are its only zero arrows. The category
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ therefore has the additive structure
defined before. Every object $(A_I,A_i)$ of the category
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is also a co-product of its constituent
objects $(\{A_i\},A_i)_{i\in I}$.
Also, the category $\cat{C}$ is embedded in the category
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, and the corresponding inclusion functor
$\funct{I}: \cat{C} \to p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is given by the
one-one association of any arrow $A\morphr{g}B$ of category
$\cat{C}$ with an arrow $(\{A\},A) \morphr{(f,\{g\})} (\{B\},B)$
with $(f,\{g\})A =B$ of the category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$.
However, the inclusion of a sub-category $\cat{C}$ in its pointed
family category or its pointed free co-product completion category
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is not, always, a {\em full\/} embedding,
even though the inclusion of a sub-category $\cat{C}$ in its
family category $\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is always a full
embedding.
Now, if a category $\cat{A}$ is additive, then, for any category
$\cat{B}$, the functor category, $\funcat{B}{A}$, inherits the
additive structure of $\cat{A}$. Thus, a functor category
$\cat{G}^{p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})}$ has the group additive
structure, while the functor category
$\cat{M}^{p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})}$ has a monoid additive
structure.
The additive structure of $\cat{A}^{p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})}$ is
precisely that of the natural transformations of functors from
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ to $\cat{A}$. The additive structure of
$\cat{A}^{p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})}$ is then the categorical
analogue of the ``countable additivity'' of usual measures.
Therefore, $\cat{A}$-based measures, also called $\cat{A}$-based
measure functors or simply as categorical measures, on an
arbitrary category $\cat{C}$ are now defined to be the objects of
the functor category $\cat{A}^{p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})}$.
Notably, what we require for the definition of categorical
measures are the ``additivity'' of category $\cat{A}$ relative to
which measures are defined, and the ``co-product completion
character'' of ``additive'' category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ that
is ``freely constructible'' from any arbitrary category $\cat{C}$.
Categorical analogue of the ``countable additivity'' of these
categorical measures trivially follows because such a functor
category is ensured to have an appropriate additive structure.
In general, a symbol $\funct{M}$ will be used to denote an
$\cat{A}$-based categorical measure or a measure functor
$\funct{M}: p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C}) \to \cat{A}$. All functors,
whenever used, will be considered modulo all those functors that
are {\em naturally isomorphic\/} to each other.
Now, composition of a measure functor $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})
\morphr{\funct{M}} \cat{A}$ and an inclusion functor $\cat{C}
\morphr{\funct{I}} p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is a functor $\cat{C}
\morphr{\funct{M\circ I}} \cat{A}$. Because an inclusion functor
associates with an arrow of category $\cat{C}$ a {\em unique\/}
arrow of category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, and a measure functor
associates with an arrow of $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ a unique
arrow of the additive category $\cat{A}$, the functor
$\funct{M\circ I}$, to be called as an {\em m-i functor},
associates a unique arrow of category $\cat{A}$ with an arrow of
category $\cat{C}$. An m-i functor is then an association of a
unique element of the additive monoid or group with an arrow of
the category $\cat{C}$. [When the arrow under consideration is an
identity arrow, also called as a unit of the partial binary
algebra of arrows, in the category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, a
measure functor associates it with an identity arrow of $\cat{A}$,
with this association being clearly independent of the
mathematical structure of the object, which only ``labels'' that
identity arrow.] Then, we will also call an m-i functor as an
$\cat{A}$-based measure or categorical measure on the objects of
category $\cat{C}$. An m-i functor $\funct{M\circ I}:\cat{C} \to
\cat{A}$ is a partial binary algebra preserving, an
identity-preserving and compositions-preserving {\em function\/}
from the collection, $\mathcal{C}(\cat{C})$, of all the arrows of
a category $\cat{C}$ to the collection, $\mathcal{C}(\cat{A})$, of
all the arrows of an additive category $\cat{A}$.
In terms of the standard ways of measure theory, we have then
effectively {\em isolated}, as corresponding measures, a
collection of countably additive functions $\funct{M\circ
I}:\mathcal{C}(\cat{C}) \to \mathcal{C}(\cat{A})$, which are
partial binary algebra preserving, identity preserving and
compositions preserving.
Families of the units of the partial binary algebra of the
category $\cat{C}$, families of its objects, do not however
correspond to Borel sets \cite{m-theory}. We can, from an object
$A$ in $\cat{C}$, form a family $A_I=\{A,A,A, \cdots\}$ that is
non-Borel for the usual ways of measure theory.
The usual Borel structure however exists with the hom-collections
$[(A_I,A_i), (B_J, B_j)]$ of the category
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, as we are allowed to form a Borel
structure for {\em every\/} such hom-collection because of the
very definition \cite{cat-b} of a category. The construction of
the category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ serves here to ``ensure''
therefore only the ``consistency of structures'' (generally
unavailable for any arbitrary category) of hom-collections of the
category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ and that of an additive category
$\cat{A}$. We are therefore allowed the use of the standard
measure theory, limited to aforementioned considerations of the
hom-collections, of course. Categorical measures, then, provide
the overall consistency of categorical structures containing all
the hom-collections of the involved categories.
Of particular interest are the hom-collections $[(\{A\},A),
(\{A\}, A)]$ for an arbitrary object $A$ of the category
$\cat{C}$. In the case that this hom-collection has only a single
arrow, an identity arrow, any categorical measure (functor) must
map it to the additive identity of the additive category. For
categorical measures, such are then the situations of categorical
measure zero.
In general, each of the hom-collections $[(A_I,A_i), (B_J, B_j)]$
of $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ is therefore a Borel space with
associated Borel structure. It is of course the ``same'' measure
that gets ``defined'' here for all the hom-collections of the
category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$.
Then, under conditions of the Lebesgue-Radon-Nikodym (LRN) Theorem
\cite{m-theory}, for each of these hom-collections, there exists a
unique finite valued measurable function, $f={d\ell}/{dt}$, the
LRN-derivative, where the $\sigma$-finite measure $\ell$ is
absolutely continuous with respect to measure $t$, and all
properties of the ``differential'' hold modulo a set of
$t$-measure zero, {\em ie}, $t$-almost everywhere or $t$-a.e.
Any categorical measure ``carries'' this ``differential
structure'' consistently to the category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$
and, thence, to the category $\cat{C}$ by way of the composition
$\funct{M\circ I}$.
Because an object of a category can itself be looked upon as a
category in its own right, we have ``categorical measures'' or
$\cat{A}$-based measures that are ``internal'' to an object, and
``measures'' that are ``external'' to it. Internal and external
measures of any categorical object belong however to the same
collection of $\cat{A}$-based categorical measures definable for
any category. As was remarked earlier, this feature is not
surprising because ``externally'' usable notions can also be used
``internally'' to a (physical as well as mathematical) object.
Nevertheless, internal measures ``characterize'' categorical
objects within this most general categorical framework.
A group of addition of real numbers, whose set is denoted by
$\mathcal{R}$, is a topological group $(\mathcal{R},+)$ with
respect to the usual metric topology. A monoid of addition of real
numbers, $\mathcal{R}_+$ being the set of strictly positive (or
strictly negative) real numbers, is a topological monoid
$(\mathcal{R}_+,+)$ with respect to the usual metric topology.
Both, $(\mathcal{R},+)$ and $(\mathcal{R}_+,+)$ are locally
compact. $\cat{R}^+$ denotes the group category, and $\cat{R}^+_+$
the monoid category, of addition of real numbers.
Then, the collection $\mathcal{C}(\cat{A})$ of all the arrows of
an additive category has the structure of a locally compact
topological monoid, for example, of $(\mathcal{R}_+,+)$ under the
usual metric topology. Due to its construction, the collection
$\mathcal{C}(p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C}))$ of the arrows of the
category $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ has the structure of the product
of locally compact topological monoids, and has the associated
product topology. Therefore, categorical measures $\funct{M}:
\mathcal{C}(p\cat{F}amily (\cat{C})) \to \mathcal{C}(\cat{A})$ are
the partial binary algebra preserving, identity preserving, and
compositions-preserving {\em continuous\/} functions from
$\mathcal{C}(p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C}))$ to $\mathcal{C}(\cat{A})$.
\section{Categorical Foundations for Physics} \label{cffp}
Now, we may ``visualize'' a mathematical structure, let it be any,
representing physical bodies as being an object of a category, and
the changes or the transformations of physical bodies as the
arrows of that category. Then, entirely independently of the
mathematical structure that is chosen to represent physical
bodies, categorical measures of categorical objects represent
various of the physical properties of physical bodies within this
categorical framework. Consequently, categorical measures are then
``fundamental'' to formation of any of our physical conceptions.
The characterization of categorical objects by internal measures,
and the overall framework of category theory, then provide
``relations'' that are, in a definite sense, ``free'' of the
mathematical structure that we choose to represent physical bodies
with. This is the {\em categorical general covariance}. In
complete conformity with the General Principle of Relativity, such
relations then constitute the most general Laws about Nature. We
can expect such categorical laws to encompass the physical
entirety. In particular, such laws turn out to be differential
laws. This is then the precise mathematical reason as to why the
physical world is well describable using differential equations.
Aforementioned characteristics of (categorical) objects are the
``observable characteristics'' of physical bodies within this most
general mathematical framework. Changes in these characteristics
are then the changes to physical bodies. The essential aim of a
Program of Categorical Foundations for Physics is then that of
obtaining definite mathematical laws for the changes (modulo their
``equivalence'' classes) of aforementioned characteristics
(measures) of categorical objects.
Now, the categorical procedure for obtaining
``object-independent'' relations using categorical measures is
required to be such as to be applicable to all the relations so
obtainable. This, in fact, is the pivotal issue, which underlies
the categorical general covariance.
To fix ideas, consider therefore any categorical measure
$\funct{M}: \mathcal{C} (p\cat{F}amily (\cat{C})) \to
\cat{R}^+_+$. Its additivity property allows the corresponding
``metric'' structure to be constructed. We now ``actually
construct'' a metric structure that is the one of (physical)
distance separating the objects.
To this end, call the families $A^{SF}_I=\{A,A,\cdots\}$ as {\em
self-families\/} of the object $A$ of $\cat{C}$. Consider now a
categorical measure $\funct{D}$ that, for every object $A$ of the
category $\cat{C}$, maps {\em every\/} of the hom-collections
$[(A^{SF}_I,A),(A^{SF}_J,A)]$ of $p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ to the
``same'' element, {\em additive identity}, of the additive
category $\cat{R}^+_+$. Since the hom-collection $[(\{A\},A),
(\{A\},A)]$ also gets mapped to zero of real numbers, we call this
as the property of vanishing of the ``self-distance'' of objects.
Moreover, for this {\em physical distance measure}, $\funct{D}$,
and for non-identical (which could be isomorphic) objects $A$ and
$B$ of $\cat{C}$, we require that all the hom-collections
$[(A^{SF}_I,A), (B^{SF}_J,B)]$ are mapped by it to the ``same''
non-identity element, say $a$, of the additive category
$\cat{R}^+_+$. Consistency with the vanishing self-distance
property is then self-evident. The element $a$ of $\cat{R}^+_+$
then defines metrical distance, $d(A,B)$, between objects $A$ and
$B$ of category $\cat{C}$, with metrical properties of $d(A,B)$
following from the additivity of the physical distance measure
$\funct{D}$. We associate the metric structure of measure
$\funct{D}$ with that of the {\em physical distance\/} separating
physical bodies represented by the objects of category $\cat{C}$.
Physically, the aforementioned has the significance that the
``distance'' of a physical body from itself would then be
vanishing always, and furthermore making any family out of that
physical body would be of no physical relevance to this vanishing
self-distance.
Such a physical distance measure, a functor, evidently exists, and
the metric structure corresponding to its additivity defines the
physical distance separating physical bodies.
The aforementioned is an instance of a general procedure for
defining ``characterizing'' properties for physical bodies.
Evidently, it involves ``classifying'' categorical measures
according to their actions on the objects of the category
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$. It will be discussed in \cite{catfp}.
Now, changes to categorical measures $\funct{M}: \mathcal{C}
(p\cat{F}amily (\cat{C})) \to \cat{R}^+_+$ can occur when an
endo-functor of the category $\cat{C}$, a functor $\funct{E}:
\cat{C} \to \cat{C}$, ``changes'' the assignments of its arrows
(with identity arrows). An endo-functor is 1-1 and onto on the
collection $\mathcal{C}(\cat{C})$ of arrows of the category
$\cat{C}$.
Let the physical distance measure possess the assignments:
$d(A,B)=a$, $d(B,C)=b$, $d(C,A)=c$. Endo-functor can, for
example, contain a ``cycle'' of the form $\funct{E}A= B$,
$\funct{E}B= C$, $\funct{E}C=A$, while mapping all the other
objects of $\cat{C}$ to themselves. Then, under the action of
endo-functor $\funct{E}$, we have $d(\funct{E}A,\funct{E}B)=b$,
$d(\funct{E}B,\funct{E}C)=c$, $d(\funct{E}C,\funct{E}A)=a$, {\em
ie}, distance between $A$ and $B$ thus changes from being $a$ to
being $b$ etc. Distances of $A$, $B$, $C$ from all other objects
also change, without any changes to mutual distances of all other
objects. Now, if $\funct{F}$ is another endo-functor that restores
``original'' distances, and such a functor obviously exists, then
we have an ``instance'' of periodic motion under the action of
composition of endo-functors $\funct{F\circ E}$.
A general endo-functor then causes changes to
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$, and therefore to measures from
$p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C})$ to $\cat{R}^+_+$. Periodic behavior of a
general endo-functor can then result in a periodic change in the
``physical distance'' of one from other objects. This describes a
periodic ``motion'' of an object. By the continuity of the
distance measure, these are continuous changes. The period of such
a motion then provides us the notion of {\em time}, importantly
{\em relative to that periodic motion}. Then, time is also a
suitable categorical measure within this framework.
An ``absolute zero'' of time is thus the situation when there is
no motion ``whatsoever'' of any of the objects of category
$\cat{C}$. It can evidently be ``reached'' more than once, {\em
ie}, when some motions of objects take place, then all the motions
of {\em all\/} bodies stop, and then some motions occur; again and
again. [There is then no ``origin'' of the ``Universe'' of
physical bodies within this framework, just as it was the
situation with Newton's theoretical framework.]
Alternatively, we may consider Borel automorphisms \cite{ergodic}
of the (Borel) space $\mathcal{C} (p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C}))$. A
Borel automorphism is \cite{ergodic} then ``periodic'' if every
point of the Borel space is periodic, but the period may differ
from point to point of the Borel space. [Every point of the space
$\mathcal{C} (p\cat{F}amily(\cat{C}))$ is periodic because every
``distance'' related to an object undergoing periodic motion
changes periodically, and it is ``object-symmetric''.] Then, we
have the following.
The notion of time in Physics is that of the periodic motion of a
``clock'' body relative to an ``observer'' body. Within the
present categorical framework, this notion of ``time'' is
obtained, using the notion of ``distance'' in this context, from
the ``periodic'' variations of the ``location'' of one
(categorical) object, the ``clock'' body, in relation to any other
(categorical) object, the ``observer'' body. [{\em Notably, there
does not exist any other notion of ``time'' within this general
categorical framework using measures.}] Categorical ``velocity'',
``acceleration'', etc.\ then use such a notion of time. These
mathematical details will be communicated separately \cite{catfp}.
In the above, we have provided an example of the way in which
categorical measures can be employed to describe the physical
phenomena - physical changes. Of course, we considered only one
type of a measure - the physical distance measure - for this
example.
Under the action of an endo-functor of a category $\cat{C}$, other
types of measures may also change. These changes then provide
descriptions of other physical phenomena associated with those
measures. An interplay of measure-preservation and
non-preservation now emerges as the mathematical basis underlying
physical phenomena. The aforementioned formalism uses the metric
structure associated with additivity of categorical measures, and
that provides the basis for relationally obtaining the Laws of
Physics. There does not appear to be any another way in which Laws
of Physics can be obtained within the proposed categorical
framework of universal relativity. Therefore, this categorical
description of the physical universe is entirely based on ``mutual
relationships'' of objects.
Now, fundamental constants arise when we consider relations of
physical bodies with each other. For example, Newton's constant of
gravitation arises when we ``describe'' the fall of a body to the
Earth as being due to the gravitational ``force'' of the Earth on
it. When we express this equationally, the proportionality factor
is this constant. We call it as a ``fundamental'' constant,
because it arises in considerations of the ``source'' property of
the force of gravitation. (The concept of Force requires a
physical body to have the property to generate it - the source
property. For gravity, it is the gravitational mass. Such a
property is an assumption, which cannot be explained by a theory
using the concept of Force.) Then, fundamental constants arise,
precisely, in considerations of various mutual ``relations'' of
physical bodies, and relate to their ability to ``act'' on each
other.
Thus, if a fundamental constant is undecidable in a theory, it is
then implied that ``some relationships'' of physical bodies of the
observable world are not within its explanatory powers. An
immediate conclusion is then that the theory in question cannot
describe physical entirety.
Any theory is a description of the physical world, in the language
of Mathematics as a logical-deductive system of conceptions. Then,
if a theory has an undecidable fundamental constant in it, it is
implied that its conceptions and its (mathematical) language,
both, are inadequate to describe ``some relationships'' of
physical bodies of the observable world.
Within the proposed categorical framework, fundamental constants
can only arise from the relations of (categorical) objects. This
is an indication that the proposed categorical framework (using
measures) of universal relativity is that of a Theory of
Everything.
The program of categorical foundations for Physics then consists
of using provided (and therefrom derived) notions to obtain
\cite{catfp} the most general laws of Physics.
\section{Concluding Remarks} \label{conclude}
To conclude, we have outlined here a specific categorical program
for the foundations of physical entirety. It is based on the
concept of categorical measures, which are definable for an
arbitrary category. Evidently, it is entirely {\em independent\/}
of the mathematical nature of categorical objects, a statement
which is the categorical equivalent of the usual general
covariance. This approach, that can be rightfully called as the
Universal Relativity, is then in conformity with Einstein's
General Principle of Relativity. It is the currently known most
general mathematical framework for Physics.
One may now ``conjecture'' that all the categorical velocities
(obtainable from categorical measures) form, in general, a
groupoid category \cite{cat-b}. Provided that this ``conjecture''
holds, the formulation in \cite{oziewicz} can be one (categorical)
representation of universal relativity. Of course, categorical
measures, which are the fundamental mathematical notion than those
derived ones such as a velocity, then provide (physical)
properties of the objects of a groupoid category, which may be
said to ``describe'' the ``kinematical'' part of universal
relativity. The ``internal'' measures will, however, be outside
the scope of this kinematical representation of universal
relativity.
Now, an interesting laser interferometry experiment recently
showed \cite{braxmaier} a non-detection of a frequency shift, to
be specific, $\delta\nu/\nu \approx (4.8\pm5.3)\times10^{-12}$
over an observation period of $\sim 200$ days. This is then also
the fractional change, $\delta c/c$, in the speed of light, $c$.
Then, the non-detection of the frequency-shift in the experiment
of \cite{braxmaier} indicates that the speed of light (in vacuum)
is a {\em fundamental constant\/} that is independent of the
system of reference.
Importantly, the constancy of the speed of light irrespective of
the system of reference is an immediate consequence of the
groupoid category formulation \cite{oziewicz}.
Discussed here are therefore some ``features'' of a Theory of
Everything then.
\acknowledgments It is my pleasure to acknowledge Sunil Maharaj,
Partha Ghosh, Dharms Baboolal, Sudan Hansraj and other colleagues
in Durban for useful discussions, constant encouragement and
support. In particular, I am indebted to Sunil Maharaj and Partha
Ghosh for their insights during discussions, and to Zbigniew
Oziewicz for insightful correspondence. I am also grateful to
arxiv-moderation for suggestions, in particular of providing
mathematical background of universal relativity together with the
general description of the proposed program, that led to better
presentation.
\goodbreak
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 6,689 |
\section{Introduction}
Cosmic strings generically arise within the framework of grand unified
theories and could be produced in the early universe as a result of symmetry
braking phase transitions \cite{Kibb80,Vile85}. Although the recent
observational data on the cosmic microwave background radiation have ruled
out cosmic strings as the primary source for primordial density
perturbations, they are still candidates for the generation of a number
interesting physical effects such as the generation of gravitational waves,
high energy cosmic strings, and gamma ray bursts. Recently the cosmic
strings attract a renewed interest partly because a variant of their
formation mechanism is proposed in the framework of brane inflation \cite%
{Sara02,Cope04,Dval04}. In the simplest theoretical model describing the
infinite straight cosmic string the spacetime is locally flat except on the
string where it has a delta shaped curvature tensor. In quantum field theory
the corresponding non-trivial topology leads to non-zero vacuum expectation
values for physical observables. Explicit calculations have been done for
various fields \cite{Hell86}-\cite{Beze06}. The case of quantum fields at
non-zero temperature was also investigated \cite{Cogn94,Line92,Frol95,Line96}%
. Vacuum polarization effects by the cosmic string carying a magnetic flux
are considered in Refs. \cite{Guim95,Srir01,Spin03}. Another type of vacuum
polarization arises when boundaries are present. The imposed boundary
conditions on quantum fields alter the zero-point fluctuations spectrum and
result in additional shifts in the vacuum expectation values of physical
quantities, such as the energy density and stresses. In particular, vacuum
forces arise acting on constraining boundaries. This is the well-known
Casimir effect (for a review see, \cite{Most97}). In this paper we will
study the configuration with both types of sources for the vacuum
polarization, namely, a cylindrical boundary coaxial with a cosmic string
assuming that on the bounding surface the field obeys Robin boundary
condition. For a massive scalar field with an arbitrary curvature coupling
parameter we evaluate the Wightman function and the vacuum expectation
values of the field square and the energy-momentum tensor in both interior
and exterior regions. In addition to describing the physical structure of a
quantum field at a given point, the energy-momentum tensor acts as the
source in the Einstein equations and therefore plays an important role in
modelling a self-consistent dynamics involving the gravitational field. The
vacuum densities for a Robin cylindrical boundary in the Minkowski
background are investigated in \cite{Saha01} (see also \cite{Saha06Tar} for
the case of two coaxial cylindrical surfaces). In Ref. \cite{Khus99} a
cylindrical boundary with Dirichlet boundary condition is introduced in the
bulk of the cosmic string as an intermediate stage for the calculation of
the ground state energy of a massive scalar field in (2+1)-dimensions.
We have organized the paper as follows. The next section is devoted to the
evaluation of the Wightman function for a massive scalar field in a
generalized cosmic string spacetime in both interior and exterior regions of
a coaxial cylindrical boundary. In section \ref{sec:noboundary} we present
simple formulae for the vacuum expectation values of the field square and
the energy-momentum tensor in the corresponding boundary-free geometry. By
using the formula for the Wightman function, in section \ref{sec:inside} we
evaluate the vacuum expectation values of the field square and the
energy-momentum tensor inside a cylindrical boundary. Various limiting cases
are investigated. In section \ref{sec:outside} we consider the corresponding
quantities for the outside region. The generalization of the results for the
exterior region in the case of a general cylindrically symmetric static
model of the string core with finite support is given in section \ref%
{sec:finitethick}. Finally, the results are summarized and discussed in
section \ref{sec:Conc}.
\section{Wightman function}
\label{sec:WightFunc}
\subsection{Bulk and boundary geometries}
In this paper we consider a scalar field $\varphi $ propagating on the $(D+1)
$-dimensional background spacetime with a conical-type singularity described
by the line-element%
\begin{equation}
ds^{2}=g_{ik}dx^{i}dx^{k}=dt^{2}-dr^{2}-r^{2}d\phi
^{2}-\sum_{i=1}^{N}dz_{i}{}^{2}, \label{ds21}
\end{equation}%
with the cylindrical coordinates $(x^{1},x^{2},\ldots ,x^{D})=(r,\phi
,z_{1},\ldots ,z_{N})$, where $N=D-2$, $r\geqslant 0$, $0\leqslant \phi
\leqslant \phi _{0}$, $-\infty <z_{i}<+\infty $ and the spatial points $%
(r,\phi ,z_{1},\ldots ,z_{N})$ and $(r,\phi +\phi _{0},z_{1},\ldots ,z_{N})$
are to be identified. In the standard $D=3$ cosmic string case the planar
angle deficit is related to the mass per unit length of the string $\mu $ by
$2\pi -\phi _{0}=8\pi G\mu $, where $G$ is the Newton gravitational
constant. It is interesting to note that the effective metric produced in
superfluid $^{3}\mathrm{He-A}$ by a radial disgyration is described by the $%
D=3$ line element (\ref{ds21}) with the negative angle deficit, that is $%
\phi _{0}>2\pi $, which corresponds to the negative mass of the topological
object \cite{Volo98}.
For a free massive field with curvature coupling parameter $\xi $ the field
equation has the form
\begin{equation}
\left( \nabla ^{i}\nabla _{i}+m^{2}+\xi R\right) \varphi (x)=0,
\label{fieldeq}
\end{equation}%
where $\nabla _{i}$ is the covariant derivative operator and $R$ is the
scalar curvature for the background spacetime. The values of the curvature
coupling parameter $\xi =0$ and $\xi =\xi _{D}\equiv (D-1)/4D$ correspond to
the most important special cases of minimally and conformally coupled
scalars, respectively. We assume that the field obeys Robin boundary
condition on the cylindrical surface with radius $a$, coaxial with the
string:
\begin{equation}
\left( A+B\frac{\partial }{\partial r}\right) \varphi =0,\quad r=a.
\label{Dirbc}
\end{equation}%
Of course, all results in what follows will depend on the ratio of the
coefficients in this boundary condition. However, to keep the transition to
Dirichlet and Neumann cases transparent, we use the form (\ref{Dirbc}). In
this section we are interested in the corresponding positive frequency
Wightman function in the regions inside and outside of the cylindrical
surface due to the fact that the vacuum expectation values (VEVs) of the
field square and the energy-momentum tensor are expressed in terms of this
function. In addition, the response of a particle detector in an arbitrary
state of motion is determined by this function (see, for instance, \cite%
{Birr82}). By expanding the field operator in terms of a complete set of
eigenfunctions $\{\varphi _{\mathbf{\alpha }}(x),\varphi _{\mathbf{\alpha }%
}^{\ast }(x)\}$ satisfying the boundary condition and using the standard
commutation relations, the Wightman function is presented as the mode-sum
\begin{equation}
\langle 0|\varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0\rangle =\sum_{\mathbf{\alpha }%
}\varphi _{\mathbf{\alpha }}(x)\varphi _{\mathbf{\alpha }}^{\ast }(x),
\label{vevWf}
\end{equation}%
where $\alpha $ is a collective notation for the quantum numbers specifying
the solution and $|0\rangle $ is the amplitude for the corresponding vacuum
state. The form of the eigenfunctions is different for the regions inside
and outside the cylindrical shell and we will consider these regions
separately.
\subsection{Wightman function in the region inside the shell}
In the region inside the cylindrical surface the eigenfunctions satisfying
the periodicity condition on $\phi =\phi _{0}$ are specified by the set of
quantum numbers $\alpha =(n,\gamma ,\mathbf{k})$, $n=0,\pm 1,\pm 2,\cdots $,
$\mathbf{k}=(k_{1},\ldots ,k_{N})$, $-\infty <k_{j}<\infty $, and have the
form
\begin{eqnarray}
\varphi _{\alpha }(x) &=&\beta _{\alpha }J_{q\left\vert n\right\vert
}(\gamma r)\exp \left( iqn\phi +i\mathbf{kr}_{\parallel }-i\omega t\right) ,
\label{eigfunccirc} \\
\omega &=&\sqrt{\gamma ^{2}+k^{2}+m^{2}},\quad q=2\pi /\phi _{0}, \label{qu}
\end{eqnarray}%
where $\mathbf{r}_{\parallel }=(z_{1},\ldots ,z_{N})$ and $J_{l}(z)$ is the
Bessel function. The eigenvalues for the quantum number $\gamma $ are
quantized by the boundary condition (\ref{Dirbc}) on the cylindrical surface
$r=a$. From this condition it follows that for a given $n$ the possible
values of $\gamma $ are determined by the relation
\begin{equation}
\gamma =\lambda _{n,j}/a,\quad j=1,2,\cdots , \label{ganval}
\end{equation}%
where $\lambda _{n,j}$ are the positive zeros of the function $\bar{J}%
_{q|n|}(z)$, $\bar{J}_{q|n|}(\lambda _{n,j})=0$, arranged in ascending
order, $\lambda _{n,j}<\lambda _{n,j+1}$, $n=0,1,2,\ldots $. Here and in
what follows, for a given function $f(z)$, we use the notation%
\begin{equation}
\bar{f}(z)=Af(z)+\left( B/a\right) zf^{\prime }(z). \label{fbar}
\end{equation}%
It is well-known that for real $A$ and $B$ all zeros of the function $\bar{J}%
_{q|n|}(z)$ are simple and real, except the case $Aa/B<-q|n|$ when there are
two purely imaginary zeros. In the following we will assume the values of $%
Aa/B$ for which all zeros are real.
The coefficient $\beta _{\alpha }$ in (\ref{eigfunccirc}) is determined from
the normalization condition based on the standard Klein-Gordon scalar
product with the integration over the region inside the cylindrical surface
and is equal to
\begin{equation}
\beta _{\alpha }^{2}=\frac{\lambda _{n,j}T_{qn}(\lambda _{n,j})}{(2\pi
)^{N}\omega \phi _{0}a^{2}}, \label{betalf}
\end{equation}%
where we have introduced the notation%
\begin{equation}
T_{qn}(z)=z\left[ \left( z^{2}-q^{2}n^{2}\right)
J_{q|n|}^{2}(z)+z^{2}J_{q|n|}^{\prime 2}(z)\right] ^{-1}. \label{Tqn}
\end{equation}%
Substituting the eigenfunctions (\ref{eigfunccirc}) into the mode-sum
formula (\ref{vevWf}) with a set of quantum numbers $\alpha =(nj\mathbf{k})$%
, for the positive frequency Wightman function one finds
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle 0|\varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0\rangle &=&2\int d^{N}\mathbf{k}%
\,e^{i\mathbf{k}(\mathbf{r}_{\parallel }-\mathbf{r}_{\parallel }^{\prime })}%
\sideset{}{'}{\sum}_{n=0}^{\infty }\cos [qn(\phi -\phi ^{\prime })] \notag
\\
&&\times \sum_{j=1}^{\infty }\beta _{\alpha }^{2}J_{qn}(\gamma
r)J_{qn}(\gamma r^{\prime })e^{-i\omega (t-t^{\prime })}|_{\gamma =\lambda
_{n,j}/a}, \label{Wf1}
\end{eqnarray}%
where the prime means that the summand with $n=0$ should be taken with the
weight 1/2. As we do not know the explicit expressions for the eigenvalues $%
\lambda _{n,j}$ as functions on $n$ and $j$, and the summands in the series
over $j$ are strongly oscillating functions for large values of $j$, this
formula is not convenient for the further evaluation of the VEVs of the
field square and the energy-momentum tensor. In addition, the expression on
the right of (\ref{Wf1}) is divergent in the coincidence limit and some
renormalization procedure is needed to extract finite result for the VEVs of
the field square and the energy-momentum tensor. To obtain an alternative
form for the Wightman function we will apply to the sum over $j$ a variant
of the generalized Abel-Plana summation formula \cite{Saha87}
\begin{eqnarray}
\sum_{j=1}^{\infty }T_{qn}(\lambda _{n,j})f(\lambda _{n,j}) &=&\frac{1}{2}%
\int_{0}^{\infty }dz\,f(z)-\frac{1}{2\pi }\int_{0}^{\infty }dz\,\frac{\bar{K}%
_{qn}(z)}{\bar{I}_{qn}(z)} \notag \\
&&\times \left[ e^{-qn\pi i}f(ze^{\frac{\pi i}{2}})+e^{qn\pi i}f(ze^{-\frac{%
\pi i}{2}})\right] , \label{sumform1AP}
\end{eqnarray}%
where $I_{l}(z)$ and $K_{l}(z)$ are the modified Bessel functions. This
formula is valid for functions $f(z)$ analytic in the right half-plane of
the complex variable $z=x+iy$ and satisfying the condition $|f(z)|<\epsilon
(x)e^{c_{1}|y|}$, $c_{1}<2$, for $\left\vert z\right\vert \rightarrow \infty
$ and the condition $f(z)=o(z^{2q\left\vert n\right\vert -1})$ for $%
z\rightarrow 0$, where $\epsilon (x)\rightarrow 0$ for $x\rightarrow \infty $%
. By taking in formula (\ref{sumform1AP}) $qn=1/2$ and $B=0$, as a special
case, we obtain the Abel-Plana formula.
To evaluate the sum over $j$ in (\ref{Wf1}) as a function $f(z)$ we choose
\begin{equation}
f(z)=\frac{zJ_{qn}(zr/a)J_{qn}(zr^{\prime }/a)}{\sqrt{k^{2}+m^{2}+z^{2}/a^{2}%
}}\exp \left[ -i\sqrt{k^{2}+m^{2}+z^{2}/a^{2}}(t-t^{\prime })\right] .
\label{ftosum}
\end{equation}%
Using the asymptotic formulae of the Bessel functions for large values of
the argument when $n$ is fixed (see, e.g., \cite{hand}), we can see that for
the function $f(z)$ given in (\ref{ftosum}), the condition to formula (\ref%
{sumform1AP}) to be satisfied is $r+r^{\prime }+|t-t^{\prime }|<2a$. In
particular, this is the case in the coincidence limit $t=t^{\prime }$ for
the region under consideration, $r,r^{\prime }<a$. Formula (\ref{sumform1AP}%
) allows to present the Wightman function in the form%
\begin{equation}
\langle 0|\varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0\rangle =\langle 0_{s}|\varphi
(x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0_{s}\rangle +\langle \varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime
})\rangle _{a}, \label{Wf2}
\end{equation}%
where%
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle 0_{s}|\varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0_{s}\rangle &=&\frac{1}{%
\phi _{0}}\int \frac{d^{N}\mathbf{k}}{(2\pi )^{N}}e^{i\mathbf{k}(\mathbf{r}%
_{\parallel }-\mathbf{r}_{\parallel }^{\prime })}\int_{0}^{\infty }dz\frac{%
ze^{-i(t-t^{\prime })\sqrt{z^{2}+k^{2}+m^{2}}}}{\sqrt{z^{2}+k^{2}+m^{2}}}
\notag \\
&&\times \sideset{}{'}{\sum}_{n=0}^{\infty }\cos [qn(\phi -\phi ^{\prime
})]J_{qn}(zr)J_{qn}(zr^{\prime }), \label{Wf00}
\end{eqnarray}%
and%
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle \varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })\rangle _{a} &=&-\frac{2}{\pi \phi
_{0}}\int \frac{d^{N}\mathbf{k}}{(2\pi )^{N}}e^{i\mathbf{k}(\mathbf{r}%
_{\parallel }-\mathbf{r}_{\parallel }^{\prime })}\int_{\sqrt{k^{2}+m^{2}}%
}^{\infty }dz\frac{z\cosh \left[ (t-t^{\prime })\sqrt{z^{2}-k^{2}-m^{2}}%
\right] }{\sqrt{z^{2}-k^{2}-m^{2}}} \notag \\
&&\times \sideset{}{'}{\sum}_{n=0}^{\infty }\cos [qn(\phi -\phi ^{\prime
})]I_{qn}(zr)I_{qn}(zr^{\prime })\frac{\bar{K}_{qn}(za)}{\bar{I}_{qn}(za)}.
\label{Wfa0}
\end{eqnarray}%
In the limit $a\rightarrow \infty $ for fixed $r,r^{\prime }$, the term $%
\langle \varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })\rangle _{a}$ vanishes and, hence,
the term $\langle 0_{s}|\varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0_{s}\rangle $ is
the Wightman function for the geometry of a cosmic string without a
cylindrical boundary with the corresponding vacuum state $|0_{s}\rangle $.
Consequently, the term $\langle \varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })\rangle _{a}$
is induced by the presence of the cylindrical boundary. Hence, the
application of the generalized Abel-Plana formula allows us to extract from
the Wightman function the part due to the string without a cylindrical
boundary. For points away from the cylindrical surface the additional part
induced by this surface, formula (\ref{Wfa0}), is finite in the coincidence
limit and the renormalization is needed only for the part coming from (\ref%
{Wf00}).
\subsection{Wightman function in the exterior region}
\label{subsec:exterior}
Now we turn to the region outside the cylindrical shell, $r>a$. In general,
the coefficients in Robin boundary condition (\ref{Dirbc}) for this region
can be different from those for the interior region. However, in order to
not complicate the formulae we use the same notations. The corresponding
eigenfunctions satisfying boundary conditions (\ref{Dirbc}) are obtained
from (\ref{eigfunccirc}) by the replacement
\begin{equation}
J_{qn}(\gamma r)\rightarrow g_{qn}(\gamma r,\gamma a)\equiv J_{qn}(\gamma r)%
\bar{Y}_{qn}(\gamma a)-\bar{J}_{qn}(\gamma a)Y_{qn}(\gamma r),
\label{replace}
\end{equation}%
where $Y_{qn}(z)$ is the Neumann function. Now the spectrum for
the quantum number $\gamma $ is continuous. To determine the
corresponding normalization coefficient $\beta _{\alpha }$, we
note that as the normalization integral diverges in the limit
$\gamma =\gamma ^{\prime }$, the main contribution into the
integral over radial coordinate comes from the large values of $r$
when the Bessel functions can be replaced by their asymptotics for
large arguments. The resulting integral is elementary and for the
normalization
coefficient in the region $r>a$ one finds%
\begin{equation}
\beta _{\alpha }^{2}=\frac{(2\pi )^{2-D}\gamma }{2\phi _{0}\omega \left[
\bar{J}_{qn}^{2}(\gamma a)+\bar{Y}_{qn}^{2}(\gamma a)\right] }.
\label{norcoefext}
\end{equation}%
Substituting the corresponding eigenfunctions into the mode-sum formula (\ref%
{vevWf}), the positive frequency Whightman function can be written in the
form
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle 0|\varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0\rangle &=&\frac{1}{\phi _{0}}%
\int \frac{d^{N}{\mathbf{k}}}{(2\pi )^{N}}e^{i{\mathbf{k}}({\mathbf{r}}%
_{\parallel }-{\mathbf{r}}_{\parallel }^{\prime })}\sideset{}{'}{\sum}%
_{n=0}^{\infty }\cos [qn(\phi -\phi ^{\prime })] \notag \\
&&\times \int_{0}^{\infty }d\gamma \frac{\gamma g_{qn}(\gamma r,\gamma
a)g_{qn}(\gamma r^{\prime },\gamma a)}{\bar{J}_{qn}^{2}(\gamma a)+\bar{Y}%
_{qn}^{2}(\gamma a)}\frac{\exp \left[ i(t^{\prime }-t)\sqrt{\gamma ^{2}+k^{2}%
}\right] }{\sqrt{\gamma ^{2}+k^{2}}}. \label{Wfext0}
\end{eqnarray}%
To find the part in the Wightman function induced by the presence of the
cylindrical shell we subtract from (\ref{Wfext0}) the corresponding function
for the geometry of a cosmic string without a cylindrical shell, given by (%
\ref{Wf00}). In order to evaluate the corresponding difference we use the
relation
\begin{equation}
\frac{g_{qn}(\gamma r,\gamma a)g_{qn}(\gamma r^{\prime },\gamma a)}{\bar{J}%
_{qn}^{2}(\gamma a)+\bar{Y}_{qn}^{2}(\gamma a)}-J_{qn}(\gamma
r)J_{qn}(\gamma r^{\prime })=-\frac{1}{2}\sum_{s=1}^{2}\frac{\bar{J}%
_{qn}(\gamma a)}{H_{qn}^{(s)}(\gamma a)}H_{qn}^{(s)}(\gamma
r)H_{qn}^{(s)}(\gamma r^{\prime }), \label{relext}
\end{equation}%
where $H_{qn}^{(s)}(z)$, $s=1,2$ are the Hankel functions. This allows to
present the Wightman function in the form (\ref{Wf2}) with the cylindrical
shell induced part given by
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle \varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })\rangle _{a} &=&-\frac{1}{2\phi _{0}}%
\int \frac{d^{N}{\mathbf{k}}}{(2\pi )^{N}}e^{i{\mathbf{k}}({\mathbf{r}}%
_{\parallel }-{\mathbf{r}}_{\parallel }^{\prime })}\sideset{}{'}{\sum}%
_{n=0}^{\infty }\cos [qn(\phi -\phi ^{\prime
})]\sum_{s=1}^{2}\int_{0}^{\infty }d\gamma \gamma \notag \\
&&\times \frac{H_{qn}^{(s)}(\gamma r)H_{qn}^{(s)}(\gamma r^{\prime })}{\sqrt{%
\gamma ^{2}+k^{2}}}\frac{\bar{J}_{qn}(\gamma a)}{H_{qn}^{(s)}(\gamma a)}\exp %
\left[ i(t^{\prime }-t)\sqrt{\gamma ^{2}+k^{2}}\right] . \label{Wfext2}
\end{eqnarray}%
On the complex plane $\gamma $, we rotate the integration contour on the
right of this formula by the angle $\pi /2$ for $s=1$ and by the angle $-\pi
/2$ for $s=2$. The integrals over the segments $(0,ik)$ and $(0,-ik)$ cancel
out and after introducing the modified Bessel functions we obtain
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle \varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })\rangle _{a} &=&-\frac{2}{\pi \phi
_{0}}\int \frac{d^{N}\mathbf{k}}{(2\pi )^{N}}e^{i\mathbf{k}(\mathbf{r}%
_{\parallel }-\mathbf{r}_{\parallel }^{\prime })}\int_{k}^{\infty }dz\frac{%
z\cosh \left[ (t-t^{\prime })\sqrt{z^{2}-k^{2}}\right] }{\sqrt{z^{2}-k^{2}}}
\notag \\
&&\times \sideset{}{'}{\sum}_{n=0}^{\infty }\cos [qn(\phi -\phi ^{\prime
})]K_{qn}(zr)K_{qn}(zr^{\prime })\frac{\bar{I}_{qn}(za)}{\bar{K}_{qn}(za)}.
\label{Wfa0ext}
\end{eqnarray}%
As we see the boundary induced part of the Wightman function for the
exterior region is obtained from the corresponding part in the interior
region by the replacements $I\rightleftarrows K$. Note that in formulae (\ref%
{Wf00}), (\ref{Wfa0}) and (\ref{Wfa0ext}) the integration over the
directions of the vector $\mathbf{k}$ can be done using the formula%
\begin{equation}
\int \frac{d^{N}{\mathbf{k}}}{(2\pi )^{N}}e^{i{\mathbf{kr}}%
}F(k)=\int_{0}^{\infty }\frac{dk}{(2\pi )^{N/2}}k^{N-1}F(k)\frac{J_{N/2-1}(k|%
\mathbf{x}|)}{(k|\mathbf{x}|)^{N/2-1}}, \label{intformoverk}
\end{equation}%
for a given function $F(k)$.
\section{Vacuum expectation values for a string without a cylindrical
boundary}
\label{sec:noboundary}
In this section we consider the geometry of a string without a cylindrical
boundary. The one-loop quantum effects of the scalar field in this geometry
have been considered in a large number of papers. The VEV of the
energy-momentum tensor for a conformally coupled $D=3$ massless scalar field
was evaluated in Ref. \cite{Hell86}. The case of an arbitrary curvature
coupling is considered in Refs. \cite{Frol87,Dowk87,Smit89}. The integral
representation for the Green's function for a massive scalar field is
considered in Refs. \cite{Line87,Shir92,Guim94,More95}. The corresponding
local zeta functions are discussed in Refs. \cite{Cogn94,Iell97}. However,
to our knowledge, no closed formulae have been given in the literature for
the VEVs of the field square and the energy-momentum tensor in the case of a
massive field and in an arbitrary number of dimensions. The mass corrections
in the limit $mr\ll 1$ have been considered in Refs. \cite{More95,Iell97}.
Below we will derive simple exact formulae for the VEVs of both field square
and the energy-momentum tensor assuming that the parameter $q$ is an
integer. These formulae will also shed light on the qualitative behavior of
the VEVs in the case of non-integer $q$. The Wightman function for the
geometry of a string without cylindrical boundary is given by formula (\ref%
{Wf00}). For a field with the mass $m$ and in the case of $N$ parallel
dimensions along the string we denote this function as $G_{(N)}^{+}(x,x^{%
\prime },m)$. The following recurrence relation is a simple consequence of
formula (\ref{Wf00}):%
\begin{equation}
G_{(N)}^{+}(x,x^{\prime },m)=\frac{1}{\pi }\int_{0}^{\infty }dk_{N}\cos %
\left[ k_{N}(z_{N}-z_{N}^{\prime })\right] G_{(N-1)}^{+}(x,x^{\prime },\sqrt{%
k_{N}^{2}+m^{2}}). \label{RecW}
\end{equation}%
Of course, this formula takes place for any other two-point function (see
Ref. \cite{Guim94} for the case of Green function). After the integration
over the angular part of the wave vector $\mathbf{k}$ using formula (\ref%
{intformoverk}), the integral over $k$ is evaluated on the base of formulae
given in Ref. \cite{Prud86}. Assuming that $|\mathbf{r}_{\parallel }-\mathbf{%
r}_{\parallel }^{\prime }|>|t-t^{\prime }|$, one obtains the following
expression%
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle 0_{s}|\varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0_{s}\rangle &=&\frac{%
v^{1-\nu }}{2^{\nu -1}\pi ^{\nu }\phi _{0}}\int_{0}^{\infty }dz\,z\left(
z^{2}+m^{2}\right) ^{\frac{\nu -1}{2}}K_{\nu -1}(v\sqrt{z^{2}+m^{2}}) \notag
\\
&&\times \sideset{}{'}{\sum}_{n=0}^{\infty }\cos [qn(\phi -\phi ^{\prime
})]J_{qn}(zr)J_{qn}(zr^{\prime }), \label{Wfpurestring}
\end{eqnarray}%
where we have introduced the notations%
\begin{equation}
\nu =\frac{D-1}{2},\;v=|(\mathbf{r}_{\parallel }-\mathbf{r}_{\parallel
}^{\prime })^{2}-(t-t^{\prime })^{2}|^{1/2}. \label{ve}
\end{equation}%
The corresponding formula in the case $|\mathbf{r}_{\parallel }-\mathbf{r}%
_{\parallel }^{\prime }|<|t-t^{\prime }|$ is obtained from (\ref%
{Wfpurestring}) by the replacement $K_{\nu -1}\rightarrow (\pi /2)e^{i\pi
(\nu -1/2)}H_{\nu -1}^{(1)}$. In special cases, formula (\ref{Wfpurestring})
agrees with the results form Refs. \cite{Smit89,Shir92}. The analog formula
for the Green's function in the case of more general background of the
spinning cone and for a twisted scalar field is given in \cite{More95}. For
integer values of the parameter $q$ the expression for the Wightman function
can be further simplified by using the formula \cite{Prud86} (see also Ref.
\cite{Davi88})%
\begin{equation}
\sideset{}{'}{\sum}_{n=0}^{\infty }\cos [qn(\phi -\phi ^{\prime
})]J_{qn}(zr)J_{qn}(zr^{\prime })=\frac{1}{2q}\sum_{l=0}^{q-1}J_{0}\left(
zu_{l}\right) , \label{formn1}
\end{equation}%
where
\begin{equation}
u_{l}=r^{2}+r^{\prime 2}-2rr^{\prime }\cos (l\phi _{0}+\phi -\phi ^{\prime
}). \label{njpm}
\end{equation}%
By using (\ref{formn1}) in Eq. (\ref{Wfpurestring}) and evaluating the
integral over $z$ with the help of a formula from \cite{Prud86}, we arrive
at the following expression%
\begin{equation}
\langle 0_{s}|\varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0_{s}\rangle =\frac{m^{\frac{%
D-1}{2}}}{(2\pi )^{\frac{D+1}{2}}}\sum_{l=0}^{q-1}\frac{K_{\nu }(m\sqrt{%
u_{l}^{2}+v^{2}})}{\left( u_{l}^{2}+v^{2}\right) ^{\nu /2}}, \label{Wf02n}
\end{equation}%
where $\nu $ and $v$ are defined by formulae (\ref{ve}). The $l=0$ term in
formula (\ref{Wf02n}) coincides with the Wightman function of the Minkowski
space without boundaries, and the Wightman function for the geometry of the
string is a sum of $q$ images of the Minkowski spacetime functions. We could
obtain this result directly by using the method of images (see also \cite%
{Smit89,Sour92} for $D=3$ and $D=2$ massless cases).
The VEV of the field square is formally given by taking the coincidence
limit $x^{\prime }\rightarrow x$ of the Wightman function. However, this
procedure leads to a divergent result. In order to obtain a finite and well
defined result, we apply the renormalization procedure which corresponds to
the subtraction from the Wightman function in the geometry of the cosmic
string the corresponding function in the background Minkowski spacetime. So
the renormalized VEV\ of the field square reads%
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)} &=&\langle 0_{s}|\varphi
^{2}|0_{s}\rangle -\langle 0_{M}|\varphi ^{2}|0_{M}\rangle \notag \\
&=&\frac{m^{D-1}}{(2\pi )^{\frac{D+1}{2}}}\sum_{l=1}^{q-1}\frac{K_{\nu
}(2mry_{l})}{(2mry_{l})^{\nu }}, \label{phi2w}
\end{eqnarray}%
where we used the notation%
\begin{equation}
\;y_{l}=\sin (\pi l/q). \label{nj}
\end{equation}%
From (\ref{phi2w}) it follows that the renormalized VEV of the field square
is positive everywhere. In the limit $mr\gg 1/\sin (\pi /q)$, the main
contribution to the VEV (\ref{Wf02n}) comes from the terms with $l=1$ and $%
l=q-1$ and to the leading order one finds%
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}\approx \frac{m^{D/2-1}}{%
(4\pi r)^{D/2}}\frac{e^{-2mr\sin (\pi /q)}}{\sin ^{D/2}(\pi /q)},
\label{phi20largem}
\end{equation}%
with exponentially suppressed VEV.
In the case of a massless scalar field we obtain from (\ref{phi2w}) the
following result%
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}=\frac{\Gamma ((D-1)/2)}{%
(4\pi )^{\frac{D+1}{2}}r^{D-1}}\sum_{l=1}^{q-1}y_{l}^{1-D}.
\label{phi2wmassless}
\end{equation}%
For the case $D=2$ this agree with the result in Ref. \cite{Sour92}. From (%
\ref{phi2w}) it follows that in the case of a massive field the expression
on the right of this formula determines the leading term in the asymptotic
expansion of the VEV\ of the field square near the string. For odd values of
$D$ the summation on the right of formula (\ref{phi2wmassless}) can be done
by making use of the formulae%
\begin{equation}
\mathcal{I}_{n+2}(x)=\frac{\mathcal{I}_{n}^{\prime \prime }(x)+n^{2}\mathcal{%
I}_{n}(x)}{n(n+1)},\quad \mathcal{I}_{2}(x)=q^{2}\sin ^{-2}(qx)-\sin ^{-2}x,
\label{In+2}
\end{equation}%
for the sum%
\begin{equation}
\mathcal{I}_{n}(x)=\sum_{l=1}^{q-1}\sin ^{-n}\left( x+l\pi /q\right) .
\label{Inx}
\end{equation}%
In particular, one has $\mathcal{I}_{2}(0)=(q^{2}-1)/3$ and in the case $D=3$
we obtain the well-known result for the VEV of the field square in the
massless case \cite{Line87,Smit89}. For $D=5$, by using recurrence relation (%
\ref{In+2}) for the evaluation of $\mathcal{I}_{4}(x)$, we find $\mathcal{I}%
_{4}(0)=(q^{2}-1)(q^{2}+11)/45$ and%
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}=\frac{(q^{2}-1)(q^{2}+11)}{%
2880\pi ^{3}r^{4}},\;D=5. \label{phi2D5}
\end{equation}%
It is worth call attention to the fact that the resulting expressions are
analytic functions of $q$ and by analytic continuation they are valid for
all values of $q$.
Now we turn to the VEVs of the energy-momentum tensor in the cosmic string
spacetime without boundaries. These VEVs can be evaluated by making use of
the formula
\begin{equation}
\langle 0|T_{ik}(x)|0\rangle =\lim_{x^{\prime }\rightarrow x}\nabla
_{i}\nabla _{k}^{\prime }\langle 0|\varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })|0\rangle
+\left[ \left( \xi -\frac{1}{4}\right) g_{ik}\nabla ^{l}\nabla _{l}-\xi
\nabla _{i}\nabla _{k}\right] \langle 0|\varphi ^{2}(x)|0\rangle ,
\label{vevEMTWf}
\end{equation}%
and the expressions for the Wightman function (\ref{Wf02n}) and for VEV of
the field square. For the non-zero components one obtains
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle T_{0}^{0}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)} &=&\frac{m^{D+1}}{(2\pi )^{%
\frac{D+1}{2}}}\sum_{l=1}^{q-1}\left\{ (1-4\xi )y_{l}^{2}\frac{K_{\nu
+2}(2mry_{l})}{(2mry_{l})^{\nu }}\right. \notag \\
&&\left. +\left[ 2(4\xi -1)y_{l}^{2}-1\right] \frac{K_{\nu +1}(2mry_{l})}{%
(2mry_{l})^{\nu +1}}\right\} , \label{T00st} \\
\langle T_{1}^{1}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)} &=&\frac{m^{D+1}}{(2\pi )^{%
\frac{D+1}{2}}}\sum_{l=1}^{q-1}\left( 4\xi y_{l}^{2}-1\right) \frac{K_{\nu
+1}(2mry_{l})}{(2mry_{l})^{\nu +1}}, \label{T11st} \\
\langle T_{2}^{2}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)} &=&\frac{m^{D+1}}{(2\pi )^{%
\frac{D+1}{2}}}\sum_{l=1}^{q-1}\left( 4\xi y_{l}^{2}-1\right) \left[ \frac{%
K_{\nu +1}(2mry_{l})}{(2mry_{l})^{\nu +1}}-\frac{K_{\nu +2}(2mry_{l})}{%
(2mry_{l})^{\nu }}\right] , \label{T22st}
\end{eqnarray}%
and for the components in the directions parallel to the string we have (no
summation over $i$)%
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}=\langle T_{0}^{0}\rangle _{%
\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)},\;i=3,\ldots ,D. \label{Tiist}
\end{equation}%
It can be explicitly checked that for a conformally coupled
massless scalar field this tensor is traceless. Of course, as the
background spacetime is locally flat, we could expect that the
trace anomaly is absent. From the continuity equation $\nabla
_{k}T_{i}^{k} =0$ for the energy-momentum tensor
one has the following relation for the radial and azimuthal components:%
\begin{equation}
\partial _{r}\left( r T_{1}^{1} \right) = T_{2}^{2} .
\label{conteq2}
\end{equation}%
It can be easily checked that the VEVs given by (\ref{T11st}), (\ref{T22st})
satisfy this equation. For $\xi \leqslant 1/4$ the radial stress is negative
and one has the relation $\langle T_{2}^{2}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}%
}^{(s)}>-\nu \langle T_{1}^{1}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}$. In particular,
this is the case for minimally and conformally coupled scalar fields. In the
limit $mr\gg 1/\sin (\pi /q)$ to the leading order we have the following
relations%
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle T_{0}^{0}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)} &\approx &(1-4\xi )m^{2}\sin
^{2}(\pi /q)\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)},\;
\label{Tii0largem} \\
\langle T_{2}^{2}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)} &\approx &m^{2}\left[ 1-4\xi
\sin ^{2}(\pi /q)\right] \langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)},
\label{T220largem}
\end{eqnarray}%
where the asymptotic expression for the VEV of the field square is given by
formula (\ref{phi20largem}). For the radial stress one has $\langle
T_{1}^{1}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}\approx -\langle T_{2}^{2}\rangle _{%
\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}/\left[ 2mr\sin (\pi /q)\right] $. In the same limit the
energy density is positive for both minimally and conformally coupled
fields. In figure \ref{fig1} the vacuum energy density is plotted for
massive $D=3$ minimally and conformally coupled scalar fields, as a function
of $mr$ for various values of the parameter $q$. As it has been mentioned
above, for large values $mr$ the energy density tends to zero, being
positive for both minimal and conformal couplings. For the latter case the
energy density is negative near the string for $q>1$ and, hence, it has a
maximum for some intermediate value of $mr$. For a minimally coupled scalar
the energy density near the string is negative for $q^{2}>19$ and positive
for $1<q^{2}<19$.
\begin{figure}[tbph]
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{cc}
\epsfig{figure=Sahfig1a.eps,width=7.cm,height=5.5cm} & \quad %
\epsfig{figure=Sahfig1b.eps,width=7.cm,height=5.5cm}%
\end{tabular}%
\end{center}
\caption{Vacuum energy density divided by $m^{D+1}$, $\langle
T_{0}^{0}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}/m^{D+1}$, for minimally (left panel)
and conformally (right panel) coupled $D=3$ scalar fields as a function on $%
mr $ for various values of the parameter $q$ (the numbers near the curves).}
\label{fig1}
\end{figure}
The formulae for the components of the vacuum energy-momentum tensor in the
case of a massless scalar field are obtained in the limit $m\rightarrow 0$
(no summation over $i$):%
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}=\frac{\Gamma ((D+1)/2)}{%
2(4\pi )^{\frac{D+1}{2}}r^{D+1}}\sum_{l=1}^{q-1}\frac{f^{(i)}(y_{l})}{%
y_{l}^{D+1}}, \label{Tiisrenm0}
\end{equation}%
where%
\begin{equation}
f^{(0)}(y_{l})=(1-4\xi )(D-1)y_{l}^{2}-1,\;f^{(1)}(y_{l})=4\xi y_{l}^{2}-1,
\label{fisrenm0}
\end{equation}%
and the vacuum stresses obey the relation $\langle T_{2}^{2}\rangle _{%
\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}=-D\langle T_{1}^{1}\rangle _{\mathrm{ren}}^{(s)}$. In
particular, for the case $D=3$, by using the expressions for $\mathcal{I}%
_{2}(0)$ and $\mathcal{I}_{4}(0)$ given before, we obtain the result derived
in \cite{Frol87,Dowk87,Smit89}. In the case of a massive scalar field, the
expression on the right of Eq. (\ref{Tiisrenm0}) determines the leading term
in the asymptotic expansion of the vacuum energy-momentum tensor near the
string.
\section{Field square and the energy-momentum tensor inside a cylindrical
shell}
\label{sec:inside}
\subsection{VEV of the field square}
\label{subsec:phi2in}
We now turn to the geometry of a string with additional
cylindrical boundary of radius $a$. Taking the coincidence limit
$x^{\prime }\rightarrow x$ in
formula (\ref{Wf2}) for the Wightman function and integrating over $\mathbf{k%
}$ with the help of the formula
\begin{equation}
\int d^{N}\mathbf{k}\int_{\sqrt{k^{2}+m^{2}}}^{\infty }\frac{k^{s}g(z)dz}{%
\sqrt{z^{2}-k^{2}-m^{2}}}=\frac{\pi ^{N/2}}{\Gamma (N/2)}B\left( \frac{N+s}{2%
},\frac{1}{2}\right) \int_{m}^{\infty }dz\,\left( z^{2}-m^{2}\right) ^{\frac{%
N+s-1}{2}}g(z), \label{intk}
\end{equation}%
where $B(x,y)$ is the Euler beta function, the VEV of the field square is
presented as a sum of two terms%
\begin{equation}
\langle 0|\varphi ^{2}|0\rangle =\langle 0_{s}|\varphi ^{2}|0_{s}\rangle
+\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}. \label{phi2a}
\end{equation}%
The second term on the right of this formula is induced by the cylindrical
boundary and is given by the formula%
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}=-\frac{A_{D}}{\phi _{0}}\sideset{}{'}{\sum}%
_{n=0}^{\infty }\int_{m}^{\infty }dz\,z\left( z^{2}-m^{2}\right) ^{\frac{D-3%
}{2}}\frac{\bar{K}_{qn}(za)}{\bar{I}_{qn}(za)}I_{qn}^{2}(zr), \label{phi2a1}
\end{equation}%
where we have introduced the notation%
\begin{equation}
A_{D}=\frac{2^{3-D}\pi ^{\frac{1-D}{2}}}{\Gamma \left( \frac{D-1}{2}\right) }%
. \label{AD}
\end{equation}%
For the points away from the cylindrical surface, $r<a$, the integral in (%
\ref{phi2a1}) is exponentially convergent in the upper limit and the
boundary-induced part in the VEV of the field square is finite. In
particular this part is negative for Dirichlet scalar and is positive for
Neumann scalar. Near the string, $r\ll a$, the main contribution to $\langle
\varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}$ comes from the summand with $n=0$ and one has%
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}\approx -\frac{A_{D}}{2a^{D-1}\phi _{0}}%
\int_{ma}^{\infty }dz\,\,z\left( z^{2}-m^{2}a^{2}\right) ^{\frac{D-3}{2}}%
\frac{\bar{K}_{0}(z)}{\bar{I}_{0}(z)}. \label{phi2ar0}
\end{equation}%
As the boundary-free renormalized VEV diverges on the string, we conclude
from here that near the string the main contribution to the VEV of the field
square comes from this part. In particular, on the base of the results from
the previous section we see that for integer values $q$ the VEV of the field
square is positive near the string.
The part $\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}$ diverges on the cylindrical
surface $r=a$. Near this surface the main contribution into (\ref{phi2a1})
comes from large values of $n$. Introducing a new integration variable $%
z\rightarrow nqz$, replacing the modified Bessel functions by their uniform
asymptotic expansions for large values of the order (see, for instance, \cite%
{hand}), and expanding over $a-r$, up to the leading order, one finds%
\begin{eqnarray}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a} &\approx &-\frac{(q/2a)^{D-1}(2\delta
_{B0}-1)}{\pi ^{\frac{D+1}{2}}\Gamma \left( \frac{D-1}{2}\right) }%
\int_{0}^{\infty }dz\frac{z^{D-1}}{\sqrt{1+z^{2}}}\sum_{n=1}^{\infty
}n^{D-2}e^{-2nq(1-r/a)\sqrt{1+z^{2}}} \notag \\
&\approx &-\frac{(2\delta _{B0}-1)\Gamma \left( \frac{D-1}{2}\right) }{(4\pi
)^{\frac{D+1}{2}}(a-r)^{D-1}}. \label{Phi2neara}
\end{eqnarray}%
This leading behavior is the same as that for a cylindrical surface of
radius $a$ in the Minkowski spacetime. As the boundary-free part is finite
at $r=a$, near the boundary the total renormalized VEV of the field square
is dominated by the boundary-induced part and is negative for Dirichlet
scalar. Combining this with the estimation for the region near the string,
we come to the conclusion that in this case the VEV\ of the field square
vanishes for some intermediate value of $r$.
Now we turn to the investigation of the boundary-induced VEV given by (\ref%
{phi2a1}), in the limiting cases of the parameter $q$. Firstly consider the
limit when the parameter $q$ is large which corresponds to small values of $%
\phi _{0}$ and, hence, to a large planar angle deficit. In this limit the
order of the modified Bessel functions for the terms with $n\neq 0$ in (\ref%
{phi2a1}) is large and we can replace these functions by their uniform
asymptotic expansions. On the base of these expansions it can be seen that
to the leading order the contribution of the terms with $n\neq 0$ is
suppressed by the factor $q^{(D-1)/2}(r/a)^{2q}$ and the main contribution
to the VEV of the field square comes from the $n=0$ term:%
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}\approx -\frac{A_{D}}{2\phi _{0}}%
\int_{m}^{\infty }dz\,z\left( z^{2}-m^{2}\right) ^{\frac{D-3}{2}}\frac{\bar{K%
}_{0}(za)}{\bar{I}_{0}(za)}I_{0}^{2}(zr),\;q\gg 1, \label{phi2largeq}
\end{equation}%
with the linear dependence on $q$. In the same limit the boundary-free part
in the VEV of the field square behaves as $q^{D-1}$ and, hence, its
contribution dominates in comparison with the boundary-induced part. In the
opposite limit when $q\rightarrow 0$, the series over $n$ in Eq. (\ref%
{phi2a1}) diverges and, hence, for small values of $q$ the main contribution
comes from large values $n$. In this case, to the leading order, we can
replace the summation by the integration: $\sideset{}{'}{\sum}_{n=0}^{\infty
}f(qn)\rightarrow (1/q)\int_{0}^{\infty }dxf(x)$. As a consequence, we
obtain that in the limit $q\rightarrow 0$ the boundary-induced VEV in the
field square tends to a finite limiting value:%
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}=-\frac{A_{D}}{2\pi }\int_{0}^{\infty
}dx\int_{m}^{\infty }dz\,z\left( z^{2}-m^{2}\right) ^{\frac{D-3}{2}}\frac{%
\bar{K}_{x}(za)}{\bar{I}_{x}(za)}I_{x}^{2}(zr). \label{phi2asmallq}
\end{equation}
Now we consider the limiting case obtained when $\phi _{0}\rightarrow 0$, $%
r,a\rightarrow \infty $, assuming that $a-r$ and $a\phi _{0}\equiv a_{0}$
are fixed. This corresponds to the geometry of a single boundary in the
spacetime with topology $R^{(D-1,1)}\times S^{1}$ and with $a_{0}$ being the
length for the compactified dimension. We introduce rectangular coordinates $%
(x^{\prime 1},x^{\prime 2},\ldots ,x^{\prime D})=(x,y,z_{1},\ldots ,z_{N})$
with the relations $x=a-r$, $y=a\phi $ in the limit under consideration. In
this limit, from the quantities corresponding to the geometry of a string
without a cylindrical surface we obtain the vacuum densities in the
spacetime $R^{(D-1,1)}\times S^{1}$. These quantities are well-investigated
in literature and in what follows we will consider the additional part
induced by the presence of the boundary at $x=0$. The corresponding vacuum
expectation values are obtained from the expectation values $\langle \cdots
\rangle _{a}$. For this we note that in the limit under consideration one
has $q=2\pi /\phi _{0}\rightarrow \infty $, and the order of the modified
Bessel functions in formula (\ref{phi2a1}) for $n\neq 0$ tends to infinity.
Introducing a new integration variable $z\rightarrow qnz$, we can replace
these functions by their uniform asymptotic expansions for large values of
the order. In the term with $n=0$ the arguments of the modified Bessel
functions are large and we replace these functions by the corresponding
asymptotic expressions. After straightforward calculations, the vacuum
expectation value of the field square is presented in the form%
\begin{equation}
\langle 0|\varphi ^{2}|0\rangle =\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle ^{(0)}+\langle
\varphi ^{2}\rangle ^{(1)}, \label{phi2lim}
\end{equation}%
where $\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle ^{(0)}$ is the vacuum expectation value
for the topology $R^{(1,D-1)}\times S^{1}$ without boundaries, and the term
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle ^{(1)}=-\frac{A_{D}}{2a_{0}}\sideset{}{'}{\sum}%
_{n=0}^{\infty }\int_{m_{n}}^{\infty }dz\,\left( z^{2}-m_{n}^{2}\right) ^{%
\frac{D-3}{2}}\frac{A-Bz}{A+Bz}e^{-2zx}, \label{phi2lim1}
\end{equation}%
with $m_{n}=\sqrt{m^{2}+(2\pi n/a_{0})^{2}}$, is induced by the presence of
the plate at $x=0$. In (\ref{phi2lim1}) the terms with $n\neq 0$ correspond
to the contribution of Kaluza-Klein modes related to the compactification of
the $y$ direction. The boundary induced VEV\ for the field square in the
spaces with topology $R^{(D-1,1)}\times \Sigma $ with an arbitrary internal
space $\Sigma $ is obtained in \cite{Saha06a} as a limiting case of the
corresponding braneworld geometry. It can be checked that formula (\ref%
{phi2lim1}) is a special case of this formula for $\Sigma =S^{1}$.
\subsection{VEV of the energy-momentum tensor}
\label{subsec:emtin}
The VEV of the energy-momentum tensor for the situation when the
cylindrical
boundary is present is written in the form%
\begin{equation}
\langle 0|T_{ik}|0\rangle =\langle 0_{s}|T_{ik}|0_{s}\rangle +\langle
T_{ik}\rangle _{a}, \label{Tika}
\end{equation}%
where $\langle T_{ik}\rangle _{a}$ is induced by the cylindrical boundary.
This term is obtained from the corresponding part in the Wightman function, $%
\langle \varphi (x)\varphi (x^{\prime })\rangle _{a}$, acting by the
appropriate differential operator and taking the coincidence limit [see
formula (\ref{vevEMTWf})]. For the points away from the cylindrical surface
this limit gives a finite result. For the corresponding components of the
energy-momentum tensor one obtains (no summation over $i$)%
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle _{a}=\frac{A_{D}}{\phi _{0}}\sideset{}{'}{\sum}%
_{n=0}^{\infty }\int_{m}^{\infty }dzz^{3}\left( z^{2}-m^{2}\right) ^{\frac{%
D-3}{2}}\frac{\bar{K}_{qn}(za)}{\bar{I}_{qn}(za)}F_{qn}^{(i)}\left[
I_{qn}(zr)\right] , \label{Tiia21}
\end{equation}%
with the notations%
\begin{eqnarray}
F_{qn}^{(0)}\left[ f(y)\right] &=&\left( 2\xi -\frac{1}{2}\right) \left[
f^{\prime 2}(y)+\left( 1+\frac{q^{2}n^{2}}{y^{2}}\right) f^{2}(y)\right] +%
\frac{y^{2}-m^{2}r^{2}}{(D-1)y^{2}}f^{2}(y), \label{ajpm} \\
F_{qn}^{(1)}\left[ f(y)\right] &=&\frac{1}{2}f^{\prime 2}(y)+\frac{2\xi }{y}%
f(y)f^{\prime }(y)-\frac{1}{2}\left( 1+\frac{q^{2}n^{2}}{y^{2}}\right)
f^{2}(y), \label{ajpm1} \\
F_{qn}^{(2)}\left[ f(y)\right] &=&\left( 2\xi -\frac{1}{2}\right) \left[
f^{\prime 2}(y)+\left( 1+\frac{q^{2}n^{2}}{y^{2}}\right) f^{2}(y)\right] +%
\frac{q^{2}n^{2}}{y^{2}}f^{2}(y)-\frac{2\xi }{y}f(y)f^{\prime }(y),
\label{ajpm2}
\end{eqnarray}%
and
\begin{equation}
F_{qn}^{(i)}\left[ f(y)\right] =F_{qn}^{(0)}\left[ f(y)\right] ,\;i=3,\ldots
,D. \label{Fi0}
\end{equation}%
It can be checked that the expectation values (\ref{Tiia21}) satisfy
equation (\ref{conteq2}) and, hence, the continuity equation for the
energy-momentum tensor. The boundary-induced part in the VEV of the
energy-momentum tensor given by Eq. (\ref{Tiia21}) is finite everywhere
except at the points on the boundary and at the points on the string in the
case $q<1$. As we will see below, unlike to the surface divergences, the
divergences on the string are integrable.
In the case $q>1$, near the string, $r\rightarrow 0$, the main contribution
to the boundary part (\ref{Tiia21}) comes from the summand with $n=0$ and
one has
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle _{a}\approx \frac{A_{D}}{2\phi _{0}a^{D+1}}%
\int_{ma}^{\infty }dzz^{3}\left( z^{2}-m^{2}a^{2}\right) ^{\frac{D-3}{2}}%
\frac{\bar{K}_{0}(z)}{\bar{I}_{0}(z)}F^{(i)}(z) \label{Tii21r0}
\end{equation}%
with the notations%
\begin{equation}
F^{(0)}(z)=2\xi -\frac{1}{2}+\frac{1-m^{2}a^{2}/z^{2}}{D-1},\;F^{(i)}(z)=\xi
-\frac{1}{2},\;i=1,2. \label{F0z}
\end{equation}%
For $q<1$ the main contribution to the boundary-induced part for the points
near the string comes from $n=1$ term and in the leading order one has%
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle _{a}\approx \frac{q^{2}A_{D}r^{2q-2}F_{1}^{(i)}}{%
2^{q}\pi \Gamma ^{2}(q+1)}\int_{m}^{\infty }dzz^{2q+1}\left(
z^{2}-m^{2}\right) ^{\frac{D-3}{2}}\frac{\bar{K}_{q}(za)}{\bar{I}_{q}(za)},
\label{Tii21r0q}
\end{equation}%
where%
\begin{equation}
F_{1}^{(0)}=q(2\xi -1/2),\;F_{1}^{(1)}=\xi ,\;F_{1}^{(2)}=(2q-1)\xi .
\label{Fi1}
\end{equation}%
As we see, in this case the VEVs for the energy-momentum tensor diverge on
the string. This divergence is integrable. In particular, the corresponding
contribution to the energy in the region near the string is finite.
As in the case of the field square, in the limit $q\gg 1$ the contribution
of the terms with $n\neq 0$ to the VEV of the energy-momentum tensor is
suppressed by the factor $q^{(D-1)/2}(r/a)^{2q}$ and the main contribution
comes from the $n=0$ term with the linear dependence on $q$. In the same
limit, the boundary-free part in the VEV\ of the energy-momentum tensor
behaves as $q^{D+1}$ and, hence, the total energy-momentum tensor is
dominated by this part. In the opposite limit when $q\ll 1$, by the way
similar to that used before for the VEV of the field square, it can be seen
that the boundary-induced part in the vacuum energy-momentum tensor tends to
a finite limiting value which is obtained from (\ref{Tiia21}) replacing the
summation over $n$ by the integration. The described behavior of the VEVs as
functions of $q$ is clearly seen in figure \ref{fig2} where the dependence
of the boundary-induced vacuum energy density and stresses on the parameter $%
q$ is plotted in the case of $D=3$ minimally and conformally coupled
massless scalar fields with Dirichlet boundary condition and for $r/a=0.5$.
\begin{figure}[tbph]
\begin{center}
\epsfig{figure=Sahfig2.eps,width=7.cm,height=5.5cm}
\end{center}
\caption{Boundary-induced parts in the components of the energy-momentum
tensor, $a^{D+1}\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle _{a}$, evaluated at $r/a=0.5$ as
functions of the parameter $q$ for minimally (full curves) and conformally
(dashed curves) coupled $D=3$ massless scalar fields with Dirichlet boundary
condition. The numbers near the curves correspond to the value of the index $%
i$. The azimuthal stress for the case of conformally coupled field is
obtained from the zero-trace condition. }
\label{fig2}
\end{figure}
The boundary part $\left\langle T_{i}^{k}\right\rangle _{a}$ diverges on the
cylindrical surface $r=a$. Introducing a new integration variable $%
z\rightarrow nqz$ and taking into account that near the surface $r=a$ the
main contribution comes from large values of $n$, we can replace the
modified Bessel functions by their uniform asymptotic expansions for large
values of the order. To the leading order this gives%
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle _{a}\approx \frac{D(\xi -\xi _{D})(2\delta _{B0}-1)%
}{2^{D}\pi ^{(D+1)/2}(a-r)^{D+1}}\Gamma \left( \frac{D+1}{2}\right) ,\quad
i=0,2,\ldots ,D. \label{T00asra2}
\end{equation}%
This leading divergence does not depend on the parameter $q$ and coincides
with the corresponding one for a cylindrical surface of radius $a$ in the
Minkowski bulk. For the radial component to the leading order one has $%
\langle T_{1}^{1}\rangle _{a}\sim (a-r)^{-D}$. In particular, for a
minimally coupled scalar field the corresponding energy density is negative
for Dirichlet boundary condition and is positive for non-Dirichlet boundary
conditions. For a conformally coupled scalar the leading term vanishes and
it is necessary to keep the next term in the corresponding asymptotic
expansion. As the boundary-free part in the VEV of the energy-momentum
tensor is finite on the cylindrical surface, for the points near the
boundary the vacuum energy-momentum tensor is dominated by the
boundary-induced part.
In the limit $\phi _{0}\rightarrow 0$, $r,a\rightarrow \infty $, with fixed
values for $a-r$ and $a\phi _{0}\equiv a_{0}$, proceeding in a similar way
to that used for the field square, the VEV of the energy-momentum tensor can
be written as
\begin{equation}
\langle 0|T_{i}^{i}|0\rangle =\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle ^{(0)}+\langle
T_{i}^{i}\rangle ^{(1)}, \label{Tiilimn}
\end{equation}%
where $\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle ^{(0)}$ is the corresponding quantity for
the topology $R^{(1,D-1)}\times S^{1}$ without boundaries, and the term (no
summation over $i$)%
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle ^{(1)}=\frac{A_{D}}{2a_{0}}\sideset{}{'}{\sum}%
_{n=0}^{\infty }\int_{m_{n}}^{\infty }dz\,\left( z^{2}-m_{n}^{2}\right) ^{%
\frac{D-3}{2}}\frac{A-Bz}{A+Bz}F_{1}^{(i)}(z)e^{-2zx}, \label{TiilimnBi}
\end{equation}%
is induced by the boundary located at $x=0$. In (\ref{TiilimnBi}), $m_{n}$
is defined by the relation given in the paragraph after formula (\ref%
{phi2lim1}) and we have introduced the notations%
\begin{eqnarray}
F_{1}^{(0)}(z) &=&(4\xi -1)z^{2}+\frac{z^{2}-m_{n}^{2}}{D-1}, \label{F10z0}
\\
F_{1}^{(2)}(z) &=&(4\xi -1)z^{2}+\left( \frac{2\pi n}{a_{0}}\right) ^{2},
\label{F10z2}
\end{eqnarray}%
with $F_{1}^{(1)}(z)=0$. In particular, in this limit the boundary-induced
vacuum stress in the direction perpendicular to the plate vanishes. Formula (%
\ref{TiilimnBi}) is a special case of the more general result for the spaces
with topology $R^{(D-1,1)}\times \Sigma $ with an arbitrary internal space $%
\Sigma $ obtained in \cite{Saha06b} as a limiting case of the corresponding
braneworld geometry.
In figure \ref{fig3} we present the graphs for the boundary induced parts of
the components of the energy-momentum tensor as functions of $r/a$. The
graphs are plotted for $D=3$ massless scalar field with Dirichlet boundary
condition on the cylindrical surface and for the cosmic string bulk with $q=4
$. In this special case for a minimally coupled scalar field, the
boundary-induced vacuum energy density vanishes on the cosmic string.
\begin{figure}[tbph]
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{cc}
\epsfig{figure=Sahfig3a.eps,width=7.cm,height=5.5cm} & \quad %
\epsfig{figure=Sahfig3b.eps,width=7.cm,height=5.5cm}%
\end{tabular}%
\end{center}
\caption{Boundary-induced parts of the components of the energy-momentum
tensor multiplied by $a^{D+1}$, $a^{D+1}\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle _{a}$, as
functions of $r/a$ in both interior and exterior regions of the cylindrical
surface. The graphs are plotted for minimally (left panel) and conformally
(right panel) coupled $D=3$ massless scalar fields with Dirichlet boundary
condition on the cylindrical surface and for the cosmic string bulk with $q=4
$. The numbers near the curves correspond to the value of the index $i$.}
\label{fig3}
\end{figure}
\section{VEVs in the region outside a cylindrical shell}
\label{sec:outside}
In this section we consider the VEVs induced by the cylindrical boundary in
the exterior region $r>a$. Taking the coincidence limit for the arguments,
from the corresponding formula for the Wightman function we obtain the
boundary-induced part in the VEV of the field square:
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}=-\frac{A_{D}}{\phi _{0}}\sideset{}{'}{\sum}%
_{n=0}^{\infty }\int_{m}^{\infty }dz\,z\left( z^{2}-m^{2}\right) ^{\frac{D-3%
}{2}}\frac{\bar{I}_{qn}(za)}{\bar{K}_{qn}(za)}K_{qn}^{2}(zr),
\label{phi2a1ext}
\end{equation}%
with $A_{D}$ defined by Eq. (\ref{AD}). As for the interior region, the
expression on the right diverges on the cylindrical surface. The leading
term in the corresponding asymptotic expansion near this surface is obtained
from that for the interior region, formula (\ref{Phi2neara}), replacing $%
(a-r)$ by $(r-a)$. For large distances from the cylindrical surface, $r\gg a$%
, and for a massless scalar field, we introduce in (\ref{phi2a1ext}) a new
integration variable $y=zr/a$ and expand the integrand over $a/r$. The main
contribution comes from the $n=0$ term. By taking into account the value for
the standard integral involving the square of the MacDonald function \cite%
{Prud86}, to the leading order for $A\neq 0$, one finds
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}\approx -\frac{\pi ^{1-D/2}}{2^{D}\phi
_{0}r^{D-1}\ln (r/a)}\frac{\Gamma ^{2}\left( \frac{D-1}{2}\right) }{\Gamma
(D/2)}. \label{phi2larger}
\end{equation}%
In the case of Neumann boundary condition ($A=0$) and $q>1$, the leading
contribution again comes from the $n=0$ term:%
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}\approx \frac{\pi ^{1-D/2}(D-1)}{\phi
_{0}a^{D-1}}\frac{\Gamma ^{2}\left( \frac{D+1}{2}\right) }{\Gamma (D/2)}%
\left( \frac{a}{2r}\right) ^{D+1}. \label{phi2largerNeu}
\end{equation}%
For Neumann boundary condition and $q<1$, at large distances the main
contribution comes from the $n=1$ term and the VEV of the field square
behaves as $1/r^{D+2q-1}$. As we see, the boundary-free part in the VEV
dominates at large distances from the boundary. For a massive field, under
the condition $mr\gg 1$ the main contribution into the integral in (\ref%
{phi2a1ext}) comes from the lower limit and one obtains%
\begin{equation}
\langle \varphi ^{2}\rangle _{a}\approx -\frac{\pi m^{\frac{D-3}{2}}e^{-2mr}%
}{(4\pi )^{\frac{D-1}{2}}\phi _{0}r^{\frac{D+1}{2}}}\sideset{}{'}{\sum}%
_{n=0}^{\infty }\frac{\bar{I}_{qn}(ma)}{\bar{K}_{qn}(ma)},
\label{phi2largerm}
\end{equation}%
with the exponential suppression of the boundary induced VEV. Note that here
the suppression is stronger compared with the boundary-free part. For large
values $q\gg 1$, the contribution of the terms with $n\neq 0$ to the VEV (%
\ref{phi2a1ext}) can be estimated by using the uniform asymptotic expansions
for the modified Bessel functions when the order is large. This contribution
is suppressed by the factor $q^{(D-1)/2}(a/r)^{2q}$ and the main
contribution to the VEV of the field square comes from the $n=0$ term which
is a linear function on $q$. In the opposite limit, $q\ll 1$, analogously to
the procedure for the interior region, it can be seen that $\langle \varphi
^{2}\rangle _{a}$ tends to the finite value which is obtained from (\ref%
{phi2a1ext}) replacing the summation over $n$ by the integration.
For the part in the vacuum energy-momentum tensor induced by the cylindrical
surface in the region $r>a$, from (\ref{Wfa0ext}), (\ref{vevEMTWf}), (\ref%
{phi2a1ext}) one has the following formula%
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{i}^{i}\rangle _{a}=\frac{A_{D}}{\phi _{0}}\sideset{}{'}{\sum}%
_{n=0}^{\infty }\int_{m}^{\infty }dzz^{3}\left( z^{2}-m^{2}\right) ^{\frac{%
D-3}{2}}\frac{\bar{I}_{qn}(za)}{\bar{K}_{qn}(za)}F_{qn}^{(i)}\left[
K_{qn}(zr)\right] , \label{Tiiext}
\end{equation}%
with the functions $F_{qn}^{(i)}\left[ f(y)\right] $ defined by formulae (%
\ref{ajpm})-(\ref{ajpm2}). The VEVs given by formula (\ref{Tiiext}) diverge
at the points on the bounding surface with the leading divergence obtained
from analog formula in the interior region, Eq. (\ref{T00asra2}), by the
replacement $a-r\rightarrow r-a$. By the way similar to that used above for
the vacuum expectation value of the field square, it can be seen that for a
massless scalar field with $A\neq 0$ and at large distances from the
cylindrical surface, $r\gg a$, the components of the vacuum energy-momentum
tensor behave as%
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{0}^{0}\rangle _{a}\approx -(D-1)\langle T_{1}^{1}\rangle
_{a}\approx \frac{D-1}{D}\langle T_{2}^{2}\rangle _{a}\approx \frac{\Gamma
^{2}\left( \frac{D+1}{2}\right) }{(4\pi )^{D/2-1}\Gamma (D/2)}\frac{\xi -\xi
_{D}}{\phi _{0}r^{D+1}\ln (r/a)}. \label{Tiilarger}
\end{equation}%
For a conformally coupled scalar field this leading terms vanish and it is
necessary to take into account the next terms in the asymptotic expansion.
In the case of Neumann boundary condition the components of the
energy-momentum tensor behave as $1/r^{D+3}$ when $q>1$ and as $1/r^{D+2q+1}$
when $q<1$. For a massive scalar field the main contribution comes from the
lower limit of the integral in Eq. (\ref{Tiiext}) and we find%
\begin{equation}
\langle T_{0}^{0}\rangle _{a}\approx -2mr\langle T_{1}^{1}\rangle
_{a}\approx \langle T_{2}^{2}\rangle _{a}\approx \frac{\left( 4\xi -1\right)
e^{-2mr}}{2^{D-1}\pi ^{(D-3)/2}}\left( \frac{m}{r}\right) ^{\frac{D+1}{2}}%
\sideset{}{'}{\sum}_{n=0}^{\infty }\frac{\bar{I}_{qn}(ma)}{\bar{K}_{qn}(ma)}.
\label{Tiilargerm}
\end{equation}%
As we see in this case the radial stress is suppressed compared with the
other components by an additional factor $mr$. As in the case of the field
square, for large values of the parameter $q\gg 1$ the main contribution to
the VEV of the energy-momentum tensor comes from the $n=0$ term which is a
linear function on $q$. For small values $q\ll 1$, in the leading order the
summation over $n$ can be replaced by the integration and the VEV tends to
the finite limiting value. In figure \ref{fig3} we have plotted the
dependence of the boundary-induced parts in the components of the vacuum
energy-momentum tensor for the exterior region as functions on $r/a$ in the
case of $D=3$ Dirichlet massless scalar with minimal and conformal couplings.
In the discussion above we have considered the idealized geometry of a
cosmic string with zero thickness. A realistic cosmic string has a structure
on a length scale defined by the phase transition at which it is formed. As
it has been shown in Refs. \cite{Alle90,Alle96}, for a non-minimally coupled
scalar field the internal structure of the string has non-negligible effects
even at large distances. Note that when the cylindrical boundary is present
with the boundary condition (\ref{Dirbc}), the VEVs of the physical
quantities in the exterior region are uniquely defined by the boundary
conditions and the bulk geometry. This means that if we consider a
non-trivial core model with finite thickness $b<a$ and with the line element
(\ref{ds21}) in the region $r>b$, the results in the region outside the
cylindrical shell will not be changed. As regards to the interior region,
the formulae given above are the first stage of the evaluation of the VEVs
and other effects could be present in a realistic cosmic string.
\section{VEVs for a cosmic string with finite thickness}
\label{sec:finitethick}
From the point of view of the physics in the exterior region the cylindrical
surface with boundary condition (\ref{Dirbc}) can be considered as a simple
model of cosmic string core. In general, the string core is modelled by a
cylindrically symmetric potential whose support lies in $r\leqslant a$. In
this section we generalize the results in the exterior region for the model
of core described by the line-element \cite{Alle90,Alle96}%
\begin{equation}
ds^{2}=dt^{2}-P^{2}(r/a)dr^{2}-r^{2}d\phi ^{2}-\sum_{i=1}^{N}dz_{i}{}^{2},
\label{ds2f}
\end{equation}%
where $P(x)$ is a smooth monotonic function satisfying the conditions%
\begin{equation}
\lim_{x\rightarrow 0}P(x)=1/q,\;P(x)=1\;\mathrm{for}\;x>1. \label{condP}
\end{equation}%
The eigenfunctions in the region $r<a$ have the structure (\ref{eigfunccirc}%
) with the radial function $f_{n}(r/a,\gamma a)$ instead of $\beta _{\alpha
}J_{q\left\vert n\right\vert }(\gamma r)$. The equation for the radial
function is obtained from field equation (\ref{fieldeq}) with the metric
given by (\ref{ds2f}):%
\begin{equation}
\left[ \frac{1}{xP(x)}\frac{d}{dx}\frac{x}{P(x)}\frac{d}{dx}+\gamma
^{2}a^{2}-\frac{q^{2}n^{2}}{x^{2}}-\frac{2\xi }{x}\frac{P^{\prime }(x)}{%
P^{3}(x)}\right] f_{n}(x,\gamma a)=0. \label{Rneq}
\end{equation}%
We will denote by $R_{n}(x,\gamma a)$ the solution of this equation regular
at $r=0$. Now the radial part of the eigenfunctions is written in the form%
\begin{equation}
\begin{array}{ll}
R_{n}(r/a,\gamma a) & \mathrm{for}\;r<a \\
A_{n}J_{q\left\vert n\right\vert }(\gamma r)+B_{n}Y_{q\left\vert
n\right\vert }(\gamma r)\; & \mathrm{for}\;r>a.%
\end{array}
\label{eigfuncf}
\end{equation}%
The coefficients $A_{n}$ and $B_{n}$ are determined from the conditions of
the continuity of the radial functions and their derivatives at $r=a$:%
\begin{eqnarray}
A_{n} &=&\frac{\pi }{2}\left[ \gamma aY_{q\left\vert n\right\vert }^{\prime
}(\gamma a)R_{n}(1,\gamma a)-Y_{q\left\vert n\right\vert }(\gamma
a)R_{n}^{\prime }(1,\gamma a)\right] , \label{Anf} \\
B_{n} &=&-\frac{\pi }{2}\left[ \gamma aJ_{q\left\vert n\right\vert }^{\prime
}(\gamma a)R_{n}(1,\gamma a)-J_{q\left\vert n\right\vert }(\gamma
a)R_{n}^{\prime }(1,\gamma a)\right] , \label{Bnf}
\end{eqnarray}%
where $R_{n}^{\prime }(1,\gamma a)=(d/dx)R_{n}(x,\gamma a)|_{x=1}$.
Substituting these expressions into the formula for the radial
eigenfunctions in the region $r>a$, we see that these eigenfunctions have
the form (\ref{replace}) where the barred notations are obtained from from
the expressions given by Eq. (\ref{fbar}) by the replacement $A/B\rightarrow
-R_{n}^{\prime }(1,\gamma a)/R_{n}(1,\gamma a)$. The further evaluation of
the Wightman function in the region $r>a$ is similar to that described in
subsection \ref{subsec:exterior}. Therefore, the part in the Wightman
function induced by the non-trivial structure of the string core is given by
formula (\ref{Wfa0ext}), where in the expressions for the definition of the
barred modified Bessel functions [see Eq. (\ref{fbar})] we should substitute%
\begin{equation}
\frac{A}{B}=-\frac{R_{n}^{\prime }(1,zae^{\pi i/2})}{R_{n}(1,zae^{\pi i/2})}.
\label{ABreplacef}
\end{equation}%
The formulae for the VEVs of the field square and the energy-momentum tensor
are obtained from formulae (\ref{phi2a1ext}) and (\ref{Tiiext}) by the same
substitution. The corresponding results for the Euclidean Green function and
the VEV of the field square in a special case of $D=3$ massless scalar field
are given in Ref. \cite{Alle96}. Two specific models of the string core have
been considered in literature. In the "ballpoint pen" model \cite{Hisc85}
the region $r<a$ has a constant curvature, whereas in the "flower pot" model
\cite{Alle90} the curvature of spacetime is concentrated on a ring of radius
$a$. In these models the Euclidean Green function and the VEV of the field
square for $D=3$ massless scalar field are investigated in Ref. \cite{Alle90}%
. For the first model one has%
\begin{equation}
\frac{A}{B}=-\sqrt{q^{2}-1}\frac{P_{\nu }^{|n|\prime }(1/q)}{P_{\nu
}^{|n|}(1/q)},\;\nu (\nu +1)=-2\xi -\frac{z^{2}a^{2}}{q^{2}-1}.
\label{ballpoint}
\end{equation}%
where $P_{\nu }^{|n|}(x)$ is the associated Legendre function. For the
second model the curvature is a delta function concentrated on a ring of
radius $a$ and the radial parts of the eigenfunctions have a discontinuity
in their slope at $r=a$. The corresponding jump condition is obtained by
integrating the radial part of the field equation through the point $r=a$.
This procedure leads to the ratio of the coefficients given by the formula
\begin{equation}
\frac{A}{B}=-za\frac{I_{|n|}^{\prime }(za/q)}{I_{|n|}(za/q)}-2\xi (q-1).
\label{flowerpot}
\end{equation}%
For the first model in (2+1)-dimensions the ground state energy of a massive
scalar field is investigated in Ref. \cite{Khus99}.
\section{Conclusion}
\label{sec:Conc}
We have investigated the local one-loop quantum effects for a massive scalar
field induced by a cylindrical boundary in the spacetime of a cosmic string.
We have assumed that on the bounding surface the field obeys Robin boundary
condition. The latter is a generalization of Dirichlet and Neumann boundary
conditions and arises in a variety of physical situations. As a first step
in the evaluation of the renormalized VEVs of the field square and the
energy-momentum tensor, in section \ref{sec:WightFunc} we have considered
the Wightman function in both interior and exterior regions. The
corresponding mode-sum in the interior region contains the summation over
the zeros of a combination of the Bessel function and its derivative. For
the summation of the corresponding series we have used the generalized
Abel-Plana formula which allows us to extract from the mode sum the Wightman
function for the cosmic string background without the cylindrical shell and
to present the boundary-induced part in terms of exponentially convergent
integrals in the coincidence limit for the points away from the boundary.
The representation of the Wightman function where the boundary-free part is
explicitly extracted is given also for the exterior region. The
boundary-induced parts in the interior and exterior Wightman functions are
related by the replacements $I_{qn}\rightleftarrows K_{qn}$.
In section \ref{sec:noboundary} we have considered the VEVs induced by the
cosmic string geometry without boundaries. Though this geometry is
well-investigated in literature, to our knowledge, no closed formulae were
given for the VEVs of the field square and the energy-momentum tensor for a
massive field with general curvature coupling in an arbitrary number of
dimensions. We show that such formulae can be derived when the parameter $q$
is an integer. In this case the corresponding Wightman function is the image
sum of the Minkowskian Wightman functions. Renormalized VEVs of the field
square and the energy-momentum tensor are determined by formulae (\ref{phi2w}%
), (\ref{T00st})-(\ref{T22st}) for a massive field and by formulae (\ref%
{phi2wmassless}), (\ref{Tiisrenm0}) for a massless one. In the latter case
and for odd values of the spatial dimension the summation over $l$ can be
done by using the recurrent formula. In this case the VEVs are polynomial
functions of $q$ and by analytic continuation the corresponding formulae are
valid for all values of this parameter. By using the formula for the
interior Wightman function, in section \ref{sec:inside} we have investigated
the VEVs of the field square and the energy-momentum tensor in this region.
The corresponding boundary-induced parts are given by formulae (\ref{phi2a1}%
) and (\ref{Tiia21}). For the points on the string these parts are finite
when $q\geqslant 1$. For $q<1$ the boundary-induced part in the VEV of the
field square remains finite on the string, but the corresponding part in the
energy-momentum tensor has integrable divergences. Near the string the
boundary-free parts behave as $1/r^{D-1}$ for the field square and as $%
1/r^{D+1}$ for the energy-momentum tensor and these parts dominate. For the
points near the boundary the situation is opposite and the boundary-induced
parts are dominant. For large values of the parameter $q$ the
boundary-induced VEVs for both field square and the energy-momentum tensor
are linear functions of this parameter, whereas for small values of $q$ they
tend to finite limiting value. We have the similar behavior for the VEVs in
the region outside the cylindrical shell. These VEVs are investigated in
section \ref{sec:outside} and are given by formulae (\ref{phi2a1ext}) and (%
\ref{Tiiext}). In the case of a massless field with non-Neumann boundary
condition, at large distances from the cylindrical surface the
boundary-induced parts behave as $1/\left[ r^{D-1}\ln (r/a)\right] $ for the
field square and as $1/\left[ r^{D+1}\ln (r/a)\right] $ for the
energy-momentum tensor. For a massive field under the assumption $mr\gg 1$,
the boundary induced VEVs are exponentially suppressed. This suppression is
stronger than that for the boundary-free parts.
The cylindrical surface with boundary condition (\ref{Dirbc}) can be
considered as a simple model of the cosmic string core. In section \ref%
{sec:finitethick} we give the generalization of the corresponding results in
the exterior region for a general cylindrically symmetric static model of
the string core with finite support. We have shown that the corresponding
formulae are obtained from the formulae for the cylindrical surface with the
substitution given by Eq. (\ref{ABreplacef}), where $R_{n}(r/a,\gamma a)$ is
a regular solution of the radial equation for the eigenfunctions. For two
special models of the string core, namely, the "ballpoint pen" and "flower
pot" models, the ratio of the coefficients is given by formulae (\ref%
{ballpoint}) and (\ref{flowerpot}), respectively.
\section*{Acknowledgments}
AAS was supported by PVE/CAPES Program and in part by the Armenian Ministry
of Education and Science Grant No. 0124. ERBM and VBB thank Conselho
Nacional de Desenvolvimento Cient\'{\i}fico e Tecnol\'{o}gico (CNPq) and
FAPESQ-PB/CNPq (PRONEX) for partial financial support.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 647 |
Visentini is an Italian surname. Notable people with the surname include:
Antonio Visentini (1688–1782), Italian architect, painter and engraver
Bruno Visentini (1914–1995), Italian politician
Luca Visentini (born 1969), Italian trade unionist and poet
Roberto Visentini (born 1957), Italian cyclist
See also
Cantiere Navale Visentini, Italian shipbuilder
Italian-language surnames | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 4,518 |
Death by Pizza
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Cuisine: Pizza , Italian
Menu: View the Menu
Death by Pizza now occupies the corner of 14th Street and Ninth Avenue in the Meatpacking District. A skull and wooden pizza paddles marks the spot. The signature Death by Pizza pie comes loaded up with spicy Italian sausage, fresh mozzarella, ricotta, crushed red pepper and basil. Several other pizzas are offered, including the Amore Segreto with prosciutto di palma and a white sauce; and the Elizabetta with pepperoni, mozzarella, tomato sauce and basil. There's also an assortment of classic pizzas such as Vodka, Pesto, Margherita and more. Diners will also find a lenthy list of appetizers like arancini (rice balls), calamari and "Death by Wings" among them. There are sandwiches like the Salsiccia with sausage, broccoli rabe and frest mozzarella, and the Whoa Nelly Burger made with Pat La Frieda beef topped cheddar and served with hand-cut fries. Pasta dishes and salads are also available. For desset, there's a Nutella Pizza and homemade tiramisu.
Neighborhood: Meatpacking District
Takeout:Yes
Delivery: Yes
Payment: Accepts Credit Cards | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 2,447 |
Q: Translate voltage between line/neutral potential and ground potential (between primary and secondary side of PSU) I would like to know how to translate a voltage difference between two independent reference potentials, as accurately as possible.
backstory:
We are building a active power measurement station for the European grid (240 VAC) for a school project, basically that thing you plug in between your outlet and your load.
We are using the MCP3911, a delta-sigma dual ADC, featuring a resolution of 24 bits, for measuring the current on the line and the voltage between line and neutral. That ADC has a maximum CHx to ground voltage of +/-2 V, so we need to scale the grid voltage down and for the current measurement we use a 10 mΩ shunt and measure the voltage between its two pins.
But there is a problem. Since we use a power supply containing a transformer with a primary and secondary side to power our electronics, it is inevitable that we will have to deal with two possibly totally different ground potentials. Assuming we know which of the wires is neutral and which is phase, which we can't know.
Now we have our ADC sitting on the secondary side of the power supply, tied to a ground level, that could greatly differ from the level of the neutral line on the primary side.
Is there a way of translating a voltage difference between those two sides, something like an opto-isolator, but highly accurate, and for high voltage levels?
Can we just use two opto-isolators for the positive and negative waves, or is there a better way?
edit:
Would a coil on the primary side, inducing a voltage into a wire that sits on the secondary side be a viable solution? We could use the MCP3911s internal PGA to amplify the induced voltage, but we would have to account for the phase shift, when calculating active-power.
A: One solution is not to care which line is phase and which is neutral. Pick one of the two incoming wires, and call it ground for the purposes of your design.
Don't make any connection between your circuit and the protective Earth wire. Don't allow anyone to touch any part of the circuit while it is plugged in.
If the data logger needs some communication port to the outside World, put an opto isolator on that.
A: In commercial smartmeter, the microcontroller and ADC are not isolated from mains, so voltage sensing is done with a simple voltage divider.
In your case I would absolutely not recommend this option because it requires the whole circuit to be at mains potential, which is quite dangerous if you work on it. It also makes it impossible to probe with a standard scope probe (which is earthed) and you can't connect a standard programmer/debugger to your micro.
Would a coil on the primary side, inducing a voltage into a wire that sits on the secondary side be a viable solution?
You're reinventing the transformer, and it's a good solution.
Any standard mains to 6-9VAC transformer will work absolutely fine to sense mains voltage. Note I mean just a transformer, not a power supply with rectifiers etc. A transformer is isolated, so you can reference the output voltage to the ground of your circuit. Just put a resistor divider on the output, and perhaps some voltage shifting, to satisfy your ADC's input voltage requirements.
You should not use the transformer from the circuit's power supply as its output voltage will be distorted by the current drawn from the circuit itself. An unloaded transformer will give you a pretty good replica of mains voltage. Transformer ratio isn't super accurate out of the box, but you can measure it and calibrate for it.
For current, if you use a current sensing resistor, your circuit can't be isolated from mains. However you can get current transformers, usually in the form of two halves that you can clamp on the wire carrying the current you want to measure. It's a current transformer, so it outputs a current: you need to put a resistor on the output to convert to voltage for your ADC. It's very simple to use, for example if you get a 1:500 transformer and there's 1A through the primary, you get 1/500 of that or 2mA on the secondary, just pick a resistor to convert to the voltage you want.
The smartmeter I put on my solar installation works with this style of clamp. It's convenient because you don't need to cut the high current wire to install it, just clamp the current transformer on the wire.
You could also use a closed loop Hall effect sensor. It's more expensive, and its main advantage is that it also works on DC, not just AC. But... you don't need DC.
| {
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<?php
namespace MailRu\QueueProcessor\Config;
/**
* @author Mougrim <rinat@mougrim.ru>
*/
interface ConfigReaderInterface
{
/**
* @return array
*/
public function getConfig();
}
| {
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} | 5,273 |
Q: Why Rolling back is not working when I altered the value of 'sort_buffer_size' in MySQL? I changed the value of system variable 'sort_buffer_size' inside a transaction
block. After issuing rollback, it is not getting reverted. Please see the below
snapshot:
please see the below snip regarding what I did in my local machine MySQL 5.7
server
A: Because these statements do not change any data, only the configuration of the mysql server, therefore they are not part of the transaction. This is the normal behaviour.
As mysql documentation on SET statement says:
If you change a session system variable, the value remains in effect
within your session until you change the variable to a different value
or the session ends. The change has no effect on other sessions.
If you change a global system variable, the value is remembered and
used for new sessions until you change the variable to a different
value or the server exits.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 1,880 |
\section{Conclusion}
\label{sec:conclusion}
\vspace{-2mm}
We propose MTZ\xspace, a framework to automatically merge multiple correlated, well-trained deep neural networks for cross-model compression via neuron sharing.
It selectively shares neurons and optimally updates their incoming weights on a layer basis to minimize the errors induced to each individual task.
Only light retraining is necessary to resume the accuracy of the joint model on each task.
Evaluations show that MTZ\xspace can fully merge two VGG-16 networks with an error increase of 3.76\% and 2.59\% on ImageNet for object classification and on CelebA for facial attribute classification, or share $39.61\%$ parameters between the two models with $<0.5\%$ error increase.
The number of iterations to retrain the combined model is $17.9\times$ lower than that of training a single VGG-16 network.
Meanwhile, MTZ\xspace is able to share 90\% of the parameters among five ResNets on five different visual recognition tasks while inducing negligible loss on accuracy.
Preliminary experiments also show that MTZ\xspace is applicable to sparse networks.
We plan to further investigate the integration of MTZ\xspace with weight pruning in the future.
\section{Experiments}
\label{sec:experiments}
\vspace{-2mm}
We evaluate the performance of MTZ\xspace on zipping networks pre-trained for the same task (\secref{subsec:same}) and different tasks (\secref{subsec:different} and \secref{subsec:ResNet}).
We mainly assess the test errors of each task after network zipping and the retraining overhead involved.
MTZ\xspace is implemented with TensorFlow
All experiments are conducted on a workstation equipped with Nvidia Titan X (Maxwell) GPU.
\subsection{Performance to Zip Two Networks (LeNet) Pre-trained for the Same Task}
\label{subsec:same}
This experiment validates the effectiveness of MTZ\xspace by merging two differently trained models for the same task.
Ideally, two models trained to different local optimums should function the same on the test data.
Therefore their hidden layers can be fully merged without incurring any accuracy loss.
This experiment aims to show that, by finding the correct pairs of neurons which shares the same functionality, MTZ\xspace can achieve the theoretical limit of compression ratio \emph{i.e.},\xspace 100\%, even without any retraining involved.
\begin{figure*}[t]
\centering
\subfloat[]{
\label{fig:layer_first}
\includegraphics[width=0.5\linewidth]{figure/LeNet_1.pdf}}
\subfloat[]{
\label{fig:layer_second}
\includegraphics[width=0.5\linewidth]{figure/LeNet_2.pdf}}
\caption{Test error on MNIST by continually sharing neurons in (a) the first and (b) the second fully connected layers of two dense LeNet-300-100 networks till the merged layers are fully shared.}
\label{fig:layer}
\end{figure*}
\begin{table}[ht]
\caption{Test errors on MNIST by sharing all neurons in two LeNet networks.}
\label{tab:LeNet}
\centering
\scriptsize
\begin{tabular}{lllll}
\toprule
Model & err$_{A}$ & err${_B}$ & re-err$_C$ & \# re-iter\\
\midrule
LeNet-300-100-Dense & $1.57\%$ & $1.60\%$ & $1.64\%$ & $550$ \\
LeNet-300-100-Sparse & $1.80\%$ & $1.81\%$ & $1.83\%$ & $800$ \\
LeNet-5-Dense & $0.89\%$ & $0.95\%$ & $0.93\%$ & $600$ \\
LeNet-5-Sparse & $1.27\%$ & $1.28\%$ & $1.29\%$ & $1200$ \\
\bottomrule
\end{tabular}
\end{table}
\begin{table*}[t]
\caption{Test errors and retraining iterations of sharing all neurons (output layer fc8 excluded) in two well-trained VGG-16 networks for ImageNet and CelebA.}
\label{tab:VGG_all}
\centering
\scriptsize
\vspace{1mm}
\begin{tabular}{lllllll}
\toprule
\multirow{2}{*}{Layer} & \multirow{2}{*}{$N^A_l$} & \multicolumn{2}{c}{ImageNet (Top-5 Error)} & \multicolumn{2}{c}{CelebA (Error)} & \multirow{2}{*}{\# re-iter}\\
\cmidrule{3-6}
& & w/o-re-err$_{C}$ & re-err$_C$ & w/o-re-err$_{C}$ & re-err$_C$ & \\
\midrule
\texttt{conv1\_1} & $64$ & $10.59\%$ & $10.61\%$ & $8.45\%$ & $8.43\%$ & $50$ \\
\texttt{conv1\_2} & $64$ & $11.19\%$ & $10.78\%$ & $8.82\%$ & $8.77\%$ & $100$ \\
\texttt{conv2\_1} & $128$ & $10.99\%$ & $10.68\%$ & $8.91\%$ & $8.82\%$ & $100$ \\
\texttt{conv2\_2} & $128$ & $11.31\%$ & $11.03\%$ & $9.23\%$ & $9.07\%$ & $100$ \\
\texttt{conv3\_1} & $256$ & $11.65\%$ & $11.46\%$ & $9.16\%$ & $9.04\%$ & $100$ \\
\texttt{conv3\_2} & $256$ & $11.92\%$ & $11.83\%$ & $9.17\%$ & $9.05\%$ & $100$ \\
\texttt{conv3\_3} & $256$ & $12.54\%$ & $12.41\%$ & $9.46\%$ & $9.34\%$ & $100$ \\
\texttt{conv4\_1} & $512$ & $13.40\%$ & $12.28\%$ & $10.18\%$ & $9.69\%$ & $400$ \\
\texttt{conv4\_2} & $512$ & $13.02\%$ & $12.62\%$ & $10.65\%$ & $10.25\%$ & $400$ \\
\texttt{conv4\_3} & $512$ & $13.11\%$ & $12.97\%$ & $12.03\%$ & $10.92\%$ & $400$ \\
\texttt{conv5\_1} & $512$ & $13.46\%$ & $13.09\%$ & $12.62\%$ & $11.68\%$ & $400$ \\
\texttt{conv5\_2} & $512$ & $13.77\%$ & $13.20\%$ & $12.61\%$ & $11.64\%$ & $400$ \\
\texttt{conv5\_3} & $512$ & $36.07\%$ & $13.35\%$ & $13.10\%$ & $12.01\%$ & $1\times 10^3$ \\
\midrule
fc6 & $4096$ & $15.08\%$ & $15.17\%$ & $12.31\%$ & $11.71\%$ & $2\times 10^3$ \\
fc7 & $4096$ & $15.73\%$ & $14.07\%$ & $11.98\%$ & $11.09\%$ & $1\times 10^4$ \\
\bottomrule
\end{tabular}
\vspace{-3mm}
\end{table*}
\fakeparagraph{Dataset and Settings}
We experiment on MNIST dataset with the LeNet-300-100 and LeNet-5 networks~\cite{bib:PIEEE98:LeCun} to recognize handwritten digits from zero to nine.
LeNet-300-100 is a fully connected network with two hidden layers ($300$ and $100$ neurons each), reporting an error from $1.6\%$ to $1.76\%$ on MNIST~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong}\cite{bib:PIEEE98:LeCun}.
LeNet-5 is a convolutional network with two convolutional layers and two fully connected layers, which achieves an error ranging from $0.8\%$ to $1.27\%$ on MNIST~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong}\cite{bib:PIEEE98:LeCun}.
We train two LeNet-300-100 networks of our own with errors of $1.57\%$ and $1.60\%$; and two LeNet-5 networks with errors of $0.89\%$ and $0.95\%$.
All the networks are initialized randomly with different seeds, and the training data are also shuffled before every training epoch.
After training, the ordering of neurons/kernels in all hidden layers is once more randomly permuted.
Therefore the models have completely different parameters (weights).
The training of LeNet-300-100 and LeNet-5 networks requires $1.05\times 10^4$ and $1.1\times 10^4$ iterations in average, respectively.
For sparse networks, we apply one iteration of L-OBS~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong} to prune the weights of the four LeNet networks.
We then enforce all neurons to be shared in each hidden layer of the two dense LeNet-300-100 networks, sparse LeNet-300-100 networks, dense LeNet-5 networks, and sparse LeNet-5 networks, using MTZ\xspace.
\fakeparagraph{Results}
\figref{fig:layer_first} plots the average error after sharing different amounts of neurons in the first layers of two dense LeNet-300-100 networks.
\figref{fig:layer_second} shows the error by further merging the second layers.
We compare MTZ\xspace with a random sharing scheme, which shares neurons by first picking $(i_k,j_k)$ at random, and then choosing randomly between $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i_k}$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j_k}$ as the shared weights $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}_{l_k}$.
When all the $300$ neurons in the first hidden layers are shared, there is an increase of $0.95\%$ in test error (averaged over the two models) even without retraining, while random sharing induces an error of $33.47\%$.
We also experiment MTZ\xspace to fully merge the hidden layers in the two LeNet-300-100 networks without any retraining \emph{i.e.},\xspace without line 10 in Algorithm~\ref{alg:zip}.
The averaged test error increases by only 1.50\%.
\tabref{tab:LeNet} summarizes the errors of each LeNet pair before zipping (err$_{A}$ and err${_B}$), after fully merged with retraining (re-err$_C$) and the number of retraining iterations involved (\# re-iter).
MTZ\xspace consistently achieves lossless network zipping on fully connected and convolutional networks, either they are dense or sparse, with 100\% parameters of hidden layers shared.
Meanwhile, the number of retraining iterations is approximately $19.0\times$ and $18.7\times$ fewer than that of training a dense LeNet-300-100 network and a dense LeNet-5 network, respectively.
\subsection{Performance to Zip Two Networks (VGG-16) Pre-trained for Different Tasks}
\label{subsec:different}
This experiment evaluates the performance of MTZ\xspace to automatically share information among two neural networks for different tasks.
We investigate:
\textit{(i)} what the accuracy loss is when all hidden layers of two models for different tasks are fully shared (in purpose of maximal size reduction);
\textit{(ii)} how much neurons and parameters can be shared between the two models by MTZ\xspace with at most $0.5\%$ increase in test errors allowed (in purpose of minimal accuracy loss).
\fakeparagraph{Dataset and Settings}
We explore to merge two VGG-16 networks trained on the ImageNet ILSVRC-2012 dataset~\cite{bib:IJCV15:Russakovsky} for object classification and the CelabA dataset~\cite{bib:ICCV15:Liu} for facial attribute classification.
The ImageNet dataset contains images of $1,000$ object categories.
The CelebA dataset consists of $200$ thousand celebrity face images labelled with $40$ attribute classes.
VGG-16 is a deep convolutional network with $13$ convolutional layers and $3$ fully connected layers.
We directly adopt the pre-trained weights from the original VGG-16 model~\cite{bib:arXiv14:Simonyan} for the object classification task, which has a $10.31\%$ error in our evaluation.
For the facial attribute classification task, we train a second VGG-16 model following a similar process as in~\cite{bib:CVPR17:Lu}.
We initialize the convolutional layers of a VGG-16 model using the pre-trained parameters from imdb-wiki~\cite{bib:IJCV18:Rothe}, then train the remaining $3$ fully connected layers till the model yields an error of $8.50\%$, which matches the accuracy of the VGG-16 model used in~\cite{bib:CVPR17:Lu} on CelebA.
We conduct two experiments with the two VGG-16 models.
\textit{(i)}
All hidden layers in the two models are $100\%$ merged using MTZ\xspace.
\textit{(ii)}
Each pair of layers in the two models are adaptively merged using MTZ\xspace allowing an increase ($<0.5\%$) in test errors on the two datasets.
\begin{table*}[t]
\caption{Test errors, number of shared neurons, and retraining iterations of adaptively zipping two well-trained VGG-16 networks for ImageNet and CelebA.}
\label{tab:VGG_adaptive}
\centering
\scriptsize
\vspace{1mm}
\begin{tabular}{llllllll}
\toprule
\multirow{2}{*}{Layer} & \multirow{2}{*}{$N^A_l$} & \multirow{2}{*}{$\tilde{N}_l$} & \multicolumn{2}{c}{ImageNet (Top-5 Error)} & \multicolumn{2}{c}{CelebA (Error)} & \multirow{2}{*}{\# re-iter}\\
\cmidrule{4-7}
& & & w/o-re-err$_{C}$ & re-err$_C$ & w/o-re-err$_{C}$ & re-err$_C$ & \\
\midrule
\texttt{conv1\_1} & $64$ & $64$ & $10.28\%$ & $10.37\%$ & $8.39\%$ & $8.33\%$ & $50$\\
\texttt{conv1\_2} & $64$ & $64$ & $10.93\%$ & $10.50\%$ & $8.77\%$ & $8.54\%$ & $100$\\
\texttt{conv2\_1} & $128$ & $96$ & $10.74\%$ & $10.57\%$ & $8.62\%$ & $8.46\%$ & $100$\\
\texttt{conv2\_2} & $128$ & $96$ & $10.87\%$ & $10.79\%$ & $8.56\%$ & $8.47\%$ & $100$\\
\texttt{conv3\_1} & $256$ & $192$ & $10.83\%$ & $10.76\%$ & $8.62\%$ & $8.48\%$ & $100$\\
\texttt{conv3\_2} & $256$ & $192$ & $10.92\%$ & $10.71\%$ & $8.52\%$ & $8.44\%$ & $100$\\
\texttt{conv3\_3} & $256$ & $192$ & $10.86\%$ & $10.71\%$ & $8.83\%$ & $8.63\%$ & $100$\\
\texttt{conv4\_1} & $512$ & $384$ & $10.69\%$ & $10.51\%$ & $9.39\%$ & $8.71\%$ & $400$\\
\texttt{conv4\_2} & $512$ & $320$ & $10.43\%$ & $10.46\%$ & $9.06\%$ & $8.80\%$ & $400$\\
\texttt{conv4\_3} & $512$ & $320$ & $10.56\%$ & $10.36\%$ & $9.36\%$ & $8.93\%$ & $400$\\
\texttt{conv5\_1} & $512$ & $436$ & $10.42\%$ & $10.51\%$ & $9.54\%$ & $9.15\%$ & $400$\\
\texttt{conv5\_2} & $512$ & $436$ & $10.47\%$ & $10.49\%$ & $9.43\%$ & $9.16\%$ & $400$\\
\texttt{conv5\_3} & $512$ & $436$ & $10.49\%$ & $10.24\%$ & $9.61\%$ & $9.07\%$ & $1\times 10^3$\\
\midrule
\texttt{fc6} & $4096$ & $1792$ & $11.46\%$ & $11.33\%$ & $9.37\%$ & $9.18\%$ & $2\times 10^3$\\
\texttt{fc7} & $4096$ & $4096$ & $11.45\%$ & $10.75\%$ & $9.15\%$ & $8.95\%$ & $1.5\times 10^4$\\
\bottomrule
\end{tabular}
\end{table*}
\fakeparagraph{Results}
\tabref{tab:VGG_all} summarizes the performance when each pair of hidden layers are $100\%$ merged.
The test errors of both tasks gradually increase during the zipping procedure from layer \texttt{conv1\_1} to \texttt{conv5\_2} and then the error on ImageNet surges when \texttt{conv5\_3} are $100\%$ shared.
After $1,000$ iterations of retraining, the accuracies of both tasks are resumed.
When $100\%$ parameters of all hidden layers are shared between the two models, the joint model yields test errors of $14.07\%$ on ImageNet and $11.09\%$ on CelebA, \emph{i.e.},\xspace increases of $3.76\%$ and $2.59\%$ in the original test errors.
\tabref{tab:VGG_adaptive} shows the performance when each pair of hidden layers are adaptively merged.
Ultimately, MTZ\xspace achieves an increase in test errors of $0.44\%$ on ImageNet and $0.45\%$ on CelebA.
Approximately $39.61\%$ of the parameters in the two models are shared (56.94\% in the $13$ convolutional layers and 38.17\% in the $2$ fully connected layers).
The zipping procedure involves $20,650$ iterations of retraining.
For comparison, at least $3.7\times 10^5$ iterations are needed to train a VGG-16 network from scratch~\cite{bib:arXiv14:Simonyan}.
That is, MTZ\xspace is able to inherit information from the pre-trained models and construct a combined model with an increase in test errors of less than $0.5\%$.
And the process requires at least $17.9\times$ fewer (re)training iterations than training a joint network from scratch.
For comparison, we also trained a fully shared multi-task VGG-16 with two split classification layers jointly on both tasks.
The test errors are 14.88\% on ImageNet and 13.29\% on CelebA.
This model has exactly the same topology and amount of parameters as our model constructed by MTZ\xspace, but performs slightly worse on both tasks.
\subsection{Performance to Zip Multiple Networks (ResNets) Pre-trained for Different Tasks}
\label{subsec:ResNet}
This experiment shows the performance of MTZ\xspace to merge more than two neural networks for different tasks, where the model for each task is pre-trained using deeper architectures such as ResNets.
\fakeparagraph{Dataset and Settings}
We adopt the experiment settings similar to~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Rebuffi}, a recent work on multi-task learning with ResNets.
Specifically, five ResNet28 networks~\cite{bib:arXiv16:Zagoruyko} are trained for diverse recognition tasks, including CIFAR100 (C100)~\cite{bib:Citeseer09:Krizhevsky}, German Traffic Sign Recognition (GTSR) Benchmark~\cite{bib:NN12:Stallkamp}, Omniglot (OGlt)~\cite{bib:Science15:Lake}, Street View House Numbers (SVHN)~\cite{bib:NIPS15Workshop:Netzer} and UCF101 (UCF)~\cite{bib:arXiv12:Soomro}.
We set the same 90\% compression ratio for the five models and evaluate the performance of MTZ\xspace by the accuracy of the joint model on each task.
\begin{table}[t]
\caption{Test errors of pre-trained single ResNets and the joint network merged by MTZ\xspace. $1 \times$ is the number of parameters of one single ResNet excluding the last classification layer.}
\label{tab:ResNet}
\centering
\scriptsize
\begin{tabular}{llllllll}
\toprule
& \#par. & C100 & GTSR & OGlt & SVHN & UCF & \textbf{mean}\\
\midrule
$5 \times$ Single model & $5\times$ & $29.19\%$ & $1.48\%$ & $14.40\%$ & $6.86\%$ & $37.83\%$ & \textbf{17.95\%}\\
Joint model & 1.5$\mathbf{\times}$ & 29.13\% & 0.09\% & 15.65\% & 7.08\% & 39.04\% & \textbf{18.20\%}\\
\bottomrule
\end{tabular}
\end{table}
\fakeparagraph{Results}
\tabref{tab:ResNet} shows the accuracy of each individual pre-trained model and the joint model on the five tasks.
The average accuracy decrease is a negligible 0.25\%.
Although ResNets are much deeper and have more complex topology compared to VGG-16, MTZ\xspace is still able to effectively reduce the overall number of parameters, while retaining the accuracy on each task.
\section{Introduction}
\label{sec:introduction}
AI-powered mobile applications increasingly demand \textit{multiple} deep neural networks for \textit{correlated} tasks to be performed continuously and concurrently on resource-constrained devices such as wearables, smartphones, self-driving cars, and drones~\cite{bib:IMWUT17:Georgiev,bib:MobiSys17:Mathur}.
While many pre-trained models for different tasks are available~\cite{bib:PIEEE98:LeCun,bib:IJCV18:Rothe,bib:arXiv14:Simonyan}, it is often infeasible to deploy them directly on mobile devices.
For instance, VGG-16 models for object detection~\cite{bib:arXiv14:Simonyan} and facial attribute classification~\cite{bib:CVPR17:Lu} both contain over $130$M parameters.
Packing multiple such models easily strains mobile storage and memory.
Sharing information among tasks holds potential to reduce the sizes of multiple correlated models without incurring drop in individual task inference accuracy.
We study information sharing in the context of \textit{cross-model compression}, which seeks \textit{effective} and \textit{efficient} information sharing mechanisms among \textit{pre-trained} models for multiple tasks to reduce the size of the combined model without accuracy loss in each task.
A solution to cross-model compression is multi-task learning (MTL), a paradigm that jointly learns multiple tasks to improve the robustness and generalization of tasks~\cite{bib:ML97:Caruana,bib:IMWUT17:Georgiev}.
However, most MTL studies use heuristically configured shared structures, which may lead to dramatic accuracy loss due to improper sharing of knowledge~\cite{bib:arXiv17:Zhang}.
Some recent proposals~\cite{bib:CVPR17:Lu,bib:CVPR16:Misra,bib:ICLR16:Yang} automatically decide ``what to share'' in deep neural networks.
Yet deep MTL usually involves enormous training overhead~\cite{bib:arXiv17:Zhang}.
Hence it is inefficient to ignore the already trained parameters in each model and apply MTL for cross-model compression.
We propose Multi-Task Zipping (MTZ\xspace), a framework to automatically and adaptively merge correlated, well-trained deep neural networks for cross-model compression via neuron sharing.
It decides the optimal sharable pairs of neurons on a layer basis and adjusts their incoming weights such that minimal errors are introduced in each task.
Unlike MTL, MTZ\xspace inherits the parameters of each model and optimizes the information to be shared among models such that only light retraining is necessary to resume the accuracy of individual tasks.
In effect, it squeezes the \textit{inter-network redundancy} from multiple already trained deep neural networks.
With appropriate hardware support, MTZ\xspace can be further integrated with existing proposals for \textit{single-model compression}, which reduce the \textit{intra-network redundancy} via pruning~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong,bib:NIPS16:Guo,bib:NIPS93:Hassibi,bib:NIPS90:LeCun} or quantization~\cite{bib:NIPS15:Courbariaux,bib:ICLR16:Han}.
The contributions and results of this work are as follows.
\begin{itemize}
\vspace{-2mm}
\item
We propose MTZ\xspace, a framework that automatically merges multiple correlated, pre-trained deep neural networks.
It squeezes the task relatedness across models via layer-wise neuron sharing, while requiring light retraining to re-boost the accuracy of the combined model.
\item
Experiments show that MTZ\xspace is able to merge all the hidden layers of two LeNet networks~\cite{bib:PIEEE98:LeCun} (differently trained on MNIST) without increase in test errors.
MTZ\xspace manages to share $39.61\%$ parameters between the two VGG-16 networks pre-trained for object detection (on ImageNet~\cite{bib:IJCV15:Russakovsky}) and facial attribute classification (on CelebA~\cite{bib:ICCV15:Liu}), while incurring less than $0.5\%$ increase in test errors.
Even when all the hidden layers are fully merged, there is a moderate (averaged 3.18\%) increase in test errors for both tasks.
MTZ\xspace achieves the above performance with at least $17.9\times$ fewer iterations than training a single VGG-16 network from scratch~\cite{bib:arXiv14:Simonyan}.
In addition, MTZ\xspace is able to share 90\% of the parameters among five ResNets on five different visual recognition tasks while inducing negligible loss on accuracy.
\end{itemize}
\section{Layer-wise Network Zipping}
\label{sec:zipping}
\vspace{-2mm}
\subsection{Problem Statement}
Consider two inference tasks $A$ and $B$ with the corresponding two \textit{well-trained} models $M^A$ and $M^B$, \emph{i.e.},\xspace trained to a local minimum in error.
Our goal is to construct a combined model $M^C$ by sharing as many neurons between layers in $M^A$ and $M^B$ as possible such that \textit{(i)} $M^C$ has minimal loss in inference accuracy for the two tasks and \textit{(ii)} the construction of $M^C$ involves minimal retraining.
For ease of presentation, we explain our method with two feed-forward networks of dense fully connected (FC) layers.
We extend MTZ\xspace to convolutional (CONV) layers in \secref{subsec:conv}, sparse layers in \secref{subsec:sparse} and residual networks (ResNets) in \secref{subsec:resnet}.
We assume the same input domain and the same number of layers in $M^A$ and $M^B$.
\vspace{-2mm}
\subsection{Layer Zipping via Neuron Sharing: Fully Connected Layers}
\label{subsec:fc}
\begin{figure}[t]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.85\linewidth]{figure/illustration.pdf}
\caption{An illustration of layer zipping via neuron sharing: neurons and the corresponding weight matrices (a) before and (b) after zipping the $l$-th layers of $M^A$ and $M^B$.}
\label{fig:mergeprocess}
\vspace{-2mm}
\end{figure}
This subsection presents the procedure of zipping the $l$-th layers ($1\leq l\leq L-1$) in $M^A$ and $M^B$ given the previous $(l-1)$ layers have been merged (see \figref{fig:mergeprocess}).
We denote the input layers as the $0$-th layers.
The $L$-th layers are the output layers of $M^A$ and $M^B$.
Denote the weight matrices of the $l$-th layers in $M^A$ and $M^B$ as $\mathbf{W}^A_l \in \mathbb{R}^{N^A_{l-1}\times N^A_l}$ and $\mathbf{W}^B_l \in \mathbb{R}^{N^B_{l-1}\times N^B_l}$, where $N^A_l$ and $N^B_l$ are the numbers of neurons in the $l$-th layers in $M^A$ and $M^B$.
Assume $\tilde{N}_{l-1} \in [0,\min\{N^A_{l-1},N^B_{l-1}\}]$ neurons are shared between the $(l-1)$-th layers in $M^A$ and $M^B$.
Hence there are $\hat{N}^A_{l-1}=N^A_{l-1}-\tilde{N}_{l-1}$ and $\hat{N}^B_{l-1}=N^B_{l-1}-\tilde{N}_{l-1}$ task-specific neurons left in the $(l-1)$-th layers in $M^A$ and $M^B$, respectively.
\fakeparagraph{Neuron Sharing}
To enforce neuron sharing between the $l$-th layers in $M^A$ and $M^B$, we calculate the \textit{functional difference} between the $i$-th neuron in layer $l$ in $M^A$, and the $j$-th neuron in the same layer in $M^B$.
The functional difference is measured by a metric $d[\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}]$, where $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}\in\mathbb{R}^{\tilde{N}_{l-1}}$ are the incoming weights of the two neurons from the \textit{shared} neurons in the $(l-1)$-th layer.
We do not alter incoming weights from the non-shared neurons in the $(l-1)$-th layer because they are likely to contain task-specific information only.
To zip the $l$-th layers in $M^A$ and $M^B$, we first calculate the functional difference for each pair of neurons $(i,j)$ in layer $l$ and select $\tilde{N}_{l} \in [0, \min\{N^A_l, N^B_l\}]$ pairs with the smallest functional difference.
These pairs of neurons form a set $\{(i_k,j_k)\}$, where $k=0,\cdots,\tilde{N}_{l}$ and each pair is merged into one neuron.
Thus the neurons in the $l$-th layers in $M^A$ and $M^B$ fall into three groups: $\tilde{N}_{l}$ shared, $\hat{N}^A_{l}=N^A_{l}-\tilde{N}_{l}$ specific for $A$ and $\hat{N}^B_{l}=N^B_{l}-\tilde{N}_{l}$ specific for $B$.
\fakeparagraph{Weight Matrices Updating}
Finally the weight matrices $\mathbf{W}^A_l$ and $\mathbf{W}^B_l$ are re-organized as follows.
The weights vectors $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i_k}$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j_k}$, where $k=0,\cdots,\tilde{N}_{l}$, are merged and replaced by a matrix $\tilde{\mathbf{W}}_{l}\in\mathbb{R}^{\tilde{N}_{l-1}\times \tilde{N}_{l}}$, whose columns are $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}_{l,k}=f(\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i_k},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j_k})$, where $f(\cdot)$ is an \textit{incoming weight update function}.
$\tilde{\mathbf{W}}_{l}$ represents the task-relatedness between $A$ and $B$ from layer $(l-1)$ to layer $l$.
The incoming weights from the $\hat{N}^A_{l-1}$ neurons in layer $(l-1)$ to the $\hat{N}^A_{l}$ neurons in layer $l$ in $M^A$ form a matrix $\hat{\mathbf{W}}^A_l\in\mathbb{R}^{N^{A}_{l-1}\times \hat{N}^{A}_{l}}$.
The remaining columns in $\mathbf{W}^A_l$ are packed as $\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^A_l\in\mathbb{R}^{\hat{N}^{A}_{l-1}\times \tilde{N}_{l}}$.
Matrices $\hat{\mathbf{W}}^A_l$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^A_l$ contain the task-specific information for $A$ between layer $(l-1)$ and layer $l$.
For task $B$, we organize matrices $\hat{\mathbf{W}}^B_l\in\mathbb{R}^{N^{B}_{l-1}\times \hat{N}^{B}_{l}}$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^B_l\in\mathbb{R}^{\hat{N}^{B}_{l-1}\times \tilde{N}_{l}}$ in a similar manner.
We also adjust the order of rows in the weight matrices in the $(l+1)$-th layers, $\mathbf{W}^A_{l+1}$ and $\mathbf{W}^B_{l+1}$, to maintain the correct connections among neurons.
The above layer zipping process can reduce $\tilde{N}_{l-1}\times \tilde{N}_{l}$ weights from $\mathbf{W}^A_l$ and $\mathbf{W}^B_l$.
Essential in MTZ\xspace are the neuron functional difference metric $d[\cdot]$ and the incoming weight update function $f(\cdot)$.
They are designed to demand only light retraining to recover the original accuracy.
\subsection{Neuron Functional Difference and Incoming Weight Update}
\label{subsec:df}
This subsection introduces our neuron functional difference metric $d[\cdot]$ and weight update function $f(\cdot)$ leveraging previous research on parameter sensitivity analysis for neural networks~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong,bib:NIPS93:Hassibi,bib:NIPS90:LeCun}.
\fakeparagraph{Preliminaries}
A naive approach to accessing the impact of a change in some parameter vector $\boldsymbol{\theta}$ on the objective function (training error) $E$ is to apply the parameter change and re-evaluate the error on the entire training data.
An alternative is to exploit second order derivatives~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong,bib:NIPS93:Hassibi}.
Specifically, the Taylor series of the change $\delta E$ in training error due to certain parameter vector change $\delta\boldsymbol{\theta}$ is \cite{bib:NIPS93:Hassibi}:
\begin{equation}
\delta E=\left(\frac{\partial E}{\partial \boldsymbol{\theta}}\right)^\top \cdot \delta \boldsymbol{\theta} + \frac{1}{2}{\delta\boldsymbol{\theta}}^\top \cdot \mathbf{H} \cdot \delta\boldsymbol{\theta} + O(\|\delta\boldsymbol{\theta}\|^3)
\end{equation}
where $\mathbf{H}=\partial^2 E/\partial {\boldsymbol{\theta}}^2$ is the Hessian matrix containing all the second order derivatives.
For a network trained to a local minimum in $E$, the first term vanishes.
The third and higher order terms can also be ignored~\cite{bib:NIPS93:Hassibi}.
Hence:
\begin{equation}\label{eq:deltaE}
\delta E=\frac{1}{2}{\delta\boldsymbol{\theta}}^\top \cdot \mathbf{H} \cdot \delta\boldsymbol{\theta}
\end{equation}
\equref{eq:deltaE} approximates the deviation in error due to parameter changes.
However, it is still a bottleneck to compute and store the Hessian matrix $\mathbf{H}$ of a modern deep neural network.
As next, we harness the trick in~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong} to break the calculations of Hessian matrices into layer-wise, and propose a Hessian-based neuron difference metric as well as the corresponding weight update function for neuron sharing.
\fakeparagraph{Method}
Inspired by~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong} we define the error functions of $M^A$ and $M^B$ in layer $l$ as
\begin{align}
E^A_l&=\frac{1}{n_A}\sum\|\tilde{\mathbf{y}}^A_l-\mathbf{y}^A_l\|^2\\
E^B_l&=\frac{1}{n_B}\sum\|\tilde{\mathbf{y}}^B_l-\mathbf{y}^B_l\|^2
\end{align}
where $\mathbf{y}^A_l$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{y}}^A_l$ are the \textit{pre-activation} outputs of the $l$-th layers in $M^A$ before and after layer zipping, evaluated on one instance from the training set of $A$; $\mathbf{y}^B_l$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{y}}^B_l$ are defined in a similar way; $\|\cdot\|$ is $l^2$-norm; $n_A$ and $n_B$ are the number of training samples for $M^A$ and $M^B$, respectively; $\Sigma$ is the summation over all training instances.
Since $M^A$ and $M^B$ are trained to a local minimum in training error, $E^A_l$ and $E^B_l$ will have the same minimum points as the corresponding training errors.
We further define an error function of the combined network in layer $l$ as
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:El}
E_l=\alpha E^A_l+(1-\alpha)E^B_l
\end{equation}
where $\alpha \in (0,1)$ is used to balance the errors of $M^A$ and $M^B$.
The change in $E_l$ with respect to neuron sharing in the $l$-th layer can be expressed in a similar form as \equref{eq:deltaE}:
\begin{equation}\label{eq:deltaEl}
\delta E_l=\frac{1}{2}({\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^{A}_{l,i}})^\top \cdot \tilde{\mathbf{H}}^A_{l,i} \cdot \delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}+\frac{1}{2}({\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}})^\top \cdot \tilde{\mathbf{H}}^B_{l,j} \cdot \delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}
\end{equation}
where $\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}$ and $\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}$ are the adjustments in the weights of $i$ and $j$ to merge the two neurons; $\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^A_{l,i}=\partial^2 E_l /(\partial \tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i})^2$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^B_{l,j}=\partial^2 E_l /(\partial \tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j})^2$ denote the \textit{layer-wise} Hessian matrices.
Similarly to~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong}, the layer-wise Hessian matrices can be calculated as
\begin{align}
\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^A_{l,i}&=\frac{\alpha}{n_A}\sum\mathbf{x}^A_{i-1}\cdot (\mathbf{x}^A_{i-1})^\top\\
\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^B_{l,j}&=\frac{1-\alpha}{n_B}\sum\mathbf{x}^B_{j-1}\cdot (\mathbf{x}^B_{j-1})^\top
\end{align}
where $\mathbf{x}^A_{i-1}$ and $\mathbf{x}^B_{j-1}$ are the outputs of the merged neurons from layer $(l-1)$ in $M^A$ and $M^B$, respectively.
When sharing the $i$-th and $j$-th neurons in the $l$-th layers of $M^A$ and $M^B$, respectively, our aim is to minimize $\delta E_l$, which can be formulated as the optimization problem below:
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:opt}
\min_{(i,j)}\{\min_{(\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i},\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j})} \delta E_l\} \, \textrm{s.t.} \, \tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}+\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}=\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}+\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}
\end{equation}
Applying the method of Lagrange multipliers, the optimal weight changes and the resulting $\delta E_l$ are:
\begin{align}
\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^{A, opt}_{l,i} =
&(\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^A_{l,i})^{-1} \cdot \left((\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^A_{l,i})^{-1}+(\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^B_{l,j})^{-1}\right)^{-1} \cdot (\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}-\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}) \\
\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^{B, opt}_{l,j} =
& (\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^B_{l,j})^{-1}\cdot \left((\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^A_{l,i})^{-1}+(\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^B_{l,j})^{-1}\right)^{-1} \cdot (\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}-\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}) \\
\delta E_l^{opt}=
& \frac{1}{2}(\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}-\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j})^\top \cdot
\left((\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^A_{l,i})^{-1}+(\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^B_{l,j})^{-1}\right)^{-1} \cdot(\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}-\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j})
\end{align}
Finally, we define the neuron functional difference metric $d[\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}]=\delta E_l^{opt}$, and the weight update function $f(\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j})=\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}+\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^{A,opt}_{l,i}=\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}+\delta\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^{B,opt}_{l,j}$.
\subsection{MTZ\xspace Framework}
Algorithm~\ref{alg:zip} outlines the process of MTZ\xspace on two tasks of the same input domain, \emph{e.g.},\xspace images.
We first construct a joint input layer.
In case the input layer dimensions are not equal in both tasks, the dimension of the joint input layer equals the larger dimension of the two original input layers, and fictive connections (\emph{i.e.},\xspace weight $0$) are added to the model whose original input layers are smaller.
Afterwards we begin layer-wise neuron sharing and weight matrix updating from the first hidden layer.
The two networks are ``zipped'' layer by layer till the last hidden layer and we obtain a combined network.
After merging each layer, the networks are retrained to re-boost the accuracy.
\fakeparagraph{Practical Issues}
We make the following notes on the practicability of MTZ\xspace.
\vspace{-2mm}
\begin{itemize}
\item \textit{How to set the number of neurons to be shared?}
One can directly set $\tilde{N}_l$ neurons to be shared for the $l$-th layers, or set a layer-wise threshold $\varepsilon_l$ instead.
Given a threshold $\varepsilon_l$, MTZ\xspace shares pairs of neurons where $\{(i_k,j_k)|d[\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i_k},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j_k}]<\varepsilon_l\}$.
In this case $\tilde{N}_l=|\{(i_k,j_k)\}|$.
One can set $\{\tilde{N}_l\}$ if there is a hard constraint on storage or memory.
Otherwise $\{\varepsilon_l\}$ can be set if accuracy is of higher priority.
Note that $\{\varepsilon_l\}$ controls the layer-wise error $\delta E_l$, which correlates to the accumulated errors of the outputs in layer $L$ $\tilde{\varepsilon}^A=\frac{1}{\sqrt{n_A}}\sum\|\tilde{\mathbf{x}}^A_L-\mathbf{x}^A_L\|$ and $\tilde{\varepsilon}^B=\frac{1}{\sqrt{n_B}}\sum\|\tilde{\mathbf{x}}^B_L-\mathbf{x}^B_L\|$~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong}.
\item \textit{How to execute the combined model for each task?}
During inference, only task-related connections in the combined model are enabled.
For instance, when performing inference on task $A$, we only activate $\{\hat{\mathbf{W}}^A_l\}$, $\{\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^A_l\}$ and $\{\tilde{\mathbf{W}}_l\}$, while $\{\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^B_l\}$ and $\{\hat{\mathbf{W}}^B_l\}$ are disabled (\emph{e.g.},\xspace by setting them to zero).
\item \textit{How to zip more than two neural networks?}
MTZ\xspace is able to zip more than two models by sequentially adding each network into the joint network, and the calculated Hessian matrices of the already zipped joint network can be reused.
Therefore, MTZ\xspace is scalable in regards to both the depth of each network and the number of tasks to be zipped.
Also note that since calculating the Hessian matrix of one layer requires only its layer input, only one forward pass in total from each model is needed for the merging process (excluding retraining).
\end{itemize}
\begin{algorithm}[t]
\SetKwInOut{Input}{input}\SetKwInOut{Output}{output}
\Input{$\{\mathbf{W}^A_l\}$, $\{\mathbf{W}^B_l\}$: weight matrices of $M^A$ and $M^B$\\$\mathbf{X}^A, \mathbf{X}^B$: training datum of task A and B (including labels)\\$\alpha$: coefficient to adjust the zipping balance of $M^A$ and $M^B$\\$\{\tilde{N}_l\}$: number of neurons to be shared in layer $l$}
\For{$l=1,\ldots,L-1$}
{
Calculate inputs for the current layer $\mathbf{x}^A_{l-1}$ and $\mathbf{x}^B_{l-1}$ using training data from $\mathbf{X}^A$ and $\mathbf{X}^B$ and forward propagation
$\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^A_{l,i}\leftarrow\frac{\alpha}{n_A}\sum\mathbf{x}^A_{i-1}\cdot (\mathbf{x}^A_{i-1})^\top$
$\tilde{\mathbf{H}}^B_{l,j}\leftarrow\frac{1-\alpha}{n_B}\sum\mathbf{x}^B_{j-1}\cdot (\mathbf{x}^B_{j-1})^\top$
Select $\tilde{N}_l$ pairs of neurons $\{(i_k,j_k)\}$ with the smallest $d[\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}]$
\For{$k\leftarrow 1,\ldots,\tilde{N}_l$}{
$\tilde{\mathbf{w}}_{l,k}\leftarrow f(\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i_k},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j_k})$
}
Re-organize $\mathbf{W}^A_l$ and $\mathbf{W}^B_l$ into $\tilde{\mathbf{W}}_{l}$, $\hat{\mathbf{W}}^A_l$, $\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^A_l$, $\hat{\mathbf{W}}^B_l$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^B_l$
Permute the order of rows in $\mathbf{W}^A_{l+1}$ and $\mathbf{W}^B_{l+1}$ to maintain correct connections
Conduct a light retraining on task $A$ and $B$ to re-boost accuracy of the joint model
}
\Output{$\{\hat{\mathbf{W}}^A_l\}, \{\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^A_l\}, \{\tilde{\mathbf{W}}_l\}, \{\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^B_l\}, \{\hat{\mathbf{W}}^B_l\}$: weights of the zipped multi-task model $M^C$}
\caption{Multi-task Zipping via Layer-wise Neuron Sharing}
\label{alg:zip}
\end{algorithm}
\vspace{-2mm}
\subsection{Extension to Convolutional Layers}
\label{subsec:conv}
The layer zipping procedure of two convolutional layers are very similar to that of two fully connected layers.
The only difference is that sharing is performed on kernels rather than neurons.
Take the $i$-th kernel of size $k_l\times k_l$ in layer $l$ of $M^A$ as an example.
Its incoming weights from the previous shared kernels are $\tilde{\mathbf{W}}^{A,in}_{l,i} \in \mathbb{R}^{k_l\times k_l \times \tilde{N}_{l-1}}$.
The weights are then flatten into a vector $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}$ to calculate functional differences.
As with in \secref{subsec:fc}, after layer zipping in the $l$-th layers, the weight matrices in the $(l+1)$-th layers need careful permutations regarding the flattening ordering to maintain correct connections among neurons, especially when the next layers are fully connected layers.
\vspace{-2mm}
\subsection{Extension to Sparse Layers}
\label{subsec:sparse}
Since the pre-trained neural networks may have already been sparsified via weight pruning, we also extend MTZ\xspace to support sparse models.
Specifically, we use sparse matrices, where zeros indicate no connections, to represent such sparse models.
Then the incoming weights from the previous shared neurons/kernels $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}$ still have the same dimension.
Therefore $d[\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}]$, $f(\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i},\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j})$ can be calculated as usual.
However, we also calculate two mask vectors $\tilde{\mathbf{m}}^A_{l,i}$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{m}}^B_{l,j}$, whose elements are $0$ when the corresponding elements in $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^A_{l,i}$ and $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}^B_{l,j}$ are $0$, and $1$ otherwise.
We pick the mask vector with more $1's$ and apply it to $\tilde{\mathbf{w}}_{l}$.
This way the combined model always have a smaller number of connections (weights) than the sum of the original two models.
\vspace{-2mm}
\subsection{Extension to Residual Networks}
\label{subsec:resnet}
MTZ can also be extended to merge residual networks~\cite{bib:CVPR16:He}.
To simplify the merging process, we assume that the last layer is always fully-merged when merging the next layers.
Hence after merging we have only matrices $\hat{\mathbf{W}}^A_l\in\mathbb{R}^{N^{A}_{l-1}\times \hat{N}^{A}_{l}}$, $\hat{\mathbf{W}}^B_l\in\mathbb{R}^{N^{B}_{l-1}\times \hat{N}^{B}_{l}}$, and $\tilde{\mathbf{W}}_{l}\in\mathbb{R}^{\min\{N^A_{l-1}, N^B_{l-1}\} \times \tilde{N}_{l}}$.
This assumption is able to provide decent performance (see \secref{subsec:ResNet}).
Note that the sequence of the channels of the shortcuts need to be permuted before and after the adding operation at the end of each residual block in order to maintain correct connections after zipping.
\section{Related Work}
\label{sec:related}
\textbf{Multi-task Learning.}
Multi-task learning (MTL) leverages the task relatedness in the form of shared structures to jointly learn multiple tasks~\cite{bib:ML97:Caruana}.
Our MTZ\xspace resembles MTL in effect, \emph{i.e.},\xspace sharing structures among related tasks, but differs in objectives.
MTL jointly trains multiple tasks to improve their generalization, while MTZ\xspace aims to compress multiple \textit{already trained} tasks with mild training overhead.
Georgiev~\emph{et~al.}\xspace\cite{bib:IMWUT17:Georgiev} are the first to apply MTL in the context of multi-model compression.
However, as in most MTL studies, the shared topology is heuristically configured, which may lead to improper knowledge transfer~\cite{bib:NIPS14:Yosinski}.
Only a few schemes optimize \textit{what to share among tasks}, especially for deep neural networks.
Yang~\emph{et~al.}\xspace propose to learn cross-task sharing structure at each layer by tensor factorization~\cite{bib:ICLR16:Yang}.
Cross-stitching networks~\cite{bib:CVPR16:Misra} learn an optimal shared and task-specific representations using cross-stitch units.
Lu~\emph{et~al.}\xspace automatically grow a wide multi-task network architecture from a thin network by branching~\cite{bib:CVPR17:Lu}.
Similarly, Rebuffi~\emph{et~al.}\xspace sequentially add new tasks to a main task using residual adapters for ResNets~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Rebuffi}.
Different to the above methods, MTZ\xspace inherits the parameters directly from each pre-trained network when optimizing the neurons shared among tasks in each layer and demands light retraining.
\textbf{Single-Model Compression.}
Deep neural networks are typically over-parameterized~\cite{bib:NIPS13:Denil}.
There have been various model compression proposals to reduce the redundancy in a \textit{single} neural network.
Pruning-based methods sparsify a neural network by eliminating unimportant weights (connections)~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong,bib:NIPS16:Guo,bib:NIPS93:Hassibi,bib:NIPS90:LeCun}.
Other approaches reduce the dimensions of a neural network by neuron trimming~\cite{bib:arXiv16:Hu} or learning a compact (yet dense) network via knowledge distillation~\cite{bib:arXiv14:Romero,bib:arXiv15:Hinton}.
The memory footprint of a neural network can be further reduced by lowering the precision of parameters~\cite{bib:NIPS15:Courbariaux,bib:ICLR16:Han}.
Unlike previous research that deals with the \textit{intra-redundancy} of a single network, our work reduces the \textit{inter-redundancy} among multiple networks.
In principle, our method is a dimension reduction based \textit{cross-model} compression scheme via neuron sharing.
Although previous attempts designed for a single network may apply, they either adopt heuristic neuron similarity criterion~\cite{bib:arXiv16:Hu} or require training a new network from scratch~\cite{bib:arXiv14:Romero,bib:arXiv15:Hinton}.
Our neuron similarity metric is grounded upon parameter sensitivity analysis for neural networks, which is applied in single-model weight pruning~\cite{bib:NIPS17:Dong,bib:NIPS93:Hassibi,bib:NIPS90:LeCun}.
Our work can be integrated with single-model compression to further reduce the size of the combined network.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 2,273 |
Round O (formerly also called Round) is an unincorporated community in Colleton County, South Carolina, United States. The population of Round O is 2,136 people. Its elevation is 36 feet (11 m). It is located near the intersection of Cottageville Highway (US 17 Alt.) and Round O Road.
According to tradition, the community received its name from a local Native American whose name was too long to pronounce, hence the name Round O, and painted his torso with a circular design.
On J. G. W. De Brahm's 1757 "Map of South Carolina and a Part of Georgia," a round geographical feature labeled "Round O Savannah" is clearly visible west of the Edisto River in St. Bartholomew's Parish.
References
Unincorporated communities in Colleton County, South Carolina
Unincorporated communities in South Carolina | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 1,880 |
class Trade::TaxonConceptSourceValidationRuleSerializer < Trade::ValidationRuleSerializer
end
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 3,011 |
Shatalovo () is a rural locality (a village) in Kubenskoye Rural Settlement, Vologodsky District, Vologda Oblast, Russia. The population was 3 as of 2002.
Geography
Shatalovo is located 26 km northwest of Vologda (the district's administrative centre) by road. Ivanovskoye is the nearest rural locality.
References
Rural localities in Vologodsky District | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 6,055 |
This etext was transcribed by Les Bowler
[Picture: Book cover]
MIXED GRILL
* * * * *
BY
W. PETT RIDGE
AUTHOR OF "MORD EM'LY," ETC.
* * * * *
"If you can't make up your mind what to
order," said the City waiter, "how about trying
the mixed grill? You may not like all of it, but
what you don't care for you can easily leave!"
* * * * *
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
NEW YORK AND LONDON
* * * * *
_Printed in_ 1913
* * * * *
CONTENTS
PAGE
I THIRD PERSON SINGULAR 1
II A BENEVOLENT CHARACTER 17
III THE WONDERFUL START 29
IV SLOW RECOVERY 44
V LOOSE CASH 57
VI PRICE OF JAMES MCWINTER 88
VII A CASE OF SUSPICION 111
VIII QUESTION OF TEMPERATURE 130
IX FOREIGN AFFAIRS 148
X BEFORE LUNCH 160
XI COUNTER ATTRACTIONS 176
XII HERO OF HAMMERTON STREET 189
XIII DAMAGES FOR LIBEL 202
XIV THE REST CURE 218
XV REWARD FOR COURAGE 242
I—THIRD PERSON SINGULAR
I MET him when I was in town at a party, where he and I were about the
only grownups; he took a good deal of trouble over the youngsters, doing
conjuring tricks to amuse them, and singing songs at the pianoforte that
made them laugh. Later in the evening, when some of the kids had been
fetched, he and I became friendly, and we had a most interesting chat.
He agreed with my views regarding the Australian team of the previous
summer; he was in full sympathy concerning the difficulty of making one
pair of white gloves do for two evenings. I asked for his name and
address.
"Don't think I have a card to spare, old chap," he said, in his easy way.
"Daresay we shall meet again."
"I'd awfully like to make sure of it," I said. "My mother may want you
to run down to our place."
"That's a different matter. Here's a pencil; write it on something. Or
allow me. I'm coming back here at ten," he went on. "You won't be gone
before that, I hope?"
"I must," I replied. "My governess will call at half-past nine to take
me home."
"What an existence we men about town do live, to be sure. Always
hurrying from one place to another."
"If my mother writes to you, Mr. Cartwright," I said, offering my hand,
"you won't fail to come along."
My mater is peculiar; she has a fixed and permanent idea that any
suggestion coming from me must necessarily be overruled and treated as of
no serious importance; I fancy this comes from the feeling, often
expressed by her, that she has to be both father and mother. It is
rather a lonely life for her, with only my governess and the servants for
company. I have heard the maids saying more than once to each other that
they wondered mistress did not marry again. "She could well afford to,"
remarked cook.
I do think I showed cleverness and tact—something very like high
diplomacy. I reminded my mother of the parties I had attended, and said
I felt glad there was no necessity for us to have our house turned upside
down and to give an evening in return. At lunch time I referred to the
matter again. Later I said good-night to her, and once more made similar
allusion to the subject.
Cards of invitation went out the next day, and my governess started on
the preparation of a charade. My governess is not, if I may say so,
possessed of incredible cleverness, and after writing out the charade and
starting rehearsals, she found she had forgotten the word, and as no one
could guess it, and she appeared unable to think of another, it became
evident that we could not rely upon this as a source of entertainment.
It was then I announced to my mother that I had already sent a note to a
friend of mine, a man whose equal for entertaining a party was rarely
encountered, and that I expected a reply from him in the course of a post
or two. She blamed me for taking the step without asking permission, and
praised me for coming to the rescue with such an excellent idea.
"Did you say Cartwright—Mr. Cartwright, dear?"
"Yes, mother. Do you know him?"
"I don't think I have met the name."
When Mr. Cartwright's postcard arrived, and the maid put it by the side
of my plate, my mother, glancing down the table before opening her own
letters, asked quickly from whom it had come, and when I told her she
contradicted me, quoting, rather excitedly, the usual Biblical and
historical cases where severe punishment had been given for the telling
of lies, or commendation awarded for the statement of exact truth. I
ventured to repeat the information, and passed the card to her as a
document in support; she looked at it, cried a little, and asked me to
forgive her for being so cross. I begged her not to mention it.
"Just for the moment," she explained, "it took me back about twelve
years."
"Before my time, mother?"
"Yes. You were not thought of then. Does your friend sign himself
Cartwright?"
"My dear mother, how else could he sign himself?"
"Send him another line, and say that your mother is looking forward to
the pleasure of making his acquaintance."
"You must tell me how to spell some of the words," I said.
The carriage was to meet some of the guests who came from London, and I
went down to the station myself and arranged with one of the cabmen
there, so that Mr. Cartwright should be brought up alone and without
being crowded by the children. My mother said I could ask him to stay
the night, and ordered a room at the hotel; but he wrote to say he had
another engagement in town, and he desired to catch the seven fifty-four
back. I remarked that this showed how popular he was in society; my
mother gave a word approving businesslike habits. It seemed exactly like
Mr. Cartwright that he should arrive in the cab at the precise hour
arranged.
"Had a good journey?" I cried, running to him in the hall as he was
getting out of his thick overcoat. "I was afraid, somehow, that you'd
back out of it at the last moment."
"Never disappoint the public," he replied cheerfully. "Sometimes I
disappoint myself, but that is another matter."
I asked what he had in his large bag.
"Brought down a figure; thought perhaps a little ventriloquism would be a
novelty."
"Anything you do will be sure to be appreciated. I've been thinking ever
since I met you of the perfectly splendid way you entertained at that
party."
"Good man!"
"And I do feel it's most awfully kind of you to come all this distance
just to oblige me. Let's go upstairs, shall we, Mr. Cartwright? I'll
take you to the room that used to be called the nursery."
He got rid of his overcoat there, and, asking me for a pair of scissors,
went carefully with them around the edge of his shirt cuffs. I inquired
whether he had been going out to many parties since I last saw him: he
replied that he had no right to complain; there were plenty of
exceedingly clever people about and he could only regard himself as
cleverish. I exhibited the soldiers that mother had given me for my
birthday. He took the blue men, I took the red, and he was Napoleon and
I Wellington. We sat upon the floor, and he was so very good as to show
me exactly what happened at the battle of Waterloo, an incident of
peculiar interest to me, because it occurred on one of the few dates I am
able to retain in my memory.
"But, Mr. Cartwright, how is it you know so much about this?" He was
moving some dominoes up from the right to represent the approach of
Blucher and the German troops.
"Used to be a soldier man," he replied.
"Why ever didn't you stay in the army, and become a Field Marshal?"
"By Jove!" he cried, "that would have been a rattling good idea. Wonder
I didn't think of it at the time."
"Is it too late now?"
"Surely not," he answered promptly, "for such an exceptionally fortunate
person as I am. Anyway, so far as 1815 is concerned, Blucher, you see,
had Grouchy to compete with—this double-six is Grouchy, with thirty-five
thousand men—but Blucher outmarched him, came up, and—" He swept the
rest of his blue men down with a wave of the hand, and hummed "Rule,
Britannia."
I expressed a wish that he had selected the reds, so that he might have
won; but he remarked in a change of mood that anything like success in
any game would, by reason of its novelty, have given him serious alarm.
I asked how the time was going.
"Lent my watch to a relative," he mentioned. "A rather distant relative;
but I see a good deal of him, from the waist upwards."
And he went to the mantelpiece to inspect the clock.
"Little man," in a sharp voice, "who is this?"
"That? Oh, that's dear mother."
He looked at it closely, whistled a tune softly.
"I shall have to catch an earlier train," he announced suddenly. "I'm
sorry. You make my apologies to every one, and say the muddle was
entirely mine."
"But you can't, Mr. Cartwright. There's nothing before the six minutes
to eight."
My governess came in, and he replaced the frame quickly. My governess
has sometimes complained that the house is lacking in male society; she
took advantage of this opportunity to talk with great vivacity, and, in
tones very different from those she uses in addressing me, inquired with
affectation concerning the theatres in town, and entertainments
generally. Fearing she would try Mr. Cartwright's patience, as she has
often tried mine, I endeavoured to detach her; but the task proved one
beyond my abilities, and she went on to submit, with deference, that what
was required was an increase of merriment in life, a view that, coming
from her, amazed me into silence. Mr. Cartwright answered that in his
opinion life was full of rollicking fun, completely furnished with joy.
"What a gift," cried my governess, "to be able always to see the cheerful
side! It means, of course, that you have been singularly free from
anything like disaster. Tell me, now, what is the nearest to a sad
experience that you ever had?"
"I expect we ought to be getting downstairs," he remarked.
In the hall I introduced Mr. Cartwright, with pride, to my mother.
"Charmed to meet you," she said, offering her hand. My mother can be
very pleasant, and if, at the moment, she gave signs of agitation, it was
not to be wondered at; I myself felt nervous. "My boy tells me that you
are going to be so very kind—" She appeared unable to go on with the
sentence.
"I was glad," he said, "to find he had not forgotten me. It isn't
everybody who has a good memory."
"It isn't everybody who cares to possess one," she said, with some
spirit. "I have heard of cases where men forget their real names."
"I have heard of cases," he remarked, "where women have been in a great
hurry to change theirs."
It struck me they were not hitting it off, as one might say, and I took
his hand and led him into the drawing-room, where the children were
having refreshment between the dances. He made himself at home with them
at once, danced a quadrille with the smallest girl, consulted with my
governess about the playing of some accompaniments, and amused her by a
remark which he made. A man who could make my governess laugh was a man
capable of anything. Going to the end of the room, he took a figure of a
boy in a Tam o' Shanter cap out of his bag, and, setting it upon his
knee, started absolutely the best entertainment I have seen in the whole
course of my existence. We all rested on the floor; my mother stood near
the doorway, but I was too much interested in Mr. Cartwright's
performance to pay attention to her. When I did look around once, to get
her to join in the applause, I found she was looking hard at my friend,
trying, I suppose, to find out how he did it. He began to sing, with the
figure making absurd interruptions that sent us all into fits of
laughter; my mother, still serious, took a chair. Mr. Cartwright had a
good voice; I don't know whether you would call it a baritone or a tenor,
but it was so pleasant to listen to that I half agreed with a sensible
girl sitting just in front of me, who said she wished the figure would
cease interfering.
"Lor' bless my soul," said the figure, "thought you'd never get that
note, Mr. Cartwright. Only just managed it." And, in a confidential
way, "Aren't you a rotten singer, though? Don't you think so, strictly
between ourselves? Have you ever tried selling coke? That would be
about your mark, you know!"
We clapped hands and stamped feet when he finished, and even the girls
declared they would rather hear something more from him than go on with
the dances. He looked at his watch, and I called out to him that he was
all right for his train; he had a quarter of an hour to spare. He came
back to the pianoforte. There he touched the keys, making a selection in
his mind.
"No, no!" cried my mother, as the prelude to a song began. "Please, not
that one!"
He changed the air at once, and went off into an Irish song. You know
the kind of tune—one that makes you keep on the move all the time you are
listening. About a ball given by Mrs. O'Flaherty, where the fiddler,
once started, declined to stop, and the couples kept on with the hop,
hop, hop, so that the dance lasted for I forget how long—three weeks, I
think. The couples gradually became tired, the tune went slower and
slower.
"Mr. Cartwright," cried my governess, in her high voice, "you ought to be
a professional."
"I am a professional," he replied.
I rushed like mad out into the hall. I wanted to get the opportunity of
thinking as hard and as swiftly as possible. There was no time to lose;
the station cab stood outside the door, waiting for him I went up, three
stairs at a time, and opened the door of my room; it had been used as a
temporary cloak-room, and jackets and hats were littered all over the
place. As I threw these about—everything had been moved by the servants
with some idea of making elaborate preparations—it struck me it was not
unlike a nightmare; one of those nightmares where you are in a most
terrific hurry, and everything slips away and eludes you. I could have
cried with annoyance at the thought that Mr. Cartwright was now preparing
to leave, asking for me, perhaps, and certainly wondering when and how he
was to receive his fee for making the special visit from town. In my
excitement I took the pillow and threw it into the air; underneath I
found my money-box, and some other articles which had been shifted from
the dressing-table. I seized one of my dumb-bells, smashed the box,
counted out the money with trembling fingers.
"Four and three," I said to myself. "I shall give him four shillings,
and tell him I'll send the rest on."
I slid down two flights. As I neared the landing above the hall I could
hear that music had started afresh and dancing had recommenced. I was
engaged to a rather sensible girl—already referred to—for the polka, and
she would be looking out for me; but for the moment I was too full of
troubles of my own to consider those of other people. The front door was
open, and my mother was waving her hand.
"Mr. Cartwright!" I called out, running past her. "Mr. Cartwright! Oh,
do let me speak to you for a minute."
"Can't stop, old boy," he said from the cab. He seemed rather quiet.
"But I must speak to you. Mother, may I go down to the station with him?
Oh, you are a good sort," as she nodded her consent. I jumped in, and
the cab started.
I felt so thankful when I saw in his hand an envelope with some pieces of
gold, and I felt proud of her. I might have guessed mother would know
how to do the right thing.
"Little man!" He was looking at a slip of paper with some pencilled
words which the envelope also contained. "Do you ever take advice, I
wonder?"
"Do you, Mr. Cartwright?"
"I find it easier to give. People have been filling me up with it ever
since I was about your age, and some of it has been good, but I have
always done exactly as I pleased."
"I suppose that's the best plan."
"No!" he replied. "It has some advantages, but not many."
"But aren't you"—I scarcely knew how to phrase it—"aren't you exactly
what you want to be, Mr. Cartwright? You're so good-humoured and jolly."
He gave a gasp and looked at the window.
"I don't lose my temper now," he said. "I used to, and the last time I
lost with it everything that was worth having. Here's the advice I want
to give you. Forget me, but try to remember this. Quarrel, if you must
quarrel, with the people who don't matter. Never quarrel with your
friends. I had fierce words once with the best friend a man ever had."
"What was his name?"
"It has taken her twelve years to forgive me, and in that time I've gone
to pieces. All just for the luxury of five minutes of wild talk. Here's
the station; my wife will be waiting for me at the other end, to take the
money I've earned." He laughed in a peculiar way. "Goodbye, old chap.
Not too big for this, are you?" He placed his hands on either side of my
face. "I wish—oh, I wish you were my boy!"
My mother asked me, when I got back and told her, to show her exactly
where he had kissed me, and she pressed her lips for some moments to the
place on my forehead. Then we went in and brightened up the party.
II—A BENEVOLENT CHARACTER
A YOUTH came into the small tobacconist's and inquired, across the
counter, whether there happened to be in the neighbourhood a branch
establishment of a well-known firm (mentioned by name) dealing in similar
goods and guaranteeing to save the consumer thirty-three per cent. He
required the information, it appeared, because he contemplated buying a
packet of cigarettes.
* * * * *
No, said the proprietor (after he finished his speech and the youth had
gone), not quite the limit. Near to the edge, I admit; but remembering
my friend, Mr. Ardwick, I can't say it's what you'd call the highest
possible. It was a privilege to know Ardwick; he was, without any doubt
whatsoever, a masterpiece. I've give up all hopes of ever finding his
equal.
He was a customer here at the time Mrs. Ingram had the shop—and when I
say customer, of course I don't mean that he ever handed over a single
halfpenny. Mrs. Ingram had only been a widow for about a twelvemonth,
and naturally enough she liked gentlemen's society; and Ardwick, after he
got his compensation out of the County Council—that, by the by, was one
of his triumphs—he had nothing else to do, and he became very much
attached to that chair what you're sitting on now. He'd call in to have
a look at the morning paper, and read it through from start to finish;
later in the day he'd call to see the evening paper, and keep tight hold
of it till he'd come to the name of the printers at the foot of the last
page. Between whiles he'd pretend to make himself handy at dusting the
counter, and help himself to a pipe of tobacco, out of the shag-jar. It
was a pretty sight to see old Ardwick, before he left of an evening,
talk, as he filled a pocket with matches out of the stand, about the way
the rich robbed the poor.
Having caught sight of Mrs. Ingram's pass-book that she was sending to
the bank—he offered to post it, and walked all the way to Lombard Street
and stuck to the twopence—Ardwick makes up his mind to take the somewhat
desperate step of proposing to Mrs. I.
"Very kind of you," she says, "but I fancy, Mr. Ardwick, you're a shade
too stingy to run in double harness with me. Poor Ingram," she says,
"was always freehanded with his money, and if I should ever get married
again it will have to be to some one of a similar disposition. But thank
you all the same," she says, "for asking!"
Ardwick ran across his friend Kimball in Downham Road that evening and
lent him a match, and said Kimball was the very party he wanted to meet.
They had a long, confidential sort of talk together outside the
fire-station, and they came to such high words that a uniformed man, who
was talking to one of his girls, threatened to turn the hose on them.
The two strolled down Kingsland Road in a cooler frame of mind, and when
they said "Good-night" at the canal bridge Kimball promised to do the
best for Mr. Ardwick that lay in his power. Kimball explained that he
was not going to do it out of friendship, but mainly because his wife had
recently docked his allowance, and, in consequence, he felt a grudge
against the sex in general.
"I promise you," said Mr. Ardwick, still shaking his hand, "that you
won't lose over the transaction."
"Knowing you as I do," remarked Kimball, "I quite recognise that it'll
take a bit of doing to make anything out of it."
Mr. Ardwick was in the shop, here, the following afternoon. Mrs. Ingram
felt surprised to see him at that hour, and she locks up the till pretty
smartly and moves the box of World-Famed Twopenny Cheroots.
"Something you said, Mrs. Ingram," he began, "has been worryin' of me,
and I've called round to talk it over. You seem to have got the
impression in your mind that I'm, if anything, a trifle close with my
money. I should like to convince you, ma'am, that you are doing me an
injustice, and to prove it I'm going to adopt a very simple plan."
"Have you brought back that watch of mine I gave you to get mended?"
"One topic at a time," urged Mr. Ardwick. "My idea of benevolence is
something wider and broader than that of most people." He glanced at the
clock. "What I propose to do is this. To the first customer what enters
this shop after half-past three I shall present the sum of five pound."
"Five what?"
"Five quid," he said, in a resolute sort of manner. "The first one, mind
you, after half-past three. It wants two minutes to the half-hour now.
All you've got to do, ma'am, is to stand where you are, and to judge
whether I'm a man of a generous disposition or whether I'm the opposite."
As the clock turned the half-hour an old woman came in and put down four
farthings for snuff; when she had gone Mr. Ardwick mentioned that he knew
for a fact that the clock was a trifle fast. An elderly gentleman in
workhouse clothes came for a screw of tobacco; Mr. Ardwick pointed out to
Mrs. Ingram that he never proposed to extend his offer to those supported
by the State. Kimball arrived at twenty-five minutes to, and Mr. Ardwick
glared at him privately for not keeping the appointment. Kimball bought
a box of wooden matches, and was leaving the shop when Mr. Ardwick called
him.
"My man," he said, "your face and your general appearance suggest you are
not one of those who are termed favourites of fortune. Tell me, now,
have you ever been the recipient, so to speak, of a stroke of luck?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir," said Kimball, answering very respectfully.
"Never had a windfall of any kind? No sudden descent of manna from
above? Very well, then." Mr. Ardwick took out his cheque-book and asked
Mrs. I. for pen and ink. "Be so kind as to give me your full name, and
it will be my pleasure to hand you over a handsome gift. I hope you will
lay out the sum to the best advantage, and I trust it may prove a
turning-point, a junction as it were, in your life!"
Mr. Ardwick was talking across the counter to Mrs. Ingram about the
pleasures of exercising charity, and the duty of those who possessed
riches towards them who had none, when a most horrible idea seemed to
occur to him, and he darted out of the shop like a streak of lightning.
In Kingsland Road he just caught a motor-omnibus that was going towards
the City, and on the way through Shoreditch he complained, whilst he
mopped his forehead, because the conductor did not make the bus go
quicker. Near Cornhill there was a block of traffic, and he slipped down
and ran for his life. As he came near the bank he caught sight of
Kimball descending the steps. Mr. Ardwick threw himself, exhausted,
across a dustbin on the edge of the pavement, and burst into tears.
He mentioned to me afterwards that it was not so much the loss of the
money that affected him as the knowledge that a fellow man had broke his
word. That was what upset Mr. Ardwick. He tried to explain all this at
the time to a City constable.
"You get away home," advised the City constable, "and try to sleep it
off. That's your best plan. Unless you want me to take you down to
Cloak Lane for the night."
Mr. Ardwick felt very much hurt at this insinuation on his character,
because, partly on account of his principles and partly because he hated
giving money away, he was strict teetotal; but the remark furnished him
with an idea, and he acted on it without a moment's delay. He returned
to Dalston Junction, and there, by great good luck, he found
Kimball—Kimball smoking a big cigar and trying to persuade a
railway-porter to accept one. Mr. Ardwick went up to him and took the
cigar.
"I congratulate you 'eartily," he said, slapping Kimball on the shoulder
in a jolly sort of way. "There isn't many that could brag of having done
Samuel Ardwick in the eye, but I always admit it when I come across my
superior. There's only one favour I want you to grant."
"You gave me the cheque, and I've got a perfect right to it. What we may
have agreed upon beforehand has nothing whatever to do with the matter."
"All I ask you to do," went on Mr. Ardwick, "is to allow me to celebrate
the occasion by inviting you to have a little snack at a restaurant close
by. A meal, I mean. A proper dinner. Food, and a bottle of something
with it."
"This don't sound like you," remarked Kimball.
"I shan't make the offer twice," warned Mr. Ardwick.
Kimball strolled along with him rather reluctantly and somewhat
suspiciously up Stoke Newington Road. Mr. Ardwick stopped outside an
Italian eating-place, had a good look at the prices of everything in a
brass frame near the doorway, gave a deep sigh, and led the way in.
It was here that, in my opinion, Mr. A. made a blunder; he admitted
himself to me later that he was not acquainted with the quality of the
wine or the capacity of his friend Kimball. The foreign waiter, being
told confidentially that price was an object, recommended a
quarter-bottle of what he called Vin Ordinaire at sevenpence. It was
only when Kimball was starting on the fourth of these that Mr. Ardwick
discovered he could have sent out for a full bottle at the cost of
one-and-nine. He himself took no food and no beverage of any
description, but just sat back, smoking the cigar, totting up the
expenses, and keeping a watchful eye on his guest.
"Is it a fruity wine?" asked Mr. Ardwick, when the last quarter-bottle
was opened. Kimball lifted up his glass.
"I shouldn't like to say there was much of that about it," he answered.
"As a matter of fact, it doesn't taste of anything."
"But surely it goes to your head!"
"It goes to my head," agreed Kimball, "because I put it there; but it
don't seem to have any effect on the brain. Sheer waste of my time, so
far as I can gather."
"Look here!" said Mr. Ardwick, with a determined effort. "I want to have
a quiet talk with you. I've stood this very excellent meal, and it's
only right you should do something for me in return."
"Anything within reason."
"I'm not the man to ask you to do anything else. You've had your little
joke at my expense and now my suggestion is that you hand across the five
pounds, and we'll both have a good laugh over the transaction. I admit
you played your part uncommonly well. You ran it rather close, and if
you'd been a minute or so later, my lad, you'd have found the bank
closed, and then I could have stopped payment."
"I got there," said Kimball, "at one minute past four, and the doors were
shut!"
Mr. Ardwick settled up, and told Kimball exactly what he thought of him.
"Imposing on generosity," he said heatedly—"that's your game!"
He went off home to write a letter to the bank, and to recognise that
matters had, after all, turned out better than he might have expected.
In the evening he made his usual call here, dressed up special, and
evidently anxious to find out what sort of an effect his display of
benevolence had made on Mrs. I.
"I can't help seeing," she said confidentially, taking the evening paper
from another customer and handing it to Mr. Ardwick, "that I've, all
along, done you an injustice. I liked your conversation, and I had no
fault to find with your general behaviour; but somehow I had an idea that
you rather over-did the economical."
"If I come across a really deserving case," remarked Mr. Ardwick
modestly, "I'm prepared to give away my last penny. I don't say I
scatter my money broadcast, but when I do give I give liberally and with
both hands."
"I was telling the poor man," said Mrs. Ingram, "that he ought to feel
very much indebted to you. You've stood him on his feet, so to speak,
and, whatever it may lead to, he's only got you to thank."
"Don't make too much of a mere trifle."
"I advised him to put half of it away in the Post Office, and use the
other half to rig himself out in a new suit and look respectable."
"Excuse me," interrupted Mr. Ardwick, rather anxiously, "but when did you
say all this to him?"
"About a hour or so ago," she replied, "when he came in and asked me to
change the cheque for him. Knowing all the circumstances, of course I
didn't hesitate a single moment!"
* * * * *
I was doing a bit of debt-collecting at the time, said the proprietor of
the tobacconist's shop, and that was how I became acquainted with Mrs.
Ingram. She felt grateful over my success with what was undoubtedly a
tough job, and one word led to another, and eventually I consented to
propose to her. She'll be down directly. Wait and have a glance at her,
and tell me if you think I acted wisely.
III—THE WONDERFUL START
DAZED by sudden introduction to a distinguished company, he glanced
eagerly and confusedly around in the hope of finding some one who would
give him a smile of encouragement. The most distinguished of all, seated
opposite to him, acknowledged his bow and gave the order that a chair
should be offered, and this was accepted.
Conversation did not immediately turn upon his affairs, and the delay
enabled him to lean back and compose his mind; presently, no doubt, the
others would switch discussion to the subject which excused his presence
in this magnificent building. It had a strong scent of newness, a
suggestion of the slate pencils used for the purpose of calculations in
his early youth, calculations which were so often incorrect that he
remembered how frequently in setting down a total he instinctively rubbed
it out, under the impression that whatever he had written must be wrong.
He did not become really clever in the management of figures until his
London life began in Tooley Street, and that seemed a good many centuries
ago. What was it, '80 or '81? February of '80 it must have been; early
part of February. Thirty-two years, that made him forty-six. He could
remember the start quite clearly.
* * * * *
As he stepped out into a wooden shed that was called London Bridge
Station, a matronly woman, to whom he gave assistance in finding an
outside porter for her deal box, referred to him in a sentence of thanks
as a smart little nipper, and this, an auspicious compliment, sent him to
the barrier and out into Railway Approach with a good conceit of himself.
In the telegraph-office he wrote on a form in a confident way, as though
he had been used all his life to the dispatching of telegrams:
"Arrived safely. Good journey. Best love.—BEN."
The clerk on the other side of the counter mentioned that it would stand
a better chance of reaching its destination if the name and address of
the recipient were filled in. This constituted something in the nature
of a check, and in the adjoining parcels-office he endeavoured to apply a
remedy by knocking peremptorily with twopence and demanding instant
attention.
"In a hurry?" asked the porter, nettled. "Because, if so, you'd better
wait till your hurry's over. Bad enough to be ordered about by
grown-ups; I'm certainly not going to be dictated to by slips of boys.
D'you hear?"
He urged that no harm had been intended.
"What you intend," said the porter, giving a snatch at the parcel, "and
what you do are very different things. Now then, don't stand there all
day gazing! What d'you want me to do with this? Boil it, or what?"
The lad answered, with respect, that he desired it should be sent by
Parcels Delivery to the Peckham address given on the label; the man
inspected very carefully, in the evident hope of discovering some flaw or
defect that would enable him to decline the commission. He had to be
content with throwing it, with a whirl, through the air into a corner,
snatching at the twopence and giving a curt order, "Now be off with you!"
To the question concerning the whereabouts of Tooley Street, he replied
that if the lad could fly, he might reach it in two seconds; assuming him
not to be so exceptionally gifted, the time could be given as two
minutes.
"Thank you, very much indeed, sir, for all your kindness."
The man looked at him narrowly, to make certain that this remark was not
intended as chaff, and, reassured on the point, came out of the office
and walked with him down the <DW72>, where they faced a large corner
public-house plastered over with orange bills and, above, a banner which
said imperatively "Vote for Clarke."
The porter explained the meaning of all this, and made two prophecies:
first, that Dizzy would, as a result of the day's election, get a
valentine; second, that Gladstone might be taken down a notch. Returning
confidence for confidence, the lad told him this was his first day in
London, and his father had urged him to be honest and straight. They
parted on excellent terms.
The incident proved a faithful sample of the happenings of a wonderful
day. On the first floor of the number which he held in his memory, the
surroundings were so much at variance with early anticipations that he
feared he had made some disastrous blunder, until Mr. Cruttwell, head of
the firm, slapped him joyously on the shoulder, declaring he had arrived
just in time to see the fun. The office was rather dark, because the
windows were covered with election bills, but gas flared generously.
Everybody, from the head down to a clerk only slightly older than the new
lad, smoked pipes or cigars; some appeared inclined to smoke both at
once. The head, raising his voice that it might be heard above the
clatter, introduced him, and six men came over at once, saying:
"How do, young Stansfield? Wish you could manage this for me."
And the lad found himself in the very thick of it, so to speak, without a
moment's delay. Cheering from the street below came now and again,
startling him and causing him to rush to the windows in the endeavour to
ascertain the cause; gentlemen with silk hats at the backs of their heads
ran up two stairs at a time to ask how things were going, or to give news
of how things were going, bringing tasks or appealing for them, roaring
suggestions or shouting advice, talking privately in one corner and
illustrating their arguments by pencilling figures on the wallpaper.
At eleven o'clock Mr. Cruttwell took him out, and, carrying a square
brown-paper parcel of cards, he made the acquaintance of Southwark under
lively circumstances. Mr. Cruttwell did not seem to know exactly what to
be doing, but his plan was never to cease doing something, and he
constantly appealed to the lad.
"Come along, come along, come along! Don't lag, my boy, don't lag!" or,
"Now then, slowcoach! Have you gone to sleep again? Keep your eyes
open, for goodness' sake, or we shall never win!"
A most unfair suggestion, for the only founded charge against young
Stansfield was that he stared at everything going on; shops arrested him,
sandwichmen proved an effective bar to progress. In waiting outside a
leather merchant's in St. Thomas's Street, a detachment of Borough youths
of about his own age came up with a threatening air.
"Who you for?" they demanded menacingly.
"Find out!" he answered.
"Want your 'ead punched?"
"Yes!" he said.
Disinclined to comply with any request, they conferred amongst
themselves.
"What's inside that parcel? What's inside that parcel? Going to tell
us, or ain't you?"
He began to feel terrified, and looked around for assistance. The people
who were standing by did not seem to have any prejudices on one side or
the other, and he was preparing to use his left arm as a guard and the
parcel in his right hand as a weapon, when Mr. Cruttwell fortunately
reappeared. The lads scampered off.
"You're a plucky little chap," said Mr. Cruttwell, in good humour after
his call and slightly more rosy in complexion. "Some country youngsters
would have been afraid."
He proceeded to give a short political lecture as they strolled back
under the arches to Tooley Street, asserting that the manner in which
Stansfield had tackled the Borough lads should be the method adopted by
Great Britain in dealing with Russia. Prince Gortschakoff might have
counted himself clever, and was, no doubt, uncommonly wily, but we, too,
had men just as ingenious, and this Gortschy had discovered, and others
would discover to their cost. Mr. Cruttwell began to use oratorical
gesture, and in one fine sweep of the arm sent the lad's bowler hat into
the roadway, restoring it with an apology that made the owner feel on a
manly level with the best.
"Don't go out to lunch," said Mr. Cruttwell, "in case anything crops up.
Send for it, and charge it to the office!"
* * * * *
He awoke from these thoughts on hearing his name mentioned, but some one
interrupted with a deferential, "Will you excuse me, my lord, if I—"
Leaning back, he went on with the glance over his shoulder at the past.
* * * * *
Easy to recall everything that stood on the table at the lunch in Tooley
Street, partly because he assisted at the preparation. Acting under
orders, he spread the sheets of a financial paper and, still obeying
commands, accepted a sovereign, and, scurrying across the roadway, went
up the steps, bolted over the Approach (with a dreadful fear that he
might be run down by twenty omnibuses), and at the hotel made cautious
purchases, rejecting so many cold fowls that the lady who served him
called the manageress, demanding whether, as she had always understood,
the birds were to be sold in chronological order, or whether a customer
was to be permitted to make selection. The manageress decided that both
parties to the contest were right, and encouraged the young woman with
the reminder that, in view of the pressure of the day, everything that
could be called eatable would probably be sold out before closing time.
So young Stansfield, taking the parcels and dear life in his hands, made
once more the risky journey across the Approach. This over, the skating
horses on the descent of Tooley Street gave him no terrors.
"No, no, no!" whispered one of the other juniors. "You mustn't sit down
with them, my rustic friend. We shall have to wait on them, and what
they leave we—" He gave the remainder of the sentence in pantomime.
"Then I hope they won't overdo it," remarked the lad. "I begin to feel
peckish."
As lunch proceeded, the juniors cutting bread and filling glasses, men
wearing favours who looked in at the doorway, crying, "Hallo, hallo!
Feeding-time at the Zoo, eh?" were immediately invited to take knife and
fork and help themselves, which they did with such enthusiasm that the
juniors were near to the edge of tears, when Mr. Cruttwell stood up and
said:
"Now, then, let's bustle about, or we shan't get our man in!"
The three clerks under twenty appeared to have some idea of compelling
young Stansfield to attend upon them, but he pointed out that this
arrangement would leave nobody to wait upon him, and he expressed a
strong and decided preference for the principle of share and share alike.
They gave in, robbing the act of some of its grace by pointing out that
this must on no account be taken as a precedent, and that his good
fortune in beginning London life on such a wonderful day did not mean
that his business career would consist entirely of a beanfeast.
They also introduced him, rather severely, to certain table manners which
he had not hitherto met, and he found himself greatly obstructed by a
rule which prevented one from holding the leg of a fowl and dispensing
with the assistance of a knife. The remains of a very fine old Stilton
struck him as possessing a flavour entirely different from the American
or Dutch to which he had been accustomed at home; the drawback was that
you could not eat much of it.
"Do you smoke, Stansfield?"
"I'm not a slave to it!"
"You soon will be," they prophesied. "Find the matches for us."
As they puffed at their pipes, he read the financial journal spread upon
the table, beginning with a casual attention, presently becoming
interested. One or two points were dim to him, and he asked questions,
but the others were either not completely informed, or they preferred to
reserve the knowledge for private use, and they failed to explain to him
why, if the newspaper people were aware that certain investments could
not fail to be remunerative, the newspaper people gave the valuable tip
away, instead of reserving it for their own personal benefit.
The three appeared more at home on another question, and he, having once
drawn Silvio in a Derby sweepstake, could contribute something to this
discussion. They told him a useful man was always to be found near the
cab-rank in front of the Brighton Company's station, to whom a shilling
or more could be safely confided.
The talk on this subject became animated; they gave the new lad some
absolutely safe and certain news concerning a horse running in the next
month, news which had come to them in a roundabout way, but starting, so
they declared, from the brother of a jockey whose name they mentioned
with bated breath. Young Stansfield suggested it would look well if they
were to affect some engagement on business affairs; but the rest said,
"Not for Joe!" They, however, agreed, very handsomely, that he could do
as he pleased.
He cleared the table, filled waste-paper baskets with remnants, set desks
in order, placed empty bottles out of the way. Thus he proved the only
one who was giving any signs of work when Mr. Cruttwell returned, in a
state of some disturbance because of news he had received concerning the
prospects of one of the two opposition candidates. Mr. Cruttwell
distributed blame on the others by praising young Stansfield.
"This lad is going to get on in the world!" he asserted emphatically. "I
flatter myself I'm a judge of character, and I don't have to look twice
at anybody. Simply disgraceful the way you youngsters loaf about and
take no interest in anything but how to avoid work. Now then, set to,
all of you, and follow his example. No wonder trade's so bad. I shall
be in again directly, and if I find any of you lolling about I shall
simply—".
They reproved the lad severely for marring an otherwise perfect day, and
he hastened to inform them he had no more considerable taste for labour
than that which they possessed; his only idea had been to avoid, by use
of ingenuity, the disaster that had fallen upon them. He knew as well as
they that nothing was to be gained by a too persistent attention to the
desk, and he hoped time would succeed in persuading them he was worthy of
their companionship.
They gave in reluctantly, and before the seniors returned had given him
some useful hints, which he stored carefully in the recesses of his
brain.
The arrangement made by his mother was that he should reach Peckham by
seven o'clock, and he felt anxious to do this, for Aunt Mabel was a
cheery, irresponsible person who, on her rare visits to the country,
always brought a budget of amusing songs and some excellent riddles;
there seemed good reason to hope that life at Peckham would be free from
the close and rigid supervision exercised at home. But the others said
the announcement of the election result would be the event of a lifetime,
something that might never happen again, and he stayed on till a late
hour, enjoying the noisy crowds and the turbulent rushes, and responding
to shouted appeals for three cheers. When the poll was declared, he
joined in the exultant shrieks of triumph, and a stout old lady from Long
Lane insisted upon teaching him an Irish jig. Mr. Cruttwell found him,
shook hands heartily, and told him the nation was perfectly sound at
heart.
As he went in the direction of Peckham he found in his pocket the change
given at the International Hotel. It had not been asked for, it would
probably not now be asked for. Before reaching Bricklayers' Arms he came
to the decision to invest a part, and to back Vendetta. A wonderful
beginning!
* * * * *
His name was again mentioned. He stood up, gripping the bar in front of
him.
"Benjamin Stansfield," recited the clerk, seated below the judge, "you
are charged for that you—feloniously and fraudulently—" A rumble of
words. "How say you, Benjamin Stansfield: are you guilty, or not
guilty?"
"Guilty!" he replied.
IV—SLOW RECOVERY
MRS. MARCHANT offered a pointed remark concerning the indolent habits of
London folk as compared with the early rising and the continuous industry
shown by people living in the country. Called by a boy who required a
weekly journal, she, without leaving the pavement, instructed him to look
over the contents of the counter and help himself, adding a warning that
sweets were not to be touched.
"I don't want to miss nothin'," she remarked.
Her neighbour, absorbed in the subject previously under discussion,
replied to the effect that there was not so much going on in Hayford that
one could afford to evade incident.
"I see her blind move," screamed a small child excitedly. "I did! I see
it move, quite plain."
Her elders were giving reproof, and pointing out the risks incurred by
children who told stories, when the green venetians of the first-floor
room at the Windmill Inn went up. Interest in the one street of the
village at once reawakened. A message was sent to the forge, and
Sprules, the blacksmith, strolled out, drinking tea from a saucer. A
tall girl stepped from the porch of the inn and whistled several times,
called the word "Fuzzy!" in varying tones of insistence and appeal.
Banks, the young grocer and draper, peered through his window over
columns of flannel, and then came to the doorway, where, acknowledging
her salutation, he bowed and blushed.
"Morning, everybody," she said. "Any news? Has any one—"
"He's been seen again, miss," remarked Sprules, setting down his saucer
on a windowsill, and advancing with respect. "Old Joe Baldwin were up at
four this morning, and he caught sight of your dog; somewheres, so far as
I understand him, away in that direction." Sprules gave a vague flourish
of his bare arm. "Consequently, you can take it from me that he ent left
the neighbourhood up to the present."
The others nodded.
"Unless I find him to-day," announced the girl definitely, "I shall have
to continue my journey."
They made way for Mrs. Marchant. That lady gave up her broom to gain
more freedom in argument, and stepped forward.
"My dear," she said, in a motherly way, "I'm a tidy bit older than what
you are, and it stands to reason I know more of the world. People come
from far and wide to get my advice, they do, and none can't ever complain
that I sent 'em empty away."
The rest gave a murmur that sounded like confirmation.
"Moreover, you're only a Londoner, and that sort of hampers you. My
experience, my dear, tells me that it don't do to expect everything to
'appen all at once. Your dog—or rather the dog belonging to a gentleman
military friend that you was taking charge of—slips his collar three days
ago, whilst your train was stoppin' at the station, and makes off. You,
being tur'bly upset, you gives up your journey, and you offers ten
shillin' reeward. On my suggestion, you next day makes it two pound.
Still acting on my racommendation, you, the foll'ing day, increases it to
five."
"That is more than I can really afford."
"Never you mind 'bout that," said the other, with a touch of impatience.
"I'm only tellin' you what happened. I'm a business woman, and I like to
have everything straightfor'ard, and above board. I know all that occurs
in Hayford, and if you leave yourself in my hands, you won't go fur
wrong. Your dog's been seen, and that ought to be enough for you, to go
on with."
"If he could only catch sight of me, he'd come directly. Fuzzy is as
fond of me as he is of his master."
"But not near so fond, miss, I lay a pint," interposed Sprules, with a
wink to the others, "as what his master is of you."
She regarded him with a steady gaze; the blacksmith tried to hum a tune,
and failing in this, mentioned it was high time he went back to finish
his breakfast.
"I have been walking around the neighbourhood," the girl went on, "every
day in the hope of finding him, and I haven't succeeded. To-night, by
the 6.37, I must go on, and—" with a break in her voice,—"I shall have to
face Captain Stamford."
"My dear," said Mrs. Marchant encouragingly, "you make it ten, and
some'ing seems to tell me you'll get your dog back."
"That would mean giving up my holiday," she answered doubtfully. Young
Banks, draper and grocer, stepped forward: some one pulled at his apron.
"But if you think it will increase the efforts of the villagers, I'll do
as you suggest."
"Ten pound," announced Mrs. Marchant, addressing the others in tones of
authority, "to any one what brings this lady's dog back here to The
Windmill afore six o'clock this very evening."
The small crowd broke up. Children were sent off to school, and
instructed in audible voices to keep a wary look-out for Fuzzy. The
constable came from his headquarters at a neighbouring village, and was
told of the increase in the reward; he went on to communicate the
information, far and near. Mrs. Marchant took the cork from a bottle of
red ink and made a correction in the handwritten bill headed "Lost,
Stolen or Strayed" that rested on a box of caramels in her window. At
half-past nine the London girl in a brown costume with a conveniently
short skirt and carrying a walking-stick, left The Windmill and strode
off in a northerly direction, the landlord wishing her, with great
heartiness, good luck in her search; she sang out that she would return
for tea. Ten minutes' grace, and a meeting was held near to the porch of
the tavern, with Mrs. Marchant in a standing position, but obviously in
the chair. She glanced around at the four men present.
"Some one go for Mr. Banks," she ordered.
Sprules took charge of the task, and returned with the message that the
young draper and grocer was making up his books; Banks had suggested the
deliberation should go on as though he were present.
"I don't want to complain of nobody," commented Mrs. Marchant, "but Mr.
Banks don't seem to take the interest in public affairs like what he
ought to do. Howsomever," dismissing this point, "what we've got to
consider now is whether we've come to what they call in the newspapers
the crucial moment, or whether we ought to go on a bit further."
"Young party seems fairly bent on getting away this evening," remarked
the owner of The Windmill. "In fact, I may tell you all she's settled up
her bill."
"My idea is," said Sprules, "that we've arrived at the limit. Enough is
as good as a feast."
"Is the dog all right?" asked Mrs. Marchant.
"Safe and sound," replied the blacksmith, "where it's been since it first
slipped the collar. And I hope you won't none of you forget that I've
had to bear the axpense of feeding it."
"That amounts to a mere trifle," commented Mrs. Marchant curtly. "From
what I know of you, Mr. Sprules, I'll be bound you ent overdone it."
"What might you mean by that, ma'am?"
"I mean what I say."
"A civil question," persisted Sprules, "requires a civil answer."
"You've come to the wrong shop for that," retorted the lady, with
increasing heat. "When I speak, I speak plain, I do. If you must know
what I was driving at it was that, 'cording to all reports, you're the
only one in your 'ouse who enjoys a hearty meal. What you can't eat, you
give to your wife and the children."
The proprietor of The Windmill, an experienced man in the settlement of
disputes by arbitration, and one frequently called upon to decide knotty
points (such as the exact height of the late Lord Randolph Churchill, or
the winner of the Oaks in '94) found some trouble in bringing the
discussion back to the item on the agenda. Before he succeeded in
effecting this, Sprules had managed to tell Mrs. Marchant what he thought
of her, and Mrs. Marchant told Sprules what she thought of him. Even
when the original topic was again approached, the two eyed each other
from opposite sides of the pavement; their lips continued to move without
producing words.
"No occasion to quarrel," said the innkeeper soothingly. "The amount ent
large enough to justify that. When it's all divided out equally—"
The tumult recommenced, and Mr. Banks, leaving his books, came to his
doorway, a pen over each ear; he seemed tempted to give up business for
pleasure, but, with an effort, returned to his shop. This time Mrs.
Marchant and Sprules found themselves, by the sport of circumstances, in
agreement; the rest, with the exception of the proprietor of The
Windmill, nodded approval of their contention. The Windmill, they
argued, had made a good profit out of the young lady; The Windmill must
take this fact into consideration in formulating its claim. Fair was
fair, all the world over. Similarly, right was right, no matter where
you lived. The proprietor of The Windmill, almost in tears, declared
that his habit was to charge customers the merest trifle over cost price;
an error in addition had, he told them, been detected by the young lady
in settling the account. Perceiving that the general sense of the
meeting was against him, he mentioned that he had no desire to become
unpopular, and he therefore left himself in their hands.
"By the by," remarked some one, "didn't the young party buy a couple of
old brass candlesticks from Mr. Banks's mother?"
The fact had escaped memory, but only this hint was necessary to recall
it. It was not known how much had been paid for the articles, but the
village felt justified in assuming they were not given away, and the
question was how much ought to be deducted. Foreheads took additional
wrinkles at the prospect of mental arithmetic, and Sprules had found, in
his pocket, a short stump of wood which was once a pencil, when Mrs.
Marchant, lowering her voice, made a proposition which instantly met with
a chorus of approval. Young Banks had taken little or no share in the
whole business; he was evidently entitled to no share in the profits.
Young Banks, a strict Wesleyan, had, in the hearing of one, characterised
the affair as shady, and he could scarcely object to being left out. It
was agreed that nothing should be said to young Banks for the present,
and the meeting broke up with smiles, expressions of mutual regard,
warning fingers that urged secrecy. A small sub-committee went to
inspect the captive dog at the back of Sprules's forge.
Mr. Banks was noticed to be giving instructions at two o'clock that
afternoon to his assistant: a few minutes later shutters went up and
Banks, straw-hatted, and carrying a light cane, went off, at a good pace,
as one determined to enjoy a long walk. The assistant, answering
inquiries, said the procedure was in the nature of an experiment, and
could be taken as part and parcel of the Early Closing scheme. At four
o'clock Sprules brought out Fuzzy, and tied the defiant-looking Irish
terrier to the anvil; in the forge, Sprules rehearsed to a smoked
portrait of Mr. Gladstone, tacked on the wall, an account of the capture
of Fuzzy, to be given to the young woman upon her return. Sprules was in
the third repetition of this (for improvements occurred to him) when his
name was called. He unfastened the dog and took it out, shading eyes
with the disengaged hand from the afternoon sun.
"I'm oncommon glad to inform you, miss, that our efforts have at last—
Oh, it's you, Mr. Banks!"
"Yes," said the young draper and grocer, "it's me. I happened to meet
the lady up near Watbury, and she asked me to come back here, to save her
the walk, and to see about sending on her portmanteau. She's found her
dog."
"She's done what?"
"You know them nut trees as you go down the hill, on the left-hand side?
Just beyond the bridge I mean. Extraordinary pleased about it, she is,
naturally. And Fuzzy, of course, half off his head at seeing her again."
"Mr. Banks," said the blacksmith, distressedly, "let's get this all
clear. Do I onderstand from you that the dog I've got here, at the end
of this piece of string, isn't the animal the reeward was offered for?"
"The lady only lost one."
Sprules rubbed the top of his head. Mr. Banks patted the dog, and tried
to induce it to stand on its hind legs.
"Then what's to be done with this yer animal? I've got no use for him.
'Sides which, he tried all he knew just now to bite me."
"I've got an aunt living down the line," said young Banks, regarding the
dog critically, "and I owe her a birthday present. I had intended to
give about five shilling for something."
"The dog's yourn!" said the blacksmith promptly.
Mr. Banks carried the portmanteau off in good time for the 6.37, and the
dog, with a label bearing the address of his relative, went with him. At
the station, he made an alteration in the wording of the label, and took
the ticket for it that is furnished when a dog accompanies a passenger.
There were no other customers for the train, and he and the one porter
had an animated discussion concerning the new minister whose name was on
the plan to take up duties shortly. The train came in; the porter went
to the brake van to see to arriving luggage.
"You dear old Fuzzy!" cried the girl delightedly, as the dog with a
single bound jumped into her compartment. "Mr. Banks, how can I thank
you, and how much do I owe you?" She took charge of the portmanteau, and
opened her purse.
"You don't owe me nothing," replied young Banks, reddening. The engine
whistled. "But if you want to pay me, and you think your friend Captain
Stamford wouldn't object, you might—you might jest blow me a kiss as the
train goes out!"
V—LOOSE CASH
A PRINCE OF WALES was born, and Mr. Rollinson re-christened a row of
houses which he had acquired. The original builder had gone incautiously
on a certain evening in the early part of '41 to inspect his property—an
act nobody else thought of performing—and stumbled into one of the
numerous holes that lined the approach. His widow found herself unable
to carry on the building operations, and Mr. Rollinson, who, owing to
popular prejudice, had just given up a career on the turf and some
profitable transactions near the prize ring, offered her two hundred
pounds ready cash for the lot.
"Could you make it two fifty, Mr. Rollin-son?"
"I'll make it three hundred, because I like your manner."
"Oh, you dear good generous soul!" she cried.
He paid in rather greasy-looking banknotes, and, later on, married her,
and thus secured a return of the amount.
The Albert Edward estate was announced as specially suitable for newly
married people, and these came, in pairs, attracted by the title and by
the health statistics of the neighbourhood; a few carping critics pointed
out that the agreeable figures were due to the sparsity of the
population, but no one troubled to follow the argument. Meanwhile Mr.
Rollinson ordered that building should go on with haste to meet the
demands of would-be tenants, who, by an ingenious scheme of payments,
became in a term of years responsible owners of the property, and he only
relinquished the task when children began to arrive and the dwellings, in
consequence, showed signs of wear and tear. He then went to Finsbury
Park, and laid out the Princess Alice estate; later he proceeded to
Hammersmith, and planned and carried out the Duke of Edinburgh estate.
These houses might be exhibited at the present day, a tribute to
Rollinson's loyalty and industry, but for the interference of borough
officials. By the time these steps were taken, Mr. Rollinson had
disengaged himself from interest in the various properties, but one can
understand the pain given by the action of the authorities to a man whose
official letter paper bore the heading, "Not for an Age, but for all
Time."
Ernest Napoleon, the son, was born in '43, and the event is registered at
the church in Hart Street, Bloomsbury; his father, despite activities
concerning new dwellings, preferred to reside in an older quarter of
town. Mr. Rollinson found time to take a part in public life, and I have
ascertained that he was one of 170,000 special constables sworn in at the
time of the threatened Chartist riots; unfortunately, on the day of the
meeting at Kennington Common, he was suffering from a slight headache,
and he advised his neighbour, Dr. Fennell, to order him to stay in bed.
Friendship between himself and his medical man increased as Mr. Rollinson
spoke of his fortunate investments.
"Want you to do me a great favour, George," asked Dr. Fennell, meeting
him one day near the Museum. "My idea is that I ought very soon to be
able to retire, and cultivate a garden in the country. But progress in
my profession is slow."
"You're as safe as 'ouses," remarked Mr. Rollinson,—"safe as some 'ouses,
I mean—providing you're not fool enough to go in for speculation."
"Speculation," declared the doctor warmly, "is the last vice I should
indulge in. All I want you to do, the next time you see a good thing in
prospect, is just to let me come in with you. I've five thousand pounds
put by, and—call me ambitious, or what you will—I should like to make it
ten. Promise me you'll do your best."
"Can't guarantee success, mind you!"
"My dear George," protested the other, "give me credit for a fair amount
of common sense."
The Great Exhibition was a year or two distant, but preparations were
already being made, and Mr. Rollinson heard of several investments in
regard to it that promised well; a scheme for obtaining all the printing
work sounded so excellent that he brought it to the notice of his friend;
the drawback was that only five thousand pounds appeared to be required.
On Fennell's earnest appeal he agreed to stand aside, and allow the
doctor to take full advantage of the opportunity.
"But don't you go forgetting that I warned you there was a risk."
"Nothing venture, George," said Fennell contentedly, "nothing have!"
When the auction took place in Bloomsbury Square, Mr. Rollinson acting,
so it was rumoured, from motives of generosity towards an old and valued
friend overtaken by misfortune, made arrangements with dealers, and
purchased nearly all of Dr. Fennell's furniture. He also bought the
remainder of the lease. The goodwill he obtained at a fair price, and
sold at another, and the ground floor was let to a new man who was told
to keep the practice going for sixteen or eighteen years.
"What's the idea of arranging that, Mr. R.?" asked his wife respectfully.
"Don't you ask questions," he retorted. "I'm looking well ahead!"
"If it's something in store for our boy, I'm quite satisfied."
"It is something for my boy, but I don't care a hang whether you are
satisfied or not."
"Do you think we ought to get a governess in for him, Mr. R.?"
"I shall take charge of his education, and I don't want no one
interferin'. I'm a going to have him brought up proper, so as he'll turn
out to be a credit to me, later on. And, although it's got nothing to do
with you, I don't mind mentioning that trouble will be no object. No
object, whatsoever. I've got along pretty well without much beyond
readin' and writin' and figurin', and it stands to reason he'll have a
better chance than what I did, if he's fitted out more complete. But
don't you go putting your spoke in, or else me and you'll have words.
Quite enough for you that he's going to be brought up to be a doctor and
a gentleman. Especially a gentleman!"
Although the printing scheme had ended in disaster, owing to the action
of a mysterious gentleman in the City, there were others of a more solid
nature in connection with the Hyde Park show, and it was said at this
time that it was only necessary for Mr. Rollinson to be mixed up in any
transaction to ensure success, so far as he was concerned. Some might
endure stabs at the hand of Fortune, but Rollinson always came through
safely. Oftentimes his name did not appear, and knowing folk therefore
multiplied his gains by twenty to make sure they were well within the
mark.
We are now at '51.
It was during this year that the boy Ernest first gained special
attention, and caused his father's pride to increase. Mrs. Rollinson,
with the improvement in income, and aided by a dressmaker of Theobald's
Road, cultivated a definite note in apparel, and her favourite costume
was one of a tartan pattern, full in the flounces and so tightly stayed
at the waist that the poor lady's complexion was sometimes scarlet,
sometimes purple. At the start, she had, for motives of economy, herself
made the child's clothes, but the boy reported to his father that these,
by reason of their amplitude—
"You must allow for growing," urged his mother.
—These caused him to become the object of ridicule, and his father at
once put a stop to home manufactures. Ernest, thereafter, during
Exhibition year, wore suits of velvet with frilled knickerbockers, and a
stiffly carded cap with a blue tassel dependent, and his appearance
extorted nothing but admiration as he walked, hand-in-hand with his
father, along the transept of Mr. Joseph Paxton's great building of
glass. The boy had been furnished with several facts and arguments in
connection with the place, and these he recited in a clear, distinct
voice.
"Looking around, dear papa, at this striking scene, it seems impossible
to think that war will again occur in our time."
And,
"I believe this immense building covers twenty acres of ground, and is no
less than two thousand feet long. Please correct me, papa, if I am in
error."
Quite distinguished-looking ladies and gentlemen took notice of the boy's
intelligence, and some gave him fourpenny pieces, patting him on the cap,
and telling him he was a fine little fellow; a well-known politician
prophesied of him, on one occasion, that he would grow up to be an
Englishman in the best sense of the word. You can imagine Mr.
Rollinson's delight at these compliments, and the satisfaction in finding
his own views confirmed from responsible quarters. It was his method, in
regard to domestic affairs, to ascertain Mrs. Rollinson's wishes and then
to give instructions that the exact opposite should be adopted, but,
returning home after one of these gratifying afternoons in Hyde Park, he
took the unusual course of inviting her to his study, where, in
smoking-cap and dressing-gown (a change from the restraint of out-door
clothes) he bade her take the easy-chair, whilst he himself stood near
the empty fireplace and leaned an elbow on the mantelpiece, in an
attitude imposed by more than one artist upon the Prince Consort.
"You will no doubt say, Mrs. Rollinson," he remarked, "that making money
as I do now, and not doing much work for it, we ought to go on a steppin'
up the ladder. Allow me to remind you that sometimes I don't retain all
the cash I receive. Sounds peculiar, but it's a fact. I find the money
that takes the most trouble to get is the money that stays with me
longest. Putting that all aside, your view, womanlike, is that we've
only got one life to live in this world, whatever 'appens to us in the
next, and that we're entitled to make the most of it. You'll tell me
that we both of us had a hard time in the early days, and we're justified
in claiming our reward. And mind you, there's something in your
argument."
Mrs. Rollinson, much astonished at this commendation of her presumed
opinions, could find no words either to protest or to agree. She
smoothed her crimped hair and bowed.
"But perhaps," he went on in the same amazing tones of deference,
"perhaps you won't mind if I point out that we're living now in a very
fair state of comfort. We have roast meat every other day; if you feel
inclined to go now and again to see Mr. Wigan at the St. James's, why,
you've only got to say so. And this brings me to the point of what I'm
talking about. Why shouldn't we go on as we're going now, not wasting
money specially, not 'oarding it to any special degree, but going a
reg'lar buster in regard to the boy? Giving him chances that his father
never had, seeing that he has every opportunity of growing up so that he
can take his place amongst the 'ighest of the land? Now then, Mrs. R.!
If you've got anything further to remark on the subject, here's the time
to say it, or ever after hold your peace."
"Sometimes," she ventured to remark, "you've pitched into me and told me
I was spoiling him."
"There's a right way of doing it," he retorted, "and a wrong way of doing
it."
"And you've said, more than once, that to make a man of him he ought to
go through the mill, same as what you did."
"There again, there's two ways open."
"If you can find the right way, Mr. R., I'm perfectly agreeable."
"You're a wise woman," he declared, "although very often you manage to
conceal the fact. And I promise you faithfully that if you leave it all
to me, you won't have no reason to be sorry!"
Ernest grew up tall, slim, good-looking, and with fair, curly hair; it
was therefore reckoned impossible to make him a doctor. Apart from this,
he showed no special intelligence, and at the new military college at
Sandhurst the masters said caustically it was a pity the lad had not been
born in America, for then the Civil War there would have been of very
short duration. Discouraged by these comments, Ernest, of his own
accord, left the College, thus depriving the British army of his
services, and, coming back to town, took rooms in Jermyn Street, and
mentioned to his father and mother that he proposed to look about him, a
task which it is well known cannot be done in a hurry. Money was
supplied from Bloomsbury Square, and it appeared to have some peculiar
quality, for it all slipped through Ernest's fingers with the greatest
possible ease. Having, in spite of his defects, an amiable disposition,
he soon found acquaintances, mainly amongst other men who were also
looking about, and when they discovered he had money at his command, and
that his cheques were always—after sometimes a brief delay—honoured,
their admiration of his qualities knew no bounds.
"You've got a simple manner," they said, "but, by gad, underneath that
there's any amount of cunning and cleverness."
"Really think so?" inquired Ernest, pleased.
"Enough for ten ordinary people," they declared. "Got a fi'pun note
about you?"
Also, they gave him sound advice in regard to keeping well in with the
governor: a dinner was arranged at a club to which one of them belonged,
and, at the expense of Ernest, Mr. Rollinson was entertained, and made
much of; Wilner (who had been twice through the Bankruptcy Court, using
up several pails of whitewash and coming out not quite clean)—Wilner made
a speech, proposing old Rollinson's health, declaring that their guest
was one of the bulwarks of the nation, and that his well-equipped son
would, later on, when he had finished looking about, become one of the
foremost men in the State. Privately, Wilner told Mr. Rollinson that all
our best politicians had sown their wild oats in early days, and gave an
amusing and little-known anecdote concerning a member of the Cabinet.
"What he wants," said old Rollinson, glancing at his son, "is
concentration, if you know what it means, sir."
"That will grow on him," remarked the other lightly. "All he has to do
just now is to make plenty of friends. And it isn't for a mere amateur
like myself to give advice to an experienced man of the world like George
Rollinson—"
Oddly enough, the term had never before been applied to him. Old
Rollinson fixed his cigar at a more rakish angle.
"But if I were you, I should see that, for a year or two at any rate, he
was not stinted of money." Wilner gazed reflectively at his glass of
claret. "I've seen so many youngsters, fine, promising, delightful lads,
go to the deuce just for want of a few paltry hundreds. And you needn't
begrudge it, you know. By all accounts you make it easily enough."
The rest of the dinner-party, once they had, as Wilner neatly phrased it,
put off the old man, went to the Argyll Rooms, and later to Bob Croft's
in the Haymarket (no use in going to Croft's until midnight), where
Ernest insisted upon playing the harp, with the aid of his walking-stick;
when the police came to make their usual nightly round, Ernest demanded
the company of the Inspector in the Varsoviana. Wilner and the others
were satisfied with the efforts of their pupil and allowed him, at his
special request, to pay for everything. This was the occasion when
Ernest lighted a cigar with one of the notes given to him by his father,
and found some difficulty in making the paper burn.
There were times when Ernest, troubled with remorse and a severe
headache, spoke of giving it all up, and returning to Bloomsbury Square;
the bodyguard had to use their best powers of derision. An accusation of
want of pluck generally proved effective; later, a slip of the pen on the
part of Ernest gave them a better hold, and they had only to draw his
attention to the punishment awarded by the law for forgery. Old
Rollinson fell ill, in consequence of a chill sustained on the steamboat
returning from Greenwich after his new doctor had ordered him a sea
voyage, and the remittances stopped. A new and promising-looking pigeon
flew into the district of the Circus; Wilner and his colleagues dropped
the acquaintance of Ernest, who could find no better companion than a
wise young housemaid at Jermyn Street. The girl gave him good advice and
went with him to Bloomsbury Square, waiting at the railings whilst he
entered to see his father, to make frank avowals, and to impersonate the
prodigal son. He came out in less than half an hour, and it seemed at
once evident that the fatted calf was still alive.
"Says I've disappointed him," reported Ernest tearfully, "and that he
never wants to see me again. Declares he did his best for me, and all
I've done has been to spend nearly every penny he gained, and there's
nothing to show for it, excepting a good-for-nothing, broken-down young
man. And mother agreed with him."
"Appears to me," remarked Helen, "some one is going to have the
responsibility of looking after you."
"I wish you'd marry me."
"That will be about the best plan," she agreed.
Ernest Rollinson died in '64, and soon after the old people went. Young
Mrs. Rollinson, putting her baby boy away with some working people in
Clerkenwell, entered service again.
A Home for Indigent Bookmakers found itself benefited by the terms of the
Bloomsbury Square will; nothing was left to the son's family, in spite of
the device used in christening the baby. Helen worked hard in her good
situation and saved money, paying the folk in Corporation Lane weekly,
and now and again snatching an hour off to see her boy. She was there
one afternoon in December watching with amusement his celebrated
impersonation of a policeman on the track of a Fenian (he had some new
piece of cleverness each time she paid her furtive visits) when a
tremendous clatter came from the wall of the prison opposite, the house
trembled, plaster of the ceiling fell in a thick white shower, and then
the place collapsed. Helen Rollinson found herself pulled out of the
débris and screamed loudly for her George; they brought to her a maimed
child, and she, almost demented, was nursing the poor thing in the
confusion of the street, and begging it not to die, when Master George
himself trotted up, safe and sound, demanding of his mother whether she
had noticed the splendid fireworks. She placed the injured child in the
hands of one of the doctors, heard that the woman of the house was not
expected to recover, and rushed away with her boy from the disastrous
scene.
"Well for you, Helen," said her excellent mistress, "that you are able to
show me your marriage lines, otherwise it would be my duty, as a strict
Churchwoman, to turn you out of the house, neck and crop. As it is, you
have practised deceit on me, and I am afraid we must look upon this
dreadful affair at Clerkenwell as a judgment for your sin."
"They seemed to suspect some Irish people, ma'am."
"Heaven has its own way of punishing evil-doers," declared the lady, "and
it isn't for us to question its methods. You cannot stay here any
longer."
"I must find another situation, I s'pose, ma'am. But I shan't get such a
good one as this."
"Deceit," insisted the other, "is one of the things that must, on no
account, be encouraged. What is your boy like?"
The child, brought from the kitchen, repeated for the benefit of Helen's
mistress his account of the explosion, a performance that had been well
received downstairs. The lady was impressed.
"A clever boy," she said. "Would you like me to adopt him, Helen, and
thus leave you free?"
"I'd rather starve than let him go away from me again."
"Supposing, then," said the lady, getting over her surprise at this
attitude, "supposing I set you up in a small business of some kind; will
you promise me never to be deceitful again?" Helen gave the required
guarantee, and her mistress put the small boy through a viva-voce
examination; his replies concerning the award meted out to naughty people
fortunately coincided exactly with the lady's own views.
Helen Rollinson, widow of Ernest Rollinson, and mother of George
Rollinson, saw her name painted over a shop in Southampton Row, with the
words added, on either side of the main inscription, "Newsagent" and
"Tobacconist"; she let the rooms above, giving some personal attendance,
used the apartment at the back of the shop as a living-room whence she
could see when a customer entered, occupied spare moments by making
clothes for George, preparing necessary meals, and telling him to be a
good lad. She slept for about six hours every night, giving the
remaining eighteen to hard work, and to the considerable task of minding
her own business. Mr. Forster carried his Education Act just in time to
enable George to take advantage of it, and the boy was one of the
earliest to pay sixpence a week and become a pupil of the State at a
superior school; in his spare time he delivered newspapers and ran
errands, sometimes going so far as the City and making use of the new
Viaduct at Holborn; he was at first terrified by these important
missions, but overhearing his mother speak of him to a customer as a boy
who knew his way about, he determined to keep his fears to himself, and
to overcome them. Moreover, there was the knowledge that undertakings of
the kind, perilous as they might be, saved expense. Mrs. Rollinson
watched every penny, every halfpenny, and spoke with genuine regret when
disbursements had to be made to the Parcels Delivery Company.
"Throwing away good money!" she declared.
She explained to George, in answer to his question, a theory she held in
regard to the coinage of the United Kingdom, and he embodied these views
in an essay at school the following morning. His teacher, greatly
diverted, read the paper aloud to the class, and the boys followed the
lead, glad of an excuse for boisterous amusement. George flushed, and
kept his head down. It gives some notion of the difficulties experienced
by the State in its early days of keeping school when I mention that
George ranged himself on the side of his parent, and declined to accept
the opinions of educational authorities; the teacher, noting his
attitude, spoke to him later in the playground, and assured him again
that his argument was based upon error. Money, said the teacher, was
manufactured at a place called the Mint situated east of the City; the
gold coins were actual value, whilst the rest were called tokens,
representing a value only by agreement. Notes were made on special
paper, and printed under the supervision of the Bank of England. To
write, as George Rollinson had done, that there were two kinds of money,
one dry and the other slippery, one easy to retain and the other
impossible to keep, was to make an assertion that, in the light of facts,
could not possibly be supported.
"So get that nonsensical idea out of your head, my lad," advised his
teacher earnestly, "as soon as you possibly can. You have a good deal to
learn yet, remember."
On most subjects George accepted the instructions of the representatives
of the State, bringing home to Southampton Row items of geographical
information and snips of historical news; his mother nodded approvingly
and hinted that all the particulars had once been learnt by her, but,
owing to pressure of other matters, forgotten. When the boy asked about
his father she constructed for his encouragement, and her own content, an
ideal man, dogged, wise, and industrious, never wasting a moment of
valuable time, always thrifty. Upon George inquiring why, in these
circumstances, they had not been left more comfortably off, she fell back
on her old theory regarding cash, and told him in conclusion that little
boys who did not ask too many questions would find their appropriate
reward in not being told too many lies.
The profits of the business were small, but they were sure. The
newspaper and magazine side increased slightly year by year with nothing
in the nature of a set-back, excepting the occasional defalcation of some
customer with a poor memory, and lightly furnished in the way of luggage.
Mrs. Rollinson, when the lad was of a sufficient age, showed him the
results of the business, and George said they ought to sell letter paper
at the tobacco counter, seeing that the figures there were stationary.
Mrs. Rollinson gave this remark as "George's latest" to a customer, a
short, clean-shaven man, who patronised the shop for lucifer matches, and
the customer pronounced it good; later, in calling, he mentioned he had
worked it into a burlesque at the Strand Theatre where he was playing,
and that it went fairly well. He added that he had never yet found the
perfect tobacco, and now almost despaired of doing so; described the
different flavours which he desired. George, listening from the shop
parlour, asked permission of his mother to make a few experiments; she
gave her consent, on the understanding that there should be no waste.
The results, tried in the celebrated actor's pipe, gained emphatic
approval, and George suggested a letter should be written from the
Theatre embodying these compliments and bearing a signature. The letter
was framed, set in the window. Within a week Mrs. Rollinson found
herself compelled to engage the services of an assistant on the tobacco
side, a worthy, well-favoured man who thenceforth for many years, in
accepting his wages on Saturday nights, made a proposal of marriage to
her. Mrs. Rollinson declined, in set form, on the grounds that she
wished to look after George.
"Very well then," he would say resignedly. "Then I s'pose I must wait."
On a Saturday when George brought a young lady from High Street,
Marylebone, to the shop, and introduced her to his mother with the
remark, "I want you two to be friends!" Mrs. Rollinson, greatly upset,
perturbed the assistant by giving in reply to the usual question an
unusual answer. He went out of the shop in a dazed condition, and on the
Monday morning a letter came from him, stating that, on reflection, he
decided he was unworthy of the great honour, and he hoped Mrs. Rollinson
would not mind if, instead, he sailed for Canada.
"It's all for the best!" said Mrs. Rollinson. After going to chapel
twice on the intervening Sunday, she was regarding the possibility of the
engagement of her son with greater calm. "George will have to work
harder, and I'm good for several years yet. We shall rub along all
right. He needn't get married until he's thirty. It's quite fashionable
nowadays for gentlemen to wait until they're getting on in life."
She told him that her first criticism of the girl had been made on the
impulse of the moment: she now begged to withdraw the word "minx" and to
substitute a more flattering noun.
"Very glad to hear you say that, mother. She's a girl with most
wonderful ideas in her head."
"That doesn't matter," replied Mrs. Rollinson tolerantly, "so long as she
leaves them there."
"What I mean is, extraordinarily ambitious."
"I'm like that, too," she remarked. "I've set my 'eart on having the
front of the shop done up this spring. Me and her will get on capitally
together. Make your mind quite easy. She can come here every Christmas
day and now and again on Sundays—but not too often—and when eventually
you get married, why, if all goes well, I'll retire and I'll leave you
the business. Can't say fairer than that, can I?"
"Mother," the lad blurted out, "she wanted it to be a secret for a time,
but I can't keep it back from you. We're married already!"
"No, George, my boy. That isn't true, surely!"
"I take all the responsibility," he went on, "but she said it was no use
letting the grass grow under our feet."
"I wish," said Mrs. Rollinson aside, to the <DW64> figure in the corner,
"that grass was growing over her head!"
This was the final word of a vehement nature that George's mother used in
regard to her daughter-in-law. When she took some of the furniture, and
rode away on the tail of the van to Chalk Farm, she told the middle-aged
man with the green baize apron that there was nothing like retiring from
business whilst one was still capable of enjoying life: to the lady who
owned the house where the furniture was unloaded she mentioned, in taking
possession of the two rooms on the ground floor, that her only visitors
would be her son and her son's wife; she hoped they would be in and out
of the place frequently. Mrs. Rollinson gave a short, enthusiastic
description of the bride and remarked that she already looked upon the
girl as her own daughter.
"It'll be a comfort to me, ma'am," said the landlady mournfully, "to have
a merry party about the house. The only thing is—I don't mean anything
personal—but I've generally found that when parties were cheerful, they
turned out to be rather bad payers."
Mrs. Rollinson produced her pass-book; exhibited figures showing the
balance to her credit.
"That's good enough," said the other, with something like rapture. She
was leaving the room, but curiosity detained her at the edge of the
carpet. "You must have had some rare strokes of luck, in your day,
ma'am!"
Mrs. Rollinson shook her head resolutely. "It's all been saved out of
hard work," she declared.
"I was half hoping," remarked the landlady, relapsing into gloom, "it was
a case of easy come, easy go!"
The expected callers did not arrive on the first Sunday afternoon,
although tea was prepared, crumpets ready, and Mrs. Rollinson had
rehearsed several amiable speeches to be addressed to her
daughter-in-law. So soon as it became dusk she walked down to
Southampton Row, and from the opposite side of the roadway took a view.
The shop was shuttered, and, alarmed by this—Sunday evening was one of
the best times for receipts—she crossed, and read the notice. Retail
Department Closed, said the bills. Central Office of the English Tobacco
Syndicate. Branches all over the Country. Capital—and here so many
figures (mainly noughts) that Mrs. Rollinson could not reckon them.
"Slippery money," she said, on the way home. She paid the cabman in
threepenny pieces, and he remarked that she might as well also hand over
the offertory bag.
Young Mrs. George Rollinson delayed her call for nearly two years, and
then she had no occasion to pay a fare; her manner when, on leaving Chalk
Farm, she said to the coachman—
"Home, Watson!"
—Was, in itself, proof of the ease with which cultured habits can be
acquired by those who set their minds to the task. Before going she,
prefacing by the remark that she had called for a quiet chat, spoke at
length and with great rapidity. They were living, George and herself, up
West; Mrs. Rollinson observed that the exact address was not tendered,
and a return call was evidently unnecessary. The present scheme was
going on remarkably well, astonishingly well, amazingly well, and young
Mrs. Rollinson had special cause for gratification in that it originated
with her. For various reasons that her mother-in-law would not
understand, if explained, the present scheme had taken the place of the
old one, and a still newer one was in contemplation. George and his City
friends knew how to manage these affairs to the best advantage.
Unfortunately, it seemed likely the public might exhibit a certain
reticence when the new idea was submitted to them, and investors would
only become eager when they discovered that the shares, or most of them,
had been privately subscribed. Just as many people only wanted to go to
theatres where the notice "House Full" was exhibited, so some did not
apply for shares unless they anticipated difficulty in procuring them.
"And George," said young Mrs. Rollinson, refastening her fur coat, "is
anxious to show he had not forgotten you, and he asked me to say that,
for the sake of old times, he is quite willing to let you take up—"
"You tell George," interrupted his mother, "that whenever the time
arrives that he wants to be kept out of the workhouse, he can come along
to me!"
I think I said something in approval of young Mrs. Rollinson's manner of
giving instructions to her coachman. To be exact, it ought to be
mentioned that there was a distinct trace of asperity in her tones.
Young Mrs. Rollinson said "Home, Watson!" on a good many occasions, and
at various places, before the one evening when she gave to the coachman a
different destination; the two well-matched horses broke down the austere
behaviour of a life-time by winking at each other. George arrived at
Chalk Farm by yellow omnibus, that night, after his mother had gone to
rest in the back room; she came out with no indication of surprise, and
started at once to make up a bed for him on the sofa. He seemed inclined
to retain possession of his silk hat, partly that he might gaze into it
as he gave halting explanations, but his mother wrested this from him,
and ordered him to make himself at home.
"I never heard for certain," she said, when he had come to an end of the
list of disasters, "but are there any children?"
George shook his head negatively.
"That's just as well," she remarked, with cheerfulness. "Now promise me,
George, before we settle anything else: don't divorce her."
"I'm willing to give you my word, mother."
"Good!" she said. "That means the trouble is over. No more Rollinsons
will have to undergo the test. Other people will, but not a Rollinson.
Something seems to tell me that I shall out-live you, and I shall make it
my business to see that you earn honestly every penny you require."
* * * * *
The single worry that came later was when Merry Hampton won the Derby.
Mrs. Rollinson allowed George one speculation a year in the form of a
half-crown ticket for a sweep-stake; prospects of success appeared
sufficiently remote. George, on the canal bridge in High Street, was
exhibiting to a friend his winnings when the sovereigns slipped through
his fingers, and disappeared in the water below. The friend, taking the
situation with great good-humour, remarked that it looked like a case of
_felo s. d._
VI—PRICE OF JAMES McWINTER
THEY came separately, and rather stealthily, to the restaurant in Little
Compton Street, giving a cautious look up and down the street before
entering. Many folk in Soho wear the brims of soft hats flattened down
over eyes, carry hands deep in overcoat pockets, and walk close to shop
windows, hesitating slightly before turning a corner. The restaurant
patrons did not belong to this type. Some of the early-comers spoke to a
constable, and said, exhibiting an envelope, because they mistrusted
their French accent:
"Which do you reckon now is my best way to get to this address?"
The policeman, pointing a gloved hand to the large window that had muslin
curtains of the previous summer, replied:
"If you ain't careful, sir, it'll bite you."
The constable, after the first inquiries, was able to recognise the type
and, interrupting the question, indicated the doorway silently with a nod
of his helmet without interrupting the task of slapping his shoulder; he
mentioned to an anxious younger colleague who came up and put an inquiry
that they were not in his opinion so much Anarchists as country gents out
on the spree. Inside the Restaurant Chicot the head waiter had also
gained experience, and, as the visitors arrived, he said, "Mr. Aumairst,
yes?" and with a bow led the way to a long table, that had originally
been three, at the end of the large room. Chairs leaned forward in the
attitude of saying grace, and these were pulled back by the head waiter,
whilst a short page-boy stood on tiptoe to assist the guests in removing
overcoats, mufflers, and hats. Guarded salutations—"Hullo, Burnham, old
man! What sort of an east wind blew you in here?"—and newcomers examined
the menu card with a puzzled air, giving it all up after a cursory
examination excepting the plum-pudding item, and joined the rest in
taking a seat and in looking over the shoulder.
"I'd no notion we were to be all of us invited. What's the idea?"
"H. A." was the reply, in confident tones. "H. A. knows what he's up
to."
"I quite feel that about him. Apart from liking to show off, and not
being able to afford to do it, old Amherst is no fool. But whilst I know
that he knows what he's up to, I can't say that I always know what he
knows about knowing— See what I mean, don't you? Is this him, in the
Russian-bear costume?"
Mr. Amherst, in a brand-new fur-lined overcoat, was scarcely the man to
deprive the public of a full view of it, and he resisted the page-boy's
attempt to take possession at the door. Diners at other tables glanced
up. Two matronly ladies at the corner said something in a foreign
language and suspended the rule which orders that one should not laugh at
one's own jokes. Men gave their closer attention to the trim young
figure in a small sealskin cap and warm costume who followed so soon as
Mr. Amherst's whirling arms made it safe to do so.
"Gentlemen," he said, advancing to the long table, with the air of making
a speech, "I have to apologise for being somewhat late on the Rialto, so
to speak, but— You've met my daughter. Waiter, another chair!" They
rose, and she nodded pleasantly, giving to one her muff, another her
cloak, a third her gloves. "I particularly wanted her to come along, and
it occupied some little time to induce her to obey my request. She's all
I've got now, you see." He sat down heavily at the top of the table.
"Now then, my lad," to the attendant, in a pained manner, "we all seem to
be waiting, except you. How much longer before the soup comes?"
Miss Amherst, at the other end of the table, explained to neighbours that
her father's account was inexact in certain particulars. What had really
happened was that she found he intended her to stop at the hotel and dine
alone.
"He generally gets his own way," remarked one.
"Not if it happens to differ from mine," she said.
"Did he tell you, by any chance," lowering voices, and speaking
confidentially, "what the motive was for asking us all here this
evening?"
"I understood it was that you should eat a dinner." They shook their
heads to convey that the information was not complete, and followed her
lead in the management of the whitebait.
Near Mr. Amherst, the talk, managed and directed by him, was devoted to
the political situation. The host submitted a practical method of
solving the difficulty of which he spoke as one owning the patent rights;
put more briefly than he explained it, it was to convey the principal
members of the party with which he was not in agreement to Newgate on a
convenient Monday morning, and hang them, one after the other. Near Miss
Amherst conversation was on a less remote subject, and her admirable
acquaintance with details enabled them to speak freely. Once she
disputed a question concerning the Tottenham Hotspurs, and, obtaining
silence by rapping a spoon, submitted it for decision to her father.
"My dear," he answered deferentially, "we don't want to talk shop. Not
just yet awhile, at any rate."
His guests glanced meaningly at each other.
"Good gracious!" he cried, to a good-looking waiter with a large black
moustache and a head of hair like a clothes brush, "what are you standing
there gazing at me in such a melancholy way for?"
"Ver' sorry," said the young waiter.
"You look it!"
His nearest guests applauded the wit and readiness of the retort. Other
tables cleared; folk hurried off to theatres. The head waiter ordered
the moustached youth to turn off some of the lights.
"Now, gentlemen!" Mr. Amherst, leaning elbows on the table as coffee and
liqueurs were served, cleared his throat, and sent a commanding glance up
and down. "My dear"—to his daughter, who was looking at the waiter—"have
I your attention?"
"Not yet, father."
"The presence of a lady," he said to the others, "need not interfere with
the flow of conversation. I want you to make yourselves thoroughly at
home, and do just as you please. We can wish each other a happy New Year
later on in the evening. But first of all there's one small matter I
wish to bring before your notice." They put hands to ears, in the
attitude of men anxious to gain every word. He leaned back in his chair
and came forward once more; his chin went out and he fired a name down
the table. They twisted chairs promptly in his direction.
"Yes," gratified by their astonishment, "big game, I admit, but it's what
I'm after. Other clubs may be on the same track, and therefore what we
want first of all is absolute secrecy. If you're prepared to back me up
I'll promise to see it through, but there must be no cackle, no
chatterboxing, no talking to wives, or what not. Not a single word
uttered away from this table."
"They won't let him go."
"Who said that?" The others, much in the manner of schoolboys, indicated
Burnham.
"I believe," said Mr. Amherst—"set me right if I'm wrong—but I believe
I'm Chairman. Unless I'm woefully mistaken, I was made Chairman about
four years ago, at a time when the club was right out on the rocks. It
had got a past, but no present. If my memory serves me right, I made it
a small present. I bought shares when no one else was prepared to do so.
And since that time, what has the club done?" He put out the fingers of
one hand and prepared to recite the successes. His daughter coughed.
"I was only going to run through the list, my dear."
"You can save yourself the trouble," she said.
"Now, having arrived at this point," addressing the table, "I ask myself
the question, where are we weak? Where are we deficient? Where are we—"
He was so much annoyed at their impatience in anticipating him by giving
the answer, that he found himself obliged to apply a match to his cigar,
which was still alight.
"Very well, then," reluctantly. "Discovering this, I look around and I
endeavour to find out the best man available."
"Mr. Pangbourne," said Burnham, taking heart, "would no more think—"
Mr. Amherst snapped finger and thumb.
"That for Master Willie Pangbourne," he shouted. "No, no," irritably, to
the moustached waiter, "I didn't call you. Go away and catch flies. I
think, gentlemen," turning to the others, "that when I tell you I've
known young Pangbourne since he was so high, and that not long ago I had
to order him out of my house—"
"Did he go?" asked the quiet voice at the other end.
"In point of fact he didn't go, Mary, my dear; but I distinctly ordered
him to go. I don't mind a young man differing from me about politics,
but there's a way of doing it. What I want to say is that Pangbourne
isn't everybody. I can bring influence to bear on his directors. I've
been accustomed to opposition all my life, and I'm not afraid of it. The
only question is,"—he took a pear from the glass dish and shook it
threateningly—"how to raise the money."
The guests glanced at each other and became intent upon cigars. One or
two wetted fingers and adjusted an unbroken leaf, thus escaping the
inquiring look sent by Mr. Amherst.
"Tell you what," he cried, "I'll put down a trifle to make a start." He
called to the waiter and said in a loud, distinct voice, "Onker." The
other seemed puzzled, and the girl translated. The waiter brought ink,
and on it being pointed out, somewhat bitterly, that this, by itself, was
of little use, found pen and paper.
"There you are," said Mr. Amherst jovially. "Now pass it down this side
and up the other. This is a tiled meeting, remember." He sat back and
gazed at some cupids painted high up on the walls; the models apparently
engaged after they had dined at the restaurant. A nudge presently at his
elbow told him the list had returned. He put on his pince-nez and
inspected it. "Henry Amherst, £50," was the first item; the only other
entry was in pencil, "Mary Amherst, threepence."
"And this," he said bitterly, "is, I suppose, what you call backing up
the Chairman. Well, you're the best judges of your own actions. I never
dictate to other people."
A murmur indicated doubt.
"Idea seems to be, sir," mentioned Burnham, "that we ought to leave well
alone." A few shy "Hear hears." "We're very much obliged to you, Mr.
Amherst, for your kind hospitality, and we've enjoyed meeting at your
festive board—if I may be allowed to use such an expression at this time
of the year—but you must understand we've none of us got money to throw
away. We're devoted to footer, same as you are, and we've planked down
as much as we could afford. We're pretty safe to cut a very fair figure
this year, and—"
"Burnham," interrupted Mr. Amherst, "you'll excuse me, but perhaps you
don't mind if I just say one syllable." He appeared to be under the
impression that his voice had not hitherto been heard. "I've a great
respect for you. You've got a shop in the borough that you've worked up
from small beginnings, and, so far as I know, you've always paid your
way."
"Come on," said Burnham desperately. "Let's hear what you are going to
say on the other side."
"What I'm going to say on the other side is simply this. That, with all
your estimable qualities, I've never, for a single, solitary moment,
looked on you as anything but a fool."
"Father," reminded the girl, "these gentlemen are your guests."
"If you are so jolly keen on it," said Burnham, with spirit, "and if you
particularly want to strengthen our team next season, why don't you put
all the money down, and buy James McWinter for us?"
Mr. Amherst struck the table with the side of his large fist.
"Just," he declared emphatically, "just exactly what I intend to do."
The waiter came forward in the character of a hat-stand, and Mr. Amherst,
grabbing at the nearest, found his irritation in no way lessened on
discovering that it was headgear of insufficient size. Mary Amherst,
turning to the waiter who stood now arms filled with overcoats, remarked
pleasantly that a night like this must surely make him think of the clear
blue skies and the dazzling sunshine of his native country; the waiter
appeared to have acquired some of the useful idioms of the country, for
he said in appealing undertones, "Half-time, half-time!" The head waiter
came with the bill, which Mr. Amherst, in his annoyance, had forgotten.
Miss Amherst was called upon to check the addition, and it became her
duty to point out that the head waiter had by an excusable oversight in
making a total reckoned the date at the top. This remedied, with profuse
apologies, the party was conducted to the doorway.
"Also I don't mind telling you," said her father, speaking outside as
though no interval had occurred since his last decisive remark, "exactly
how much I'm prepared to go up to." He named a figure. "Not a farthing
more," he declared resolutely. "What's that, my dear?"
"Only saying, father, that I was quite sure you couldn't afford it."
"That is my business, Mary."
"It was the business I was thinking about."
Mr. Amherst, never one to allow pasture land to flourish extensively
under his boots, wrote a letter that night, posted it at the corner of
Trafalgar Square, and walked three times around the pedestal of the
Nelson Statue, partly because he had a great belief in the value of
exercise, partly to enjoy the thought that he had, in sending the note,
started the ball a-rolling. Coming into the hotel he was told by the
porter that Miss Amherst had retired to rest, and he went upstairs
humming cheerfully. The porter, it would seem, had been misinformed, for
later the girl was leaning over the low balcony chatting with a youth who
carried a kit bag. You would have said he was the young waiter at the
Soho Restaurant, only that he wore no moustache and she called him
Willie, which, as one knows, is rarely counted an Italian name.
"It's all right, dear girl," he said. "Now that I know his limit, I can
easily arrange."
"I don't want him to waste his money," she explained.
"Leave everything to me," he begged. "Don't forget the match to-morrow.
By the by, just go in and borrow a lucifer for me. My box is empty."
She returned with a supply taken from the smoking-room, and leaning over
the balcony struck one and just managed to reach his cigar. No one was
about, excepting the driver of a four-wheeler on the rank opposite; the
cabman remarked confidentially to his horse: "Romeo and Juliet. Played
nightly all over the blooming world." The horse waggled his nose-bag to
show that he, too, was acquainted with standard literature.
Mr. Amherst had announced the intention of taking his daughter home by
the eight-thirty the following morning, and she was to knock at the wall
not later than half-past seven; Miss Amherst was able at nine o'clock
breakfast to exhibit her watch and blame it for her omission. She read
from a morning paper the fixtures of the day, repeating the announcement
concerning the match, whereupon her father announced that he was as ready
to be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, and gave her permission to catch
the ten-five, and to travel alone. Miss Amherst agreed, but finding in
another part of the journal an account of a deplorable case of a
communication cord refusing to act, became suddenly terrified and begged
her father to accompany her. He said "No!" There was reason in all
things. Devoted as he was to his daughter, and ready as he might be to
make sacrifices, this was asking too much. He had decided to see James
McWinter play once more, before advancing a further stage in the
negotiations, and the opportunity was one not to be missed.
"But I tell you what, Mary," he said firmly; "you do some shopping, buy
presents for relatives, and we can both go back together this evening."
"The best places in London close on Saturday afternoons."
"Then come to the match with me."
"I suppose I'd better," she said.
In London you see no such spectacle as can be witnessed in Midland and
Northern towns, with the entire male population walking solidly in one
direction, returning later in less regular order, and excited or
depressed according to the fate of the home team. All the same, the
compartments of the suburban train were well filled, and Mr. Amherst,
fearful of being delayed, shouted on the crowded platform an instruction
to his daughter.
"Look after yourself!"
An instruction she complied with the more readily because a hand waved to
her from a carriage next to the engine. Half a dozen young men sprang up
and offered places; she thanked them, and, apparently anxious not to be
accused of favouritism, decided to hold by the rack and talk to young
Pangbourne. As the train took a curve he had to hold her by the arm, but
this she did not seem to mind. Pangbourne's directors were, of course,
to be present at the game. A hurried conference had taken place that
morning in the waiting-room of a London terminal station, and the price
of James McWinter, on Mr. Pangbourne's urgent suggestion, had been fixed
at a price that far exceeded the limit mentioned by Miss Amherst's
father.
"That's capital!" she declared gratefully—"capital in more senses than
one. You see, Willie, I can remember the time when we were hard up at
home, and I recollect how my mother had to scheme and contrive. I don't
want to find myself going back. And the sum represents such an awful lot
of money. Football's a good sport, but there are other games."
"Marriage, for instance?"
"We can talk of that," she said composedly, "later on. Let's settle one
matter first. We mustn't be seen talking to each other, mind."
Mr. Amherst apologised to his daughter, as they made their way to the
entrance to the ground, for his apparent neglect, and she accepted his
excuses so readily that he felt bound to point out that, in a general
way, he did look after her very carefully, adding that there was no one
else to do this. Everything, said Mr. Amherst, with a touch of
importance and a hint at real affection, devolved upon him, and he was
not the man to flinch responsibilities. She inquired, deferentially,
whether he considered it wise to pay out such a large sum of money for
James McWinter. He replied that James was worth the figure mentioned the
previous night, but not a penny, not a halfpenny more. If the other club
began to haggle and bargain and huckster, he, Mr. Amherst, would
instantly withdraw.
"And what I say," he declared, "as you very well know, is what I stick
to. My first word is my last word. Is that so, my dear, or isn't it?"
"You're an extraordinary man, father." He appeared content with this
vague admission.
Quite a good number had taken advantage of the hospitable offer to
ladies, and Mr. Amherst, in spite of his recent declaration, showed
relief on encountering the wife of another director, willing and ready to
take charge of his daughter. Silk hat at back of head, he hurried off.
"Highly important business!" he explained. Mrs. Burnham, a matronly
person, confessed that she knew nothing and cared nothing for the game,
but had to affect an interest in order to make opportunity of keeping an
eye on her husband. Husbands required a lot of watching. Husbands were
kittle cattle, if the truth was known. Husbands being what they were,
the wonder was that any married lady remained in possession of her
senses; she herself foresaw clearly the time when she would be taken away
to the County Asylum. Having said all this, and having mentioned that
she counted herself among the few who could respect and keep a secret,
Mrs. Burnham lowered her voice that folk around might not hear, and urged
it was high time Miss Amherst thought of getting married. Mrs. Burnham's
advice was that Miss Amherst should pick out some desirable young
gentleman of good birth and excellent prospects.
"And then go for him," recommended the matronly lady, with earnestness.
"Go for him, for all you know. Takes a bit of doing, of course, but it's
worth while."
The commencement of the game did not interrupt Mrs. Burnham's counsel,
but it interfered with the girl's power of giving attention. Standing on
a chair she watched eagerly, describing the progress in brief ejaculatory
sentences to her chaperon; joined in the appeals of a few members of the
crowd addressed to the visiting team; refrained from giving assistance to
the majority in cheering and encouraging the home side. Privately, she
criticised James McWinter, who, a large young man, appeared to be doing
as little as possible, the while the rest scurried about on the slightly
frosted turfed ground, doing everything in a strenuous manner with no
result. What a football crowd likes is the scoring of goals, and when at
half-time it proved that not one had been recorded on either side, the
two teams, exhausted and limp (with the exception of James McWinter) were
followed by regretful looks; men described what they themselves would
have done, if they were but a few years younger or older, and less
occupied with other affairs. Mr. Amherst bustled around, fanning himself
with his silk hat, and looking greatly perturbed. He mentioned to his
daughter that they (meaning Pangbourne's directors) had the cheek to ask
so much—quoting the large figure—that he would see them further before
planking down that amount; he went so far as to hint at the well-warmed
direction they could select.
The teams took up their new positions. The whistle sounded. Before Miss
Amherst had disengaged herself from her companion's inquiries and
counsel, the outside left, amidst erroneous cries of "Off-side!" centred
across to the inside right, who centred again, and James McWinter trapped
the ball, dodged the two backs and shot hard; the goalkeeper fumbled it,
and even supporters of the home side could scarce restrain a cheer. The
other team prepared for a change of tactics, and in exactly four minutes
precisely the same thing happened, and the goalkeeper dealt with the ball
in almost the same manner; tears stood in his eyes; he glanced with
reproach at his gloves, and bowed his head penitently to the observations
of colleagues. Miss Amherst had to apologise more than once when crying
"Shoot!" for kicking the back of a stout gentleman standing just in front
of her. When at the end of the ninety minutes' traffic the visiting side
had scored five to none, and four of these goals were to be credited to
James McWinter, she turned to her companion. Her father was in a kind of
scrum not far off; she recognised the light in his eyes of one to whom
money was of no consequence, and into her eyes came the light of one
resolved to act promptly. Under cover of the cheering, she made an
enthusiastic and apparently genuine declaration.
"Oh, but, my dear," cried Mrs. Burnham alarmedly, "you mustn't talk like
this. This is dreadful. When I said what I did just now, I never meant
you should go and throw yourself away on a great clumsy hulk like that,
earning not more than £4 a week. Besides, his people are meat salesmen."
"I'm not a vegetarian."
Mr. Amherst, scarlet, almost blue with eagerness, was hurrying by.
"Not a word, please," begged the girl, with extravagant signs of
distress, "not a syllable to my father. Promise me you won't tell him.
My mind's made up; but I don't want him to know."
Mrs. Burnham put out the hooked handle of her umbrella and caught Mr.
Amherst neatly.
"Very sorry," he panted, "can't spare a moment."
"You just come here first," ordered the lady resolutely. "There's
something you've got to know, and I mean to tell it to you before I go
and look after my husband. I'm not going to be blamed afterwards, and
have you say it was my fault."
"Do hurry up," begged Mr. Amherst piteously. "If you knew how urgent it
all was, you wouldn't chatter on like this. I'm going to give them
whatever they ask for him. He's a bachelor, and he won't mind where he
lives."
"Your daughter," said Mrs. Burnham, speaking with tragic emphasis, "tells
me—that she's fallen in love—at first sight—with that six foot
three—called James McSomething—who's been kicking the ball—like a young
demon—between the two posts. And my advice to you is—keep 'em well
apart—keep 'em hundreds of miles apart from each other!"
* * * * *
Mr. Pangbourne's club, with the aid of James and the rest, made its way
later into the Second League, and he himself secured three well-paid
official appointments from the Corporation and other bodies, who were
probably actuated by feelings of gratitude; the entire town joined in
giving him and Miss Amherst a notable wedding present. Mr. Amherst, now
honorary secretary of the Bowling Club, has married a lady of forty-five,
hitherto interested only in deep-sea fishermen. And all intend to live
more or less happily ever afterwards.
VII—A CASE OF SUSPICION
IT was pleasant to get about the square of the station—where luggage had
to be labelled and heated passengers stormed at porters and a rather
stout brass bell was rung, and where at moments of pressure it did seem
that the world had suddenly gone mad—pleasant to stroll there and to feel
you were one of the few who recognised the identity of the quiet man
smoking a briar pipe and carrying an umbrella, over near the label case.
He was middle-aged, with an unobtrusive manner; in the summer he wore a
straw hat sedately; he seemed to be always waiting for a train that never
arrived. If a loiterer made his way into the station and stood about the
bookstall longer than seemed necessary, the quiet man would go near to
him, moving when he moved, stopping when he stopped, and losing no sight
of him until he went off. The quiet man had apparently no friends, and
the staff addressed him rarely.
Now the Station Master's boy knew that this man was a retired member of
the police force, the plain-clothes detective attached to the terminus.
And in connection with a predecessor of this mysterious official they
told him, in the Up Parcels Office, an incident.
* * * * *
Sergeant Bellchambers had not succeeded in gaining the popularity that
most men, in this world, desire, but one or two of his first
investigations received favourable comment from the General Manager, and
this repaid him for lack of sympathy from others. It was said that in
the M division they had been glad to see him take his pension and go, the
opinion of the Inspector's desk being that Bellchambers was a born
muddler. This might have been the invention of the station staff; what
was quite certain was that in his reports on blue paper in the early
cases referred to he fixed blame on men whom the station considered
innocent, and these men were, in consequence, fined or reduced.
Moreover, he had not been content with singling out individuals and
recommending them for the stocks, but he condemned an entire department;
for which reason the station said darkly:
"We shall 'ave to get our own back."
This was the state of things when the cigar robberies began. Parcels of
cigars came up regularly from a certain firm and from a certain local
station, sometimes for delivery in London, sometimes for transfer to
another railway; one parcel in four reached its destination in good
appearance outwardly, but with part of the contents abstracted. The firm
made heavy claims, wrote furious letters, and at last managed to get a
communication into the public press in which bitter reference was made to
the supineness and slothful behaviour of the railway company. The
Superintendent of the Line sent for Bellchambers, withdrawing him from
easy duties on the station square.
"The only question is—" said the high official.
"Where do these robberies take place?" suggested Bellchambers. "That's
the point," he added sagely, "that's what we've got to get at."
"What is your opinion, Sergeant?"
Sergeant Bellchambers made a fine pretence of taking thought before he
answered. Then with red-ink pen he wrote on an envelope and passed it
across the table.
"Up Office," read the Superintendent.
"'Ush," said Bellchambers warningly.
"Do you think you can find the thieves?"
"If I'm given a free hand," said Bellchambers, "and no quibble raised,
sir, about my petty disbursements."
"Go in and win," said the Superintendent. "When do you start?"
"This very night, sir?"
"Let me have a report in the morning."
That evening the head of the department sent to the Up Office a new hand
to assist the late-duty men. He was black-bearded with a very ruddy
face, and he wore a uniform that had apparently belonged to a shorter and
a slimmer person. His name, he said, was Edward Jones, but the Up Office
seemed not contented with this and decided on the suggestion of a junior
clerk to call him by the title of "Sunset." He settled to the work with
moderate determination, calling off parcels and sorting them into bins
for delivery with perhaps more intelligence than the raw amateur usually
showed: he spoke in a hoarse voice, and this he accounted for by
confessing himself a slave to tobacco; he discussed the matter with the
other men, between the arrival of trains, and seemed, not unnaturally,
more interested in those who smoked than in the one or two who limited
themselves to a cigarette a week, consumed after dinner on Sundays. The
Up Office always had a composite scent, in which fruit, game, cheese, and
other things mixed, with sometimes one gaining ascendancy, sometimes
another; a new flavour of a more pleasant and a vaguer character was
contributed presently by a small brown-paper-covered box, brought in from
an arrival platform, bearing a proud label:—
VALUABLE CIGARS.
KEEP DRY.
"'Ere's a chance for some one," said the porter, as he called it off.
"Sunset, old chum, these'd do your palate good."
"Silly thing to mark 'em like that," remarked the new man. "It's
throwing temptation in anybody's way. I should say they're likely enough
worth about fifteen pence to one-and-six a-piece."
"How d'you know?"
"I don't profess to know," said the new man hurriedly. "I'm only giving
a rough estimate. But bless my soul," he went on after a pause, "what a
refining influence a cigar has."
"If it's a good one," suggested a boy porter.
"They're all good," declared the new man with enthusiasm. "They're like
the ladies in that respect. Some are better'n others, but they're all
good."
"Not a married man, then?" asked a foreman.
"I'm a bloomin' bachelor," said the new chum. "And what a thing it is on
your Sunday off, when you're waiting at the end of her road, to light up
a cigar with a fine aroma to it. It not only gives you an air of
belonging to the 'igher aristocracy, but it also carries away any
suspicion of corduroy that might be 'anging about."
"I've never give less than twopence," remarked the boy porter.
"I'm sorry for you," said the new man. "I should have thought a chap
with your fore'ead had got more ambition. Why, when I was a lad of your
height—"
"Pardon me," interrupted the foreman, "you seem to 'ave a most
extr'ordinary flow of conversation."
"I'm celebrated for it."
"I wonder," said the foreman curiously, "whether you'd mind stopping it
for a moment and doing a bit of work instead. Reason I suggest it is
that the Company pays you for what you do and not for what you talk."
"I can take a 'int," said the new man coldly.
There seemed a desire on the part of the others that night to make Porter
Jones work as hard as it is possible for a man to work. The heaviest
hampers were confided to his care; the slimiest cases of fish were placed
upon his shoulder; he it was who was told off to see to some consignments
of rather advanced venison. The parcel of valuable cigars remained in
the Number Five bin to be transferred to another Company by the first
delivery in the morning, and it was observed that whenever Porter Jones
came into the office he glanced in that direction. Now the Up Office, as
I have hinted, had been perturbed over the recent complaints, and the
mere fact that they had to fill up memoranda in regard to the various
investigations, to the effect that, "I beg to say in reference to the
attached papers that I know nothing whatever of the matter, I am, sir,
your obedient servant," this in itself was enough to put a keener edge on
observation. Wherefore, a secret meeting was held near the gas-stove by
the booking-up desk, and it was decided that the new man should be
watched closely; it was felt it would be a proud and estimable thing for
the office, the character of which was at this period slurred, if it
could itself detect a wrong-doer and take him to justice. And should it
happen that the detected one proved to be a new man with no friends in
the department to lament his fall, then the most doubtful would have to
revert to old beliefs in a wise and thoughtful Providence. Their
suspicions were increased by the fact that whenever Porter Jones, in the
brief intervals between work from nine o'clock onwards, resumed
conversation, he invariably bent its direction towards the subject of
cigars.
"Take no notice," whispered the foreman to his colleagues. "At least
when I say take no notice, I mean take all the notice you can, but keep
your little heads shut as tight as possible."
"Shall one of us lay up for him?"
"Who's the smallest?" asked the foreman, with an air of having already
thought of this device.
"I are," said the boy porter.
"Evidently," remarked the foreman, looking down at him, "evidently a chap
of superior education. Country born, ain't you?"
"I were."
"Then," said the foreman, "up you jump behind them 'books off' and you
watch, my lad, watch Sunset for all you are worth."
The Up Office closed at midnight in order to sleep for a few hours.
Before that time the men had made preparations for departure, packing
shining hand-bags and exchanging the official cap for a bowler hat, and
brushing their boots; this last act is one of which the railway man never
tires. Porter Jones alone seemed to be taking no preliminary steps, and
when asked where he lived replied lightly and evasively that he should
probably finish up at the Carlton Club. The gas lights were turned down
one by one and darkness increased its possession of the office. Porter
Jones went up to the end where Bin Number Five was situated; the others
hummed to give a suggestion of unconcern. Suddenly there was commotion
at the darkened end of the office, and seizing hand lamps, they hurried
forward.
"'Old him, 'old him," cried the boy porter. The counsel seemed
unnecessary, for he gripped Porter Jones most effectively by the collar
of the corduroy jacket. "Set on his 'ead. Lam him one."
"What's all this fuss about?" demanded the foreman.
"He's got it," screamed the boy porter. "Sunset's got it hid under his
jacket."
"Got what hid?" asked the foreman. "Let's 'ave the facts first of all."
"I can easily explain," gasped the new man. "I only wanted to see if—
Make him leave go. He's—he's throttling me."
"He's a-trying to," admitted the boy porter.
"Let him loose," ordered the foreman. "Men, stand around him so as he
can't make his escape. What's that bulging under your arm, matey?"
The new man gave an awkward laugh, as he withdrew the labelled parcel.
"I can explain it all to you," he said, addressing the foreman and trying
to rebutton his torn collar, "if you will favour me with two minutes
alone outside."
"Don't you do it," advised the others. "See him 'anged first."
"Whatsoever you 'ave to say," declared the foreman steadily, "you'd
better say it here and now."
"Well, it's like this. I'm the detective."
"Ho!" said the foreman satirically. "Detective and thief in one, eh?
Vurry 'appy combination, I must say."
"See here," said the other, annoyed at the incredulous tone, "I'll take
off this beard and then you can some of you identify me."
As he did so the foreman held up his hand lamp, examining the features
carefully.
"Do any of you chaps recognise him?"
The staff replied at once that to the best of their belief they had never
before in this world set eyes on him.
"Don't play the goat," he urged anxiously. "We've all got our duties to
perform."
"That's true; we shall 'ave to lock you up for the night."
"Right you are," said the other gleefully. "Take me round to the nearest
police station and then—"
"That would mean losing our last train 'ome," pointed out the foreman.
"I s'pose," said the boy porter respectfully, "it wouldn't do to put him
in the lamp room?"
"Chaps," said the foreman, "my idea is we'd better, I think, put him in
the lamp room. Get Porter Swan to lend you the keys, my lad. As for
you, you scoundrel—"
"If you so much as dare to lock me up there I'll see that you regret it
every day of your lives." He argued vehemently.
"Look 'ere, me man," said the boy porter, returning with the keys, "we
want none of your empty threats. If you think we're going to be bluffed
by a chap of your calibre—"
"My what?" shouted the indignant man, struggling to get at the lad.
"Go on, my child," said the foreman approvingly. "Let him have some of
your long ones." The foreman turned to the others.
"This is where your school teaching comes in 'andy," he whispered.
"A chap of your calibre," repeated the boy porter, encouraged; "you're
labouring under the very worst misapprehension—"
"Good!" said the others.
"Worst misapprehension that you ever suffered from or endured or
tolerated or submitted to or underwent or—"
"That's enough for him," interrupted the foreman, "we'd best not overdo
it. Got his arms tied, lads?"
"You'll suffer for this," he cried.
"I'll take me oath you will," said the foreman. "Now then, two of you at
each arm and—march! Boy, blow out the gas and lock up."
No one was encountered on the way to the lamp room who had authority to
interfere with the plans of the Up Office, and the unfortunate man was
conducted at a sharp walk to that gloomy, sooty, greasy haven. The place
reeked with oily waste, and some appeared to have been smouldering,
giving a result that nice people would call displeasing. The uneven
flooring was laid out with lakes of dirty water; zinc counters did not
permit themselves to be touched. The foreman turned out the one glimmer
of light as though by accident.
"Got a match on you?" he asked the prisoner in a kindly tone.
"Only one box."
"Hand it over," ordered the foreman, "for a moment. Thanks," slipping it
into his pocket. "Now we can catch our twelve-fifteen. Good night, old
sort."
"'Appy dreams," cried the others.
"Don't be late in the morning," called out the boy porter.
The imprisoned man, not daring to trust himself to reply, heard the door
close, heard the lock shoot. He groaned, and began to reckon the black
hours that he would have to endure in the place; at the least, the number
would be six; he did not care to think what it might be at the most.
Throughout the whole of the time he was unable to close his eyes, and his
only relief to the length of the hours came by thinking of the report
that he would indite the following morning. He polished up in his mind
some of the references to the boy porter, and to the man who gripped his
arm in bringing him from the Up Office; it seemed that his suspicions in
regard to the pilferages were centred, for some reason, on those who had
most aggrieved him. Before daylight began to grin at him through the
barred window of the lamp room he had mentally completed his report, and
the last paragraph he felt was especially good.
"I am able to speak with absolute certainty, and I can go so far as
to say the men who are undoubtedly responsible for the recent
pilferages are those I have named, and I beg to suggest respectfully
that steps be taken to relieve them of their present duties at the
earliest possible moment. The only alternative is a clean sweep of
the whole of the Up Office staff, and this, sir, I hesitate to
recommend. But for reasons that I have stated, and for others which
I think it wise not to place upon paper, I earnestly hope that the
recommendation I have made will be acted upon without delay.
"W. BELLCHAMBERS.
"P.S.—Especially the foreman and the junior."
"Can't make it hotter for them," said Sergeant Bellchambers to himself
regretfully, "without it looking as though I'd got some personal spite."
The night seemed endless, but it proved to have a finish, and
Bellchambers, when the lamp-man opened the door in the morning, went out,
a tired, oil-scented, yawning, but a determined official. A wash and a
shave increased the last quality, and when the Superintendent arrived at
nine o'clock, morning paper under his arm, Sergeant Bellchambers was
waiting for him in the lobby of the office with confidence written all
over his face in large letters.
"Evening, sir."
"Good-morning, Sergeant."
"I mean morning," corrected Bellchambers. "I've been up all night over
that little affair you spoke about."
"Ah!" said the Superintendent, sitting down in his arm-chair, "with no
result?"
"On the contrary, sir," said Sergeant Bellchambers importantly. "If it
isn't troubling you too much I'll trouble you to cast your eyes over this
report of mine."
The Superintendent let his glasses flick open and adjusted them on his
nose. The Sergeant, leaning one arm on the mantelpiece, watched his
superior officer, waiting for the sign of gratified approval. This, to
his great astonishment, did not come, and the Superintendent's face
remained unchanged when he had thrown the report on the shining table.
"Do you mean to say that you want me to get rid of these men?"
"That was the impression," said the Sergeant, with a touch of acidity, "I
intended to convey."
"And you think they're guilty?"
"I'll stake my reputation on it, sir," said Sergeant Bellchambers.
"That is not much of a bet," remarked the other.
"You can take it from me that these pilferages will never cease until the
men I've referred to are turned out."
"I'm very anxious to do something," said the Superintendent, taking up a
ruler thoughtfully.
"Like myself, sir," said Bellchambers. "That's me all over."
"But not," said the Superintendent, hitting the table, "not in the
direction you suggest. Read this!"
He handed over the morning paper to Sergeant Bellchambers, pointing to a
letter headed "Recent Complaints of Pilferages."
"Ah!" said the Sergeant exultingly, "they're going for us again, then.
'Dear Sir,' he read. 'With reference to our letters to you complaining
of abstraction from our parcels of cigars sent by railway, we think it
only right to inform you that we have discovered these pilferages were
made by one of our own men. It appears that after delivering the parcels
at the station here, and after they were weighed, he was in the habit of
offering to take them to the train, and whilst doing this effected the
robberies to which reference has been made. We need scarcely point out
that if the station had been wisely managed these lamentable occurrences
would in all probability never have taken place; the only question is,
who is responsible? We are, dear sir, yours faithfully—'"
"A paltry trick to play on anybody," said the Sergeant. "At the same
time, sir, I think there'll be no harm in making a change in the staff."
"I intend to do so. Will you keep your eyes open, Sergeant—"
"Ain't they always?"
"And," said the Superintendent, "look out for another berth. Shut the
door quietly after you."
VIII—QUESTION OF TEMPERATURE
L.O.M. caught sight of M.R. two or three times on the journey, and M.R.
made more than one effort to obtain completer details by inspection of
the blue card label on L.O.M.'s bag. A certain coolness on M.R.'s side
marked their first meeting, but this was the fault of the English
Channel; it certainly looked like a practical joke, not quite in good
taste, when a sudden lurch of the steamer sent him against her on the
upper deck; despite his apologies, there was about the incident a
suggestion of Holloway Road on Sunday evenings. M.R. told her married
sister that she considered him a bounder; the married sister replied that
this description could be applied to men in general, with one single
exception.
"Be very careful, Margaret," she added, "how you make acquaintances. We
shall run up against all sorts."
"All sorts," complained the girl, "seem to be running up against me."
At the Paris Station of the Lyons railway, L.O.M. appeared in a more
favourable light, rescuing the married sister's coat which had been taken
from a peg in the buffet by a Frenchwoman who was either short-sighted or
deficient in honesty. At Vallorbes, it was he who came to the window of
their compartment—the hour being five a.m., and snow on the ground—and
gave the welcome news that their registered luggage was not amongst the
packages selected for examination at the Swiss frontier.
"Do you think I might get you some coffee?" he asked.
"Certainly not!" answered the married sister promptly.
The incident constituted a subject for discussion, the younger girl
contending that the obliging male should never be curtly repulsed; the
other arguing that a difficulty would have been found in persuading the
youth to accept cash for refreshments supplied, and, consequent on this,
the trouble in preventing him from becoming intrusive could scarcely be
measured. At Lausanne, where passengers took breakfast, he very properly
kept his distance. At Bex, in the tram-cars, which were to make the
climb with the aid of motive power at the back, he gave up his place to
the elder of the two and sat side by side with the girl in the crowded
luggage van.
"Yes," she replied, "I skate, and I should like to learn to ski. Do
you?"
"Moderately good at it," replied L.O.M. "Did some in Norway."
"Then, perhaps—"
"You will find an instructor up there," he said.
She turned away huffily.
It was not, however, easy to avoid joining in the general conversation.
Everybody had projects for the filling up of the winter holiday; the
conductor, as the car went slowly up the hill, was appealed to for
information concerning weather, and being a man of cheerful temperament,
gave exactly the particulars that were hoped and desired, without
allowing truth to mar the effect. Thus an atmosphere of hopefulness
pervaded the luggage van, and even retiring military men perched upon
trunks became vivacious, talking of desperate deeds already accomplished
in other places on toboggans, and speaking with relish of the appetite
that came after these exercises. The two were soon again in
conversation, and the girl mentioned that her sister's maiden name was
Rodgers, a fact which enabled him to perceive acutely that this must be
also the girl's name. Turning the label on his valise, he introduced
himself.
"Masterson," he said.
"I like names of three syllables," she remarked.
The hour and a half occupied by the journey was lessened by all this, and
by the increasingly snowy aspect of the mountains on either side of the
track; the conductor derided this as trifling, and endeavoured to give
some idea of the downfall that had taken place up near the summit. At
Gryon the steep part finished, and the cars went on with the assistance
of overhead wires.
"You play and sing, I suppose?"
"I perform no parlour tricks of any description," said Miss Rodgers
definitely. "I leave these accomplishments to others."
"Really?" Rather taken back, and the movement of his forehead slightly
lifting his cap. "I had an idea—I'd got the notion that every girl did.
My sisters—"
"I am the exception," with pride. "Outdoor sports constitute my strong
point. I could live for ever in the open air."
"What about the bad weather?" inquired Masterson.
"How can you talk of bad weather at a time like this? Look back and see
that dear, white, delightful little village. Tell me, do you think there
will be a carnival on the ice rink? I've brought the sweetest fancy
dress you ever saw. You won't find me staying indoors, excepting for
meals."
When the cars reached the destination, the two alone out of the whole
party exhibited scarcely any signs of the twenty-five hours' journey from
Charing Cross and London; the married sister compensated by showing every
symptom of collapse, and he very courteously assisted her up the wooden
steps and over the bridge to the hotel. There the flurried manager
checked names as they entered; assigned the double room on the first
floor to Mr. Masterson, and the single room on the third floor to Miss
Rodgers and her exhausted sister; they united forces in protesting
against this, and became more friendly in the presence of a common
grievance. Despite the warmth of arguments used by visitors, the
thermometer near the pile of brushes and toboggans registered four
degrees of frost.
Lunch was served at once, and immediately after the meal the married
sister, discovering that she had eaten veal under the impression it was
mutton, announced her intention of resting indoors during the afternoon.
The other two came down in jerseys and white caps, and the married sister
gave Masterson gracious permission to escort Miss Rodgers to the rink.
"Mind you bring her back safely," she commanded.
"I'll do my best," he said.
"Quite capable of taking care of myself," remarked the girl. "Just lace
up my boots for me, please." They left the lady in the vestibule
perusing a Cardiff journal bearing date of a Tuesday in the previous
month.
One could see on their return that the afternoon on the rink had reached
highest expectations; their animation caused some compression of the
eyebrows on the part of sedater folk taking tea. Everything had happened
as the flushed, excited girl wanted it to happen. Her ability had
excited favourable comment from other skaters; one of the professionals
gave a compliment; the band played delightfully, and she—not caring for
indoor dancing—completely and thoroughly enjoyed a waltz. Sun shining
all the time.
"After tea," she explained, "we are going out to do some ski-ing."
"Who is meant, pray," asked her sister carefully, "by the word 'we'?"
"Mr. Masterson and myself, of course!"
"Oh!" commented her sister, giving an inflection which the printed word
cannot convey.
"What's your objection, Ellen?"
"It would be useless for me to offer any. I shall stay in and write.
Does he know that you neither play nor sing?"
"I've told him," snapped the girl.
Folk at the hotel attended meals with regularity, but their impatience
towards the finish was something not easily concealed. A tall woman
seated opposite at dinner, and possessing a complexion which looked
almost natural, hinted that she was arranging some amateur theatricals,
and Mr. Masterson gave to the announcement an interest which Miss Rodgers
considered so excessive that she turned from him and listened with
attention intended to be equally extravagant to her sister's talk
concerning Henry. The lady with the complexion had been searching the
hotels for some one who could sing and act; up to the present, she had
found three able to sing, but not greatly desirous of doing so; they were
more definite in their replies to her invitation in regard to acting.
Also, she required some one who could play the pianoforte readily.
"Please help me if you can," she begged, passing the French mustard
across to Mr. Masterson, and assuming an ingratiating smile. "I shall be
so grateful."
"There's a good deal to do out-of-doors," he mentioned.
"Then," said the lady, with resolution, "I must pray for mild weather!"
The concierge announced in the vestibule, as folk returned who had been
out for moonlight tobogganing after dinner, that the frost was hard, the
thermometer promising well; bridge players ordered him to close the
doors, and keep them closed, but Masterson and Miss Rodgers coming in,
flushed with exercise on the snow run, congratulated each other on the
good news, and in the corridor, before saying good-night, made full and
complete plans for the following day.
Masterson slept the sleep of a well-tired man until six o'clock, when the
bell rang to arouse servants. He heard a drip, drip, drip from the
roofs, and turning over dreamt of an amazing leap on skis from the top of
Mont Blanc to the Dent du Midi, an exploit that created in his mind, not
surprise, but genuine satisfaction. When he awoke again, it was to find
the hour late, and in dressing hastily, to avoid the fifty centimes fine
inflicted on those who took breakfast after ten, he shared the blame
between himself and the heating apparatus which kept the room at a too
comfortable temperature.
"Really very sorry," he cried, entering the dining-room. Severe faces
looked up from the tables; young Miss Rodgers helped her sister to honey
and sighed. "You can't think how full of regret I am."
"It is a pity," she said.
"I was awake early, mind you," he went on eagerly. "Wide awake as I am
now. And then I dozed off, and when I—"
The waiting maid brought his coffee and he poured it into the cup with
the air of a man not deserving refreshment.
"You have been out alone, I suppose?" he remarked.
"Apparently," interposed the married sister, "you are not aware that
there has been a most wonderful thaw during the night, and that there is
now a thick mist."
The weather was not the only thing affected by the change. After
breakfast, folk stood about in the corridor examining the notices there
with a doleful expression. "Rink Closed" stood out in definite capital
letters, and eyes turned from the stern announcement to gain some comfort
from the slips which recorded loss of decorative articles. A few
proclaimed intention of devoting the morning to sending postcards, and to
the clearing off of arrears in correspondence, and stalked resolutely up
to the drawing-room; others went to see if they could induce the
concierge to make a cheerful prophecy concerning the weather, returning
with the news that the official, discouraged by failure, refused to hold
out anything that looked like hope. One or two inspected time tables and
talked of going back to Lausanne.
"Why don't you suggest something, Mr. Masterson?"
"Wish I had the necessary intelligence, Miss Rodgers. Is there anything
we can arrange indoors, I wonder, to make the time go quickly whilst the
weather is sorting itself? Think of something that you're good at!"
"If you possessed a memory," retorted the girl warmly, "you would
recollect that I distinctly told you—"
The lady with the very fresh complexion interposed, with an apology.
Would Mr. Masterson give her three minutes of his time in a corner of the
vestibule? Masterson looked at the girl for directions, but she turned
away, and he followed the other obediently.
Great mystery surrounded the ball-room, and especially the stage of the
ball-room, that day, with janitors at doors, asking those who arrived:
"Excuse me, but are you taking part?" and when a negative answer was
given, adding: "Then will you kindly stay outside, please?" The
pianoforte could be heard being played with the soft pedal down, and a
sound came of choruses; occasionally, the voice of the made-up lady
crying: "Oh, that's not a bit like it!" and "We must try the first act
all over again!" and "Do take up your cues smartly, please!"
At lunch she escorted Masterson into the dining-room, conveying him past
the chairs occupied by Miss Rodgers and the married sister, and induced
him to sit beside her during the meal. The doyen of the guests rapped
three times on the table between the veal and the chicken course, and
made an announcement. Volunteers were required to sing in the church
choir. A bracelet had been found on the billiard table. To-morrow
evening there would be a theatrical entertainment in the ball-room under
the joint superintendence of Miss Ellicott and Mr. Masterson. Ladies
willing to sing in the chorus were requested to communicate immediately
with Mr. Masterson. The doyen sat down; the buzz of conversation
recommenced.
Masterson, note-book in hand, stood at the doorway when the meal was
over, taking names. As Miss Rodgers and her sister came near, he looked
up inquiringly, but the girl stared at him in a distant manner, and went
past, ignoring the half-completed question which he put to her; Masterson
gazed after them with the abashed look of one who has discovered that he
does not fully understand women, and to the next offer replied, rather
brusquely, that the list was now complete. He proceeded to the ball-room
and gave up the afternoon to rehearsal, interspersed with gusty arguments
with the leading lady. Outside, the rain came down in a quiet, orderly
manner, as though it were doing exactly what was required, and the
concierge went about assuring visitors that the fault was not his.
Young Miss Rodgers, wearing defiance as a cloak to nervousness, knocked
at the door of the ball-room and asked to see Mr. Masterson. The amateur
door-keeper replied that the gentleman was busy. Miss Rodgers, with a
smile that would have persuaded even a professional, induced the
door-keeper to go and make further inquiries, and immediately that he had
started on this errand, not only slipped inside the room, but at once
slipped up on the polished floor. Now, she was a sure-footed girl, not
accustomed to tumble, and it was fortunate, in view of her record, that
no one happened to witness the incident. She had resumed an upright
position when the doorkeeper returned.
"You go across to the drawing-room," he whispered importantly, "and in
about ten minutes he'll see you! Quarter of an hour at the outside."
The entire strength of the company was on the stage, and as she walked up
and down the carpeted room, snatches of the dialogue came to her ears.
The leading lady, and Masterson were about to go through once again the
scene which had startled the girl on entering the ball-room; the lady
suggested improvements. "When I rush into your arms," she said, "how
would it be for you to catch me like this—" here evidently followed an
illustration—"and I'll lean my hand on your shoulder like this"—another
illustration—"and then we can start the duet." Masterman's voice said he
was ready to try this plan. "That's better," remarked the lady
presently, "but I think we may as well do it again. Give me the word,
somebody."
The girl peered through the cracks of the set scenery on the stage, and,
her hand at her throat, watched and listened.
"That's about right. Now for the duet. Play the symphony, please, Miss
Jenner." After this, "Thank you. Just once more."
Masterson's voice, a strong baritone, started:
"As I look into eyes that gaze up into mine,
I know that your dear heart is beating for me.
I know you're as true as the stars that do shine,
As the sun and the moon and the earth and the sea.
Yet I ask for one word—"
Miss Rodgers, fearful of being discovered and unable to endure
contemplation of the scene any longer, crept away to the other end of the
drawing-room, where, regarding herself in the mirror, she found an
extremely cross-looking face with a line or two on the forehead. As the
lady's reply rang out, the girl took up an illustrated journal from the
table and endeavoured to divert her thoughts by concentrating on fashion,
only to find that she could not be quite sure whether she was inspecting
a page of drawings or a page of letterpress.
"For I love thee, I love thee, 'tis all I can say."
The chorus, standing around with a strange want of delicacy during this
affectionate argument, now threw off all restraint, and acknowledged the
interest they had taken in the proceedings by singing confidentially to
each other:
"She loves him, she loves him, 'tis all he can say,
He loves her, he loves for a year and a day.
Pray see how affection has come their direction,
Oh, thrice happy twain to be wedded in May."
"Hullo!" cried Masterson, astonished, coming off, "you here?"
The question seemed to be one of those not requiring a reply, and Miss
Rodgers ignored it.
"I wanted to know whether there was a chance of being able to help," she
said.
"Rather!" he declared readily. "We'll soon see about that. I'll go and
arrange."
He went at a good rate; returned with leaden footsteps.
"I'm sorry!" she said, receiving his message.
"If you had only offered earlier," he remarked apologetically. "You see,
I'm not in charge of the affair, or else I'd manage it like a shot. And
I thought you said—"
"It occurred to me," explained Miss Rodgers, her voice faltering
slightly, "that I'd like to try. But it doesn't really matter in the
least."
* * * * *
Her sister was in a convalescent state, ready to talk of subjects other
than Henry, and when the girl burst into the room which they jointly
occupied, and throwing herself on the red couch, gave way to tears,
comfort was close at hand. The sister wisely refrained at first from
putting questions, allowed the girl to have her cry out, and only said
soothingly, "It's all right, dearie. Don't worry more than you can
help." When composure returned, the solace of the confessional was
utilised and the married sister listened, interjecting now and again,
"Yes, I understand," and "I quite see what you mean."
"You don't mind, I hope, if I point out," she remarked, when the last
word had been said, "that mother and I have always been persuading you to
take up music or singing or some accomplishment of the kind."
"I know," admitted the girl penitently.
"And you have always said there were plenty of girls who could do these
things, and that you were not going to bother about them. Now you see
how important it is that you should keep them level with others. You
must make hay whilst the sun shines," quoted the married sister.
"I shall have to make a start."
"And when we get back to London, you are going to set to work at once and
learn some of these useful accomplishments?"
"I promise," declared Miss Rodgers resolutely. "And I think, too, I
should like to take up cooking. One never knows when it may come in
handy."
* * * * *
The performance went well, and nothing could have exceeded the
graciousness of young Miss Rodgers towards the leading lady; few of the
later compliments exceeded hers. Indeed, when, on the following day, the
frost returned succeeded by a pleasant sprinkling of snow, she offered to
take the leading lady out on the rink and charge herself with the
responsibility of teaching the art of skating.
"No, dear," replied the other. "Thank you very much, but no. As a
matter of fact, although I try my best not to look it, I'm too old. Look
after Mr. Masterson, instead. He admires you, and you mustn't lose any
chance of persuading him to continue to do so, indoors or out. I know
what men are!"
IX—FOREIGN AFFAIRS
WE parted from Mr. Peter A. Chasemore at Bologna owing to a slight
difference of opinion. Carolyn Stokes and myself had the notion that we
should find Venice damp and possibly cold; Mr. Chasemore declared that to
go home without seeing a gondola would give him a pain compared with
which rheumatism might be considered a sensation of acute delight. There
is no use denying the fact that we two women missed Mr. Chasemore a good
deal. Confusion took place on the journey, for which I blamed Carolyn
Stokes, and she blamed me. When with the assistance of luck we did reach
the Belvedere our tempers were not improved by the fact that a young man
and an elderly lady occupied, for the moment, the attention of the hotel
people.
"Norman," she said to him, as the proprietor eventually came to us, "you
can consider yourself free for the remainder of the day." He bowed.
"Give me that; I will take charge of it." Both Carolyn Stokes and myself
noticed the name on the label as the leather case was being transferred.
I suppose the fact that there are no such titles where we come from
caused the encounter to make an impression upon us; we watched her as she
went up in the elevator, and noticed the special consideration paid by
attendants. At home we reckon everybody to be equal, with a few
exceptions, but here it was evident that to be called Lady Mirrible
counted for something, and we naturally fell in with the local view.
When you are in Rome you should do as the Romans do; the remark applies
equally well to Florence. The young man gave way to us at the desk of
the concierge, and Carolyn Stokes offered him a large smile.
"Have you come far?" she asked.
"Fairly good distance."
"Are you going soon?"
"That doesn't quite depend upon me," he replied.
I mentioned when we were in our room that a considerable amount of
information had not been extracted, and Carolyn Stokes said no doubt I
should prove more successful in the game. I replied that this seemed
highly probable, and we did not speak to each other again until the gong
sounded in the corridor announcing that the meal was almost ready.
Downstairs in the reading-room we encountered a nasty jar in the
discovery that none of the rest of the people had dressed specially for
dinner. This was one of the small difficulties caused by the absence of
a man capable of making inquiries beforehand.
"I beg your pardon," he remarked. He had taken the _Herald_ from the
table just as my hand went out; he replaced it and selected a London
journal. I was determined to let Carolyn Stokes see that I could manage
the situation better than she had done.
"You are not an American?" I asked.
"I am only English."
"We have met several very pleasant folk from your country in the course
of our travels."
"How extremely fortunate."
"What startles us amongst you is your class distinctions. You should, I
think, make an endeavour to break down the barriers."
"Something ought certainly to be done," he agreed. And went off with his
newspaper.
Carolyn Stokes mentioned—not for the first time—that she was old enough
to be my mother, and went on to argue that whereas it was quite
permissible for a woman of her age to speak at an hotel to a stranger,
the case was entirely different where a girl of twenty was concerned.
All the same when she found him seated at the next table in the
dining-room she allowed me to take the chair which enabled me to speak
across to him without twisting my neck. From what I heard him say to the
waiter I gained that her ladyship was taking the meal in her own room.
Carolyn Stokes has many estimable qualities, but I have more than once
had to point out to her that she does not exercise a sufficient amount of
restraint over her conversational powers. Also she pitches her voice
somewhat high, rather as though she, being at Liverpool, were addressing
a public meeting in New York. I am myself a good and fluent talker, but
my chances are small if I enter into competition with Carolyn. It was
difficult, however, to overlook the fact that he preferred listening to
me, and when we both spoke at once it was I who secured his attention. I
asked him what there was to be seen in Florence of an evening when the
picture galleries were closed, and he said we could not do better than
stroll down the Lung 'Arno, see the Vecchio bridge, returning by way of
the Piazza Vittore Emmanuele.
"We should scarcely dare to go out alone," I remarked.
He crumbled his bread for a moment.
"I think," he said, "it will be possible for me to place myself at your
disposal."
"That is perfectly sweet of you," cried Carolyn Stokes. We arranged to
meet at nine o'clock in the entrance hall.
Taking our coffee in the drawing-room Carolyn and myself came to the
conclusion that there was more in the wisdom of Providence than some
people care to admit. If Mr. Chasemore had decided to come on with us to
Florence the likelihood was that we should have had no opportunity of
making this very fortunate and delightful acquaintance; there would have
been less to record in our diaries under the heading of that day.
Carolyn's impression was that the son of a titled lady was a viscount,
but she could not be certain; she had on some far-distant occasion
studied the matter thoroughly, but most of the information then acquired
seemed to have been erased from her mind. Anyway the chance was too good
to lose, and Carolyn Stokes said the great thing was to exhibit not too
much eagerness, but to allow friendship to ripen, so to speak, in the
course of the next twenty-four hours. Carolyn has a distinct streak of
sentimentality in her character, and she spoke of the influence of blue
Italian skies and the moon shining on the water, and Dante and Beatrice,
and the new hat I had purchased in the Via Condotti at Rome. We went
upstairs to put on some wraps.
In the passage her ladyship's head was out of her door, and she was
calling in an imperative kind of way.
"Norman, Norman! Where on earth has he got to again? Never here somehow
when he's wanted." One of the hotel maids came along and she gave her a
message. "The lad really," she said, taking her head in, "is perfectly
useless."
Carolyn Stokes was occupying a few minutes later a central position at
the mirror in our room when she suddenly gave a shriek; I assumed it was
only the presence of a moth in the room. As she did not shriek again I
considered the hideous danger was past and done with, and I requested her
to permit me to share the mirror for a moment.
"Child," she announced in a subdued sort of voice and still gazing into
the glass, "I have seen it all in a flash. You are under the impression
that he is some sort of a nobleman. He is nothing of the kind. He is
merely a footman or a courier, paid a moderate amount per week to attend
on this Lady Somebody. That's what he is," she said, striking the
dressing table, "and I am more thankful than I can express that I have
discovered it in time."
"The question can be easily decided," I mentioned. "We have only to
glance in the book kept at the desk below."
"I did that, but they have not yet registered."
"Then a question must be put to the people of the hotel."
"That I also did," replied Carolyn Stokes, "and their acquaintance with
the American language made them assume that I required a postcard with a
view of the cathedral. They have no right," she went on vehemently, "in
these foreign hotels to allow a footman to dine with the other guests. I
know it is done, but no one will persuade me that it is right or fair to
respectable visitors. It ought to be stopped."
I sat on the rocking chair and took some violent exercise for a few
minutes in order to collect my thoughts. It seemed we were in a somewhat
difficult corner. To stay in our room only meant that he would come and
knock at the door; the wisest plan appeared to be to effect an escape.
Carolyn Stokes, for once, agreed with me.
"I wish Mr. Chasemore were here," she said.
We went along the corridor very quietly and crept down the staircase.
From the last landing we could see him waiting near the desk of the
concierge. There was no means of slipping past without being seen.
"I tell you what to do!" I whispered. "You must go and inform him that I
have been taken suddenly ill."
"A good idea," she said, "but I would so much rather you went and told
him that I was ill."
He tapped with his walking-stick impatiently on the floor, moved to
examine letters in the rack. I pulled at Carolyn Stokes's arm in order
to persuade her to make a run for it; before I could arouse her dormant
intelligence he had returned to his former position. He glanced at the
clock and at his watch; Carolyn Stokes sat on the stairs.
"Meanwhile," I grumbled, "we are missing valuable moments in a most
interesting and historical city."
"Think," she said impressively, "think of the fate from which I have
saved you."
The call of "Norman!" came again, but apparently it did not reach his
ears. I am a creature of impulse and, without thinking, I imitated the
call. He whipped off his cap at once, laid down his walking-stick and
started up, taking two steps at a time and coming near to us.
Carolyn Stokes and myself will never be able to decide which of us took
the initiative, which gripped at the other and used some amount of force.
We discovered ourselves in the nearest room, where an elderly gentleman
was about to retire to rest; I had never thought the time would come when
I should be thankful for not understanding a foreign language. The young
man rushed by; we made our escape just as the aged person was about to
throw a hair brush.
We tried to persuade ourselves, in walking along the side of the river,
that all was well that ended well. Carolyn Stokes said the experience
was one she wished never to undergo again, and for some reason reproached
me. We walked as far as the Trinity Bridge, turned to the left, found
ourselves in the Via del Moro, came later to the Piazza de St. Maria
Novello, took what we thought would be a short cut for the hotel, and
lost ourselves. Carolyn Stokes asked the way of two or three people in
tones quite loud enough to enable them to understand, but success did not
crown her efforts.
"Why, here you are!" cried an English voice. We turned, and for the
moment we both forgot how anxious we had been not to meet him. "Now, how
in the world did I manage to miss you? My fault, I'm sure."
"It would be kind of you," said Carolyn Stokes with reserve, "to put us
in the right direction for our hotel."
"But, of course, I'll see you back there with the greatest pleasure.
Unless you like to allow me, even now, to show you round the town. As a
matter of fact, the hotel is just round the corner. There's the
Garibaldi statue."
"I am somewhat fatigued," she said, "and I would prefer to return."
"And you?" he said, turning to me.
"There has been a mistake made," I answered resolutely. "We took you for
somebody else. You must allow us to close the acquaintance here and
now."
"No idea I had a double," he remarked. "This matter must be looked into
or complications may ensue."
"We jumped to the conclusion that you were the son of the lady you are
travelling with."
"I am," he answered. Carolyn Stokes and I began to talk together; he
appeared to do his best to understand us, but presently gave up the
attempt and led the way to the hotel. There in the entrance hall he
spoke again.
"So it was because I showed some attention to my dear mother that you
thought I was a courier."
We interrupted, and endeavoured once more to explain.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Had an idea this was going to be quite a pleasant
friendship. Goodbye."
I kept awake half that night making my plans. But in the morning fresh
English visitors—more titles—had arrived, and some of them knew him, and
they surrounded him, and the girls made a fuss of him, and there was no
chance of my getting near. A letter came for me from Venice saying that
the writer would be in Milan on Wednesday. "Yours with affectionate
regards, P. A. C."
I have now to rely upon my tact and my industry and my own bright,
intelligent young mind to assist me in marrying Mr. Peter A. Chasemore.
X—BEFORE LUNCH
OTHER travellers were becoming jammed in the corridor of the train, their
tempers taking the tone of acerbity easy to those about to start on a
railway journey. A determined young woman came up the step, and
supported the conductor in an appeal for order, addressing herself more
particularly to the English passengers; quiet obtained, she took the
first advantage of it by presenting her ticket. The conductor showed
gratitude by escorting her at once to her place.
"You don't mean to say—" stammered the occupant of seat Number Twenty.
"It can't be! I shall begin to think I'm losing my senses."
"If you're Mr. Chiswell," she replied briskly, "there's no reason to be
afraid of that."
"A remark," protested Mr. Chiswell, "so unkind that I can tell it comes
from nobody but Miss Everitt." She lifted her bag to the rack, and when
she had succeeded in placing it there, he made a gesture of assistance.
Glancing at herself in the mirror below the rack, she remarked that she
looked a perfect bird frightener.
"I don't agree with you," he said.
"So far as I remember," she said, "you seldom did."
"We won't exaggerate," urged Mr. Chiswell. "For my part, I'm very glad
that we're to be fellow travellers, and I trust we shall have a pleasant
journey. It's clear enough to me, Miss Everitt, that fate has brought us
together again."
"Then I wish to goodness fate would mind its own business."
The last passenger came into the saloon; the conductor's forehead cleared
of wrinkles, and he hung up his brown peaked cap with a sigh of relief.
The train moved out from the Gare de Lyon in a casual way, as though it
were going for a short stroll, and giving no indication that it intended
to occupy the day by racing down the map of France. Folk on the low
platform of the station waved handkerchiefs, blew kisses, cried.
"Is Freddy with you?" asked Miss Everitt.
"Need you ask! Is Emily with you?"
"Course she is."
"Neither of 'em married?"
"Neither of them married," agreed Miss Everitt. "Just as well perhaps.
There are people who, so long as they remain single, can keep up a
certain style and position; once they get spliced, first thing they do is
to cut down expenses."
"Exactly the view I took of it," he cried eagerly. He leaned forward,
and gave a glance around the saloon to make certain that no one listened.
"Just the way I looked at the matter. Between ourselves, it was because
of that I acted as I did."
The attendant from the dining-car came to inquire whether the passengers
wished to lunch in the first series, or in the second series; the two,
after consultation, settled to take the meal together at the later hour.
They found new grounds for agreement in the view that coffee and rolls at
half-past seven in the morning, at a Paris hotel, formed but a mere
imitation of a breakfast.
"I know perfectly well that what I'm going to tell you," said Chiswell
confidentially, "won't go any further. I recollect how in the old days
when we were—well, friends—you always knew when to keep your mouth shut.
A great quality, that, in a girl, and I don't want to flatter you when I
say that one very seldom comes across it. What I'm about to tell you
refers to—"
He jerked his head, and she nodded.
"They might meet," she said.
"It wouldn't matter," he replied confidently. "They're not on speaking
terms now."
"Fire away with what you were going to tell me."
"As a Member of Parliament," began Mr. Chiswell, "Freddy was not what the
world might call a roaring success. Used to take a lot of trouble, and
the Duke, his old father, was always getting at him, and asking when he
was going to be asked to join the Cabinet. As a matter of fact, his
speeches sounded all right when he said 'em off to me in Curzon Street,
but apparently when he tried 'em in the House they didn't go for nuts. I
never went down there to hear him—got too much respect for myself to go
near the place—but I always read the Parliamentary reports, and there,
when he did get the chance of speaking, the papers mentioned his name
amongst the 'Also spokes,' and that was about all. Whatever faults he
may have had as a Member of Parliament, he was, and he is, a first-class
chap to valet, and I don't care"—Mr. Chiswell gave a resolute gesture—"I
don't care where the next comes from. I've only to say one word against
a suit of clothes, and that suit of clothes is virtually handed over to
me on the spot. I know to a penny what his income is, and I know to a
penny what his expenses amount to. A peculiar chap, mind you, in some
ways; never able, for instance, to bear the idea of being in debt. Most
extraordinary, with people of his class."
Chiswell dismissed this problem.
"Now you must understand—you know me well enough to realise it—that I'm
not one of those who want to be always chopping and changing. If I'm in
a nice comfortable easy-chair like this, I'm not the kind of chap to give
it up, and go and sit out there in the corridor on a tip-up wooden seat.
I'm the sort that—"
"Leave off bragging as soon as you're tired," suggested Miss Everitt,
"and get on with your story."
The young man, an elbow resting on the ledge of the window, and giving no
attention to the scenery which flew past, with a straight road curling up
like a length of white ribbon, applied himself to the task of describing
the course of procedure adopted. The girl gave now and again a cough of
criticism, here and there a slightly astonished lift of the eyebrows.
Occasionally she sniffed at a bottle of Eau de Cologne with the
air—obviously copied from some superior model—the air of having
temporarily lost interest in the subject. Stated with a brevity that
Chiswell, the day before him and personal exultation behind, could not be
induced to show, the particulars might be fairly stated thus. Chiswell—
"Mind you," he said firmly, "no one can call me a Paul Pryer. I look
after myself; I don't profess to look after others."
—Chiswell happened, by chance, to come across a note addressed to his
master which, so far as he could judge, had no reference to his master's
Parliamentary duties, or to any scheme for improvement of the masses; he
founded his opinion on the fact that it commenced "My dearest."
Chiswell, a man of the world, would have been prepared to exercise
tolerance and to pass it by with a wink, but for the fact that the
communication was dated from an exclusive ladies' club; the fact that the
writer adopted a pen name baffled him and aroused his curiosity. He left
the letter on the table, and concealed inquisitiveness until he should be
entrusted with letters for the post. Looking through the bundle handed
to him at four o'clock he felt pained and grieved to find that his master
had not trusted him fully and entirely; the envelopes were addressed
either to Esquires or to ladies known to the world as seriously
interested in the work of the party. He particularly asked whether there
were any other communications to be placed in the pillar box for
despatch, and his master, on the point of running off to the House,
distinctly and formally answered:
"No, Chiswell. That's the lot. Don't forget to post them."
"Quite sure, sir?"
The reply to this polite and deferential question came in the form of a
request, first that Chiswell should not be a fool, second that if he
could not help being a fool, he would at any rate take steps to hide and
to mask the circumstance. Chiswell was affected by these remarks as a
duck is concerned by water running over its back; what did perturb him
was the want of confidence shown between master and man after an
acquaintance that had lasted for years. Chiswell, pondering on this, was
placing the letters singly in the pillar box and giving to each a final
examination when he discovered that one, addressed to—
"I know!" said Miss Everitt, much interested.
—Bore a special sign on the flap of the envelope. Mr. Chiswell, scarce
hoping that he had struck the trail, retained this and kept it back for
further consideration.
The custom of placing scarlet wax on the flap of an envelope and
impressing the wax with a seal is probably an old-fashioned tradition
dating from the days when gum could not be trusted. In the case of an
envelope fastened in the ordinary way, Chiswell would have had to take
the trouble of placing a kettle on the gas stove; in the present instance
his work was rendered easy by the help of a penknife and, later, the use
of a stick of wax and the seal. The matter appeared to be serious. A
passing flirtation Chiswell might have permitted, although that he would
have held undignified in a Member of the House of Commons, but within the
few lines of the letter before him there seemed a plain hint of marriage.
He was about to tear up the letter in the hope of thus giving a start to
a misunderstanding when it suddenly occurred to him—
"An inspiration," said Chiswell contentedly. "That's what you may call
it."
—It suddenly occurred to him that the insertion of two words in the brief
note, just two words in a space that seemed to have been left temptingly
for them, would entirely alter the meaning: changing it from a hurried
message of affection into a hasty intimation of dislike. "Do not" were
the two words, and Chiswell took the pen and wrote them as quickly as he
now, in the Cote d'Azur express, spoke them.
"You're not blaming me," urged Mr. Chiswell apprehensively.
"Go on," she ordered.
Little else to go on about. The letter, resealed, went to its
destination; the General Election came, and that meant a quick departure
for the country. Freddy, greatly worried with one matter and another,
seemed, so far as his valet could judge, to enter upon the contest in
anything but a whole-hearted fashion; Chiswell managed to intercept and
cancel a telegram sent to the same young party, urgently begging her to
come and help. The meetings were noisy, and the candidate, who but a few
years before made retorts which became classical, and delivered speeches
the reports of which had to be decorated by reporters with "Loud
laughter" and "Long and continued cheering," gave no signs of alertness,
falling back on dreary statistics which he himself could not understand,
and his audiences declined to accept. Now that it was all over, they
were on their way to Nice, where Chiswell hoped to meet no one but other
defeated candidates and attendants who, it might be hoped, would, in
their own interests, abstain from the vulgar chaff to which he and his
master had been subjected in town.
"But what I want to point out to you, my dear—beg pardon—what I want to
say is that I managed to stop him from entering upon marriage, and in
doing so, I reckon I did a good turn for myself, and that I did a good
turn for you."
"She was very much worried and upset."
Chiswell stretched himself luxuriously.
"It don't do to share other people's anxieties," he said. "Great thing
in this world is to keep trouble off your own shoulders. Do that, and
you may reckon you've done pretty well. How have you been getting along
since—since—"
"Since you dropped me?"
"Mutual consent," he argued, rather uneasily, "mutual consent." Both
looked out of the window for a time. "By the by, do you ever see
anything of that chap Miller? You don't remember him perhaps; he was in
Grosvenor Gardens when last I heard of him."
"I believe he's there still," she answered, examining the tips of her
boots.
"When did you—"
"Oh, don't bother me!" cried Miss Everitt sharply. "You're always
wanting to know everything about everybody. A nuisance, that's what you
are."
"I've got no grievance against Miller," contended Chiswell. "You're
doing me an injustice. Me and Miller are good friends enough. Last time
I met him he gave me some information, and we parted on what I may call
the most amicable terms. I shouldn't at all mind," he went on
generously, "I shouldn't object in the least to running across poor
Miller again."
"You needn't call him 'poor.'"
"I'm not using the term," said Mr. Chiswell, "in a monetary sense."
"The monetary sense, as you call it, is about the only one you possess."
Noting that she tapped the side of her easy-chair and that her head
trembled, he decided to say nothing more on the subject, reverting
instead to the matter already discussed. In going over some of the
circumstances he found excuse for increased content; the swiftness of his
action, and the general dexterity he had displayed made his eyes grow
round and bulgy. The dining-car attendant came through to announce that
the first series for lunch was ready, and Chiswell said he would smoke
one cigarette and then go along and see whether his services were
required by Freddy. Miss Everitt rose, remarking that it would be well,
perhaps, for her to ascertain, at once, whether she could be of any use
to Emily.
They returned to their chairs in less than five minutes: one perturbed,
the other calm.
"Well, of all the—" he spluttered. "What I mean to say is, what in the
world is going to happen next, I wonder?"
"That's more than either of us can tell," remarked Miss Everitt
composedly. "What I know is that I do want my lunch. Sight of food in
the dining-car has made me feel hungry."
"The two of them! The two of them sitting there at a small table
opposite each other!"
"I caught sight through the glass door of the bill of fare," said Miss
Everitt. "The name of the fish I couldn't quite make out, but there were
côtes de boeuf rôtis, and poularde, and haricots verts—"
"They were sharing a bottle of Chablis together. And he—he'd placed his
hand on the top of her hand. Did you notice?"
"Wonder whether they'll give us an ice?"
Chiswell found a handkerchief and rubbed his forehead.
"All very well for you to sit there and talk about food; how do you know
that now they've met and made it up, that she won't get rid of you in the
same way that he's jolly well certain to manage without me?"
"It doesn't matter," she replied, with calm. "I've saved!"
"The amount you've saved, my girl," he declared, "will last you for just
about five weeks."
"What do you know about how much I've put by?" she demanded.
"I can tell you the sum to within a pound. I can write it down now, if
you'll lend me a lead pencil."
He scribbled some figures on the margin of his newspaper, and handed it
across to her.
"Guess again!" she said.
"It isn't a question of guessing," he said. "I happen to know. Unless
you've made a considerable sum within the last three months, that's the
exact amount."
"You really believed, then, what Mr. Miller told you?"
The conductor came, and returned to each the green cardboard covers
enclosing their tickets. Under the impression that Chiswell was still a
blade, a chum, a jovial companion, the conductor aimed at him a cheerful
blow on the shoulder, and the train giving at this moment a lurch, the
action took something of a more aggressive nature. Chiswell blazed up,
trying to disengage himself from his coat. Other passengers in the
saloon looked around interestedly; Miss Everitt interposed and ordered
Chiswell to behave himself, to remember that he was in the presence of
ladies. The conductor apologised and went on; the French passengers
remarked to each other that the English formed an excitable nation.
"Pardon me," said Chiswell to his companion, "but I should like to know
your facts. I should be very glad indeed if you'll kindly place me in
possession of the true circumstances. To put it plainly—here's your
pencil—how much have you actually got in the bank on deposit, or on
current account at the present moment? That's all I want to know."
She struck out his figures and wrote underneath. Leaning over he gave a
whistle of astonishment.
"My dear," he said deferentially. "There's been a misunderstanding, due
to the interference of outsiders. It's not too late to put it all smooth
and right again, but at the same time I'm bound to say such conduct is
altogether inexcusable. When I come across Miller, I shall tell him so
to his face. Who asked him to come to me, and give me wrong information,
I should like to know?"
"I did!" she remarked. "But I've just made up for it by giving correct
information on another subject to my young mistress."
Chiswell threw himself back in his chair, and gazed severely at the roof
of the saloon carriage.
"All I can say is," he declared, "it's absolutely ruined my lunch."
XI—COUNTER ATTRACTIONS
HALF the time I don't trouble to look up at them, especially when I
happen to be busy. They put their money underneath the brass wire; they
ask for what they want; it's given to them, and off they go. If any
other plan was adopted we should never get through the work at our
office, and there would be complaints to answer, and the superintendent
might send some one along to kick up a row. As Miss Maitland says, when
all the customers are made on one pattern everything will be much easier
to manage; meanwhile we can't do better than to do the best we can, and
to recognise that some are in a hurry, some are just the reverse.
"Above all," mentioned Miss Maitland, when I first came here, "no
carrying on across the counter with young gentlemen."
"When you've known me longer, Miss Maitland," I said, "you'll see how
unnecessary it is to make a remark like that."
"I'm only warning you for your own good."
"I can behave myself," I said, "as well as most girls. The fact that I'm
a bit above the average in regard to looks—"
"Is that really a fact?" inquired Miss Maitland.
The very queer thing about it all was that he came in on the afternoon of
the very second day I was there. I was having an argument about a
halfpenny with a lady sending a telegram, and she said that she always
understood we were well paid, and if that was true we ought not to try to
make anything extra. I kept my temper, but I daresay I managed to say
what I wanted to say—I generally do—and eventually she took the telegram
back and decided to take a cab to Charing Cross and send it from there.
"Shilling'sworth of your best stamps," he requested; "I want them to
match my necktie."
"Pennies or halfpennies?" I asked. You can understand I wasn't in the
mood for nonsense just then.
"Which are most fashionable just now, miss? I don't want to look odd or
conspicuous."
"You'll do that in any case. Kindly say what you want."
"Perhaps I'll try sixpennyworth of each," he said.
I tore them off and pushed them underneath the trellis.
"Are these absolutely fresh? I may not be cooking them at once, you see.
They'll be all right, I suppose, if I keep them on ice?"
"You may as well put your head there at the same time," I said.
The other girls on my side of the counter looked around, and Miss
Maitland gave a cough.
"Heavens!" he said, putting on a deep voice, "how I adore the fair
creature! Ere yonder sun sinks to its rest she must, she shall, be
mine."
I glanced up at him, prepared to give him such a haughty look, but I
found he was a good-tempered-looking young fellow with his straw hat
tipped to the back of his head, and somehow I couldn't manage my cold
stare quite so well as usual. Two or three people entered through the
swing doors at that moment and came straight to my part of the counter.
"Very well then," he said loudly, "that's arranged. Outside the British
Museum Tube Station half-past eight to-night. Mind, I shan't wait more
than ten minutes."
The fuss Miss Maitland made just because I'd answered him back! I had a
good mind to say something about old maids, but I stopped it just in
time; instead I thought it the best plan to say he was a great friend of
my brother's and that he was one of those peculiar young gentlemen who
had the impression that he ought to keep up his reputation for being
comic.
"If he comes in again," said Miss Maitland, "call me, and I'll show you
how to deal with him."
The next day at about the same time I noticed out of the corner of my eye
his lordship at the doors. He came in and I knew he was looking for me;
to please Miss Maitland I went along to deal with some registered
letters; she left her stool and took my place. "Now," I said to myself,
"now he'll get his head bitten off." I was engaged with work for about
five minutes, and to my surprise, when I had finished, there was Miss
Maitland chatting away with him as amiably as possible. "I like to go
somewhere fresh every year," she was saying. "That's why I went to
Windermere last summer." He said, "Not in July by any chance?" and she
said, "Yes, the middle of July." It appeared he had been there at that
date; not exactly Windermere but at Bowness, and he remarked—talking to
her in a very different way from the one he had adopted with me—that it
would have greatly improved his holiday if he had been so fortunate as to
meet her. Maity gave a sort of smile and was about to make some further
remark when he took out his watch, lifted his straw hat, hurried away.
"Really," she said to me, still flushed with the conversation and looking
quite young, "really a very well-spoken gentleman. Depends a good deal
on how we approach them. If they think we want silly talk, why naturally
enough they give it. In a general way," concluded Maity, as though she
possessed a wide and considerable experience, "in a general way men treat
us as we deserve to be treated."
He came in again that afternoon to use the telephone; the box was
occupied and he had to wait. We were all watching to see how he would
behave this time; lo and behold if he didn't take a big book from
underneath his arm called The Horse and his Health and read carefully,
taking no notice of any of us. Maity looked disappointed, and one of the
girls said the great drawback about men was that they were never twice
alike.
That was the evening I found him waiting outside. It always rains when I
leave my umbrella at home, and I couldn't very well refuse his offer to
see me into the motor omnibus, and it was certainly kind of him to
suggest that I should take his gamp. I told him that the bus took me
within a minute and a half of mother's house.
At the time I was in the habit of telling mother everything, and she
decided—not often she praised me—that I had behaved in a ladylike manner,
and mentioned it would be a good thing if every mother brought up
children as she had treated me. Mother told me about one or two
half-engagements that occurred before she married poor father, and gave
me one piece of advice which she said was worth its weight in gold,
namely, that the moment you saw a young man getting fond of you the best
plan was to pretend to be indifferent and in this way to make him see
that there was a lot of hard work in front of him. Mother said this
three times to impress it on my memory.
How in the world he found out the name it was not easy to see, but, as
every one is aware, people spare themselves no trouble when they become
fond of anybody. However that may be, the fact remains that a letter
came, signed W. J. C., saying the writer would be at the statue on a
certain day and at a certain hour, and, just for fun, I kept the
appointment. Maity was very nice about giving me leave, and I waited
there ten minutes. For a full ten minutes nothing happened, and I had to
look at the omnibuses as they stopped in order to pretend I wanted to
catch one of them. Presently I caught sight of him looking in a
newspaper shop, and taking his time over it too. I became so mad that if
there had been a pebble about I think I should have picked it up and
thrown it at him. He turned, and I had to wave my muff in order to gain
his attention.
"Hullo," he said, coming across. "Taking up express messenger-boy work?
Where's your parcel?"
"I came here," I said coldly, "because I was asked to do so, and for no
other reason. I've no desire to be made to look like an idiot."
"Plenty of easier tasks than that," he mentioned. "I should reckon you
were one of the most sensible girls going."
"People say that about a lady when they can't think of any other
compliment to pay her."
"Are you waiting for anybody, I wonder?"
"I wish you wouldn't try to make jokes."
"My dear girl," he cried, and he seemed greatly concerned, "please
forgive me. And now that we're here, what shall we do?" He looked
around, glanced at his watch, and sighed. "Come along and see a bioscope
show."
We caught a bus and went to one of the swell places in Oxford Street; I
couldn't help feeling pleased when I noticed that he paid eighteenpence
each for seats. You can say what you like, and you can talk about the
joys of being independent, but there's something very gratifying in
discovering for the first time that a gentleman is willing to take your
ticket for you. Of course the place was all darkened whilst the pictures
were going on, and I thought perhaps he would try to take my hand, and I
was prepared to give him a pretty sharp remark if he did; but nothing
happened, and I couldn't make it out at all. It was nothing like what
I'd read in books; nothing like what other girls had told me.
"You seem a very comfortable set in your office," he said when the lights
went up. "All on good terms with each other, aren't you?"
"I suppose so," I answered. "It's my first experience, you see. What
age do you think I am?"
"I should say that you are young enough to be pleased if I guessed you to
be older than you really are. Shall we say nineteen?"
"Eighteen next birthday, and that's on Tuesday of next week." (There's
nothing like giving a hint.)
"What have you been doing all these eighteen years?"
"Improving myself," I said.
"You can give that up now you are perfect."
The lights went down again, and there was set of pictures about a girl
who was being loved by two gentlemen—one rather plain with plenty of
money and the other much better-looking but apparently only a clerk. I
thought over his last remark and tried to discover whether he was still
joking or whether he really meant it—if he did mean it it was a very
gratifying thing to be said, especially in view of the fact that mother
is generally finding fault with me. She has often said that I'm the
worst girl in the world for leaving my shoes about and not putting a book
away when I have done with it, and all this going on day after day, week
after week, had given me a kind of a lurking suspicion that I wasn't
quite up to the mark. When the pictures showed that the plain man's
money really belonged to the good-looking chap he began to talk again and
went back once more to the subject of the post office. I would rather he
had spoken of something else; I wanted to forget Maity and the rest of
them for awhile.
"Are many of them engaged?" he asked.
"Two of them say they are," I replied. "I should feel inclined to guess
it was only a half-and-half affair in either case."
"Wonder what their names are?" I told him and he seemed relieved. "It's
very strange," he went on, speaking in a more serious way than usual,
"how these affairs happen. Looks as though some one who exercises
control jumbles all the names into two hats and picks out one from each
at random and decides that they shall meet each other and fall in love."
"A good deal of it is mere luck," I agreed. "Mother met father at a
dance at the Athenæum up at the end of Camden Road. Of course a steward
introduced them, but to all intents and purposes they were strangers."
"A man goes on," he said, still thoughtfully, "fighting pretty hard and
not giving much attention to the other sex and all at once he catches
sight of a face, through, say, brass trelliswork, and instantly he
decides 'That's the girl for me.' And he thinks of nothing else, can't
keep away from the neighbourhood of her, and—" He put his hands over his
eyes and bent down.
I felt sorry and I felt pleased if you understand that; sorry for him,
pleased for myself—seemed as though I had done him an injustice. It
showed that you could not reckon any one up correctly by their outside
manner. At the first I had no idea he was anything but the ordinary
chaffing sort of young gentleman, and here he was obviously upset. All
very well for mother to say that you ought to keep them at arm's length
when they are fond of you, but I simply couldn't help patting his sleeve
gently.
"Thanks very much," he said gratefully. "You're a good little girl and
I'm really obliged to you."
There was a funny set after this, with a short-sighted old gentleman
blundering over everything he did, getting mixed up with motor cars,
carried up by a balloon, tumbling down the funnel of a ship, and finally
being rolled out flat by a steam roller, and pulling himself together and
walking off.
"Always feel sorry for people who have to wear glasses," I remarked.
"It improves some people."
"I don't agree with you. See how peculiar our old joker looks at the
office."
He stared at me.
"Surely you don't mean that Miss Maitland?" he said.
"Of course I mean that Miss Maitland. Who else should I be referring
to?"
He pressed the palm of a hand against his forehead.
"Let us get this straight," he urged. "We seem to be in a muddle. Your
name is Maitland, isn't it?"
"My name is Barnes. Up to the present."
"Then that confounded new messenger boy took my shilling and mixed up the
information, and"—he stopped and fanned himself—"and you received the
letter I intended for her."
"I wish to goodness," I said forcibly, "that some of you men had got a
little more common sense."
* * * * *
Mother says everything in this world happens for the best, and in all
probability there's some one else waiting for me somewhere. Mother says
I have plenty of time in front of me; mother herself was twenty-eight
before she married. Mother says there is no need for me to feel nervous
until I get past that age.
XII—HERO OF HAMMERTON STREET
HE had been away so long that few people remembered him, but his last
exploit before leaving ensured that in the minds of those few he remained
clear and definite. His wife, when she set out to meet him, was
accompanied by a Reception Committee of three, and as they waited outside
the large building where he had been staying for the last few months (his
hosts kept several important establishments in various parts of the
country and he had spent part of the time at one, part at others), as
they waited, I say, under the avenue of trees well away from the front
door—having, as a point of delicacy, no desire to be seen by the servants
about the place—they speculated on the probable improvement in his
personal appearance. Members of the Committee recalled precedents where
So-and-so went away stout and unhealthy on a vacation of similar length,
and came back so trim and brown that his own sweetheart would not have
known him had she remained in the neighbourhood.
"Here he is!" cried the wife suddenly. "I could tell him, bless 'is
heart, in a thousan'."
"That ain't him!"
"He's got a short beard, at any rate," urged the wife, admitting her
error grudgingly as the visitor was claimed and marched off by another
lady.
"They all 'ave. Try to use your intelligence, why don't you!"
"Well," said the wife, pointing her umbrella at a sharp-eyed man, who,
coming out of the large doorway, glanced around suspiciously, "well, at
least that's not my Jim." The sharp-eyed man came across the open space
towards them, still keeping a look-out on either side. "He's mistaking
us for his own people. My Jim's a better-looking man than him."
"If you say that again, Meria," remarked the arriving man in tones that
could not be mistaken, "I shall have to— Now then, now then! I don't
want no kissing!"
He was dressed in a suit for which he had not been measured, and his
boots were scarcely a precise fit; he shambled along with his friends,
responding gruffly to their polite inquiries and complaining
bitterly—first, that they should have come to meet him; second, that so
many friends were absent. Informed that some of these were no longer
alive, he declined to accept this as a sufficient excuse, describing them
as a cantankerous lot, ever thoughtless where the feelings of others were
concerned. They stopped quite naturally at the first place of
refreshment, and he criticised the beverage set before him, declaring
that had he known beer could be so bad, he would not have worried his
thoughts so much about it during recent years. He was equally
dissatisfied with his first pipe of tobacco, which he had some trouble to
light, and when he heard that his sister had married a respectable
fruiterer, off Bethnal Green Road, he made no attempt to conceal his
annoyance with the way the world had been managed during his absence.
"Once I turn my back for a moment—" he said disgustedly. "Who's got the
pub at the corner of our street?"
"I've moved, James," explained his wife apologetically.
"Moved? Who told you to move?"
"The landlord, dear."
"Don't you begin 'dearing' of me," he retorted threateningly. "Why
wasn't I asked?"
"There was no opportunity, James."
"Bah!" he said, in the manner of one who can find no other repartee. He
turned to the men. "What 'ave you three come all the way down ere' for?
On the make, I s'pose?"
"We are not on the make," said the leader precisely. "Recollecting what
you was put away for, we have come down 'ere to offer you, as something
in the nature of a hero, a 'earty welcome on your return to what we may
venture to term your 'earth and 'ome." James relaxed the sternness of
his demeanour, and took another sip from his glass, this time without
making a wry face. "We're a-going to make a fuss of you, old man."
"Don't go overdoing it," he said grudgingly.
They reached Hoxton at about noon, not because the way was long, but
because the Committee, possessing funds, desired to do the thing well. A
neighbour had taken charge of the arrangements for dinner, and the three
men, arrived at the door in Hammerton Street, mentioned gracefully that
the reunited pair would in all probability like to be left alone for a
few hours, and withdrew; first, however, warning James that he would be
expected at the Green Man that evening at eight o'clock precisely, at
which hour a few select friends would be present to wish him success in
his future career.
"Whad ye mean by my future career?" he demanded. "What are you three
a-getting at now?"
"It's all right, old chap," they answered soothingly. "Only a form of
speech, you know."
"Be a bit more careful how you pick your words," he retorted
threateningly. "I 'aven't come back to be ragged by such as you."
He was still rather surly that evening when he made his appearance at the
Green Man; he explained to one who was formerly his closest friend that
he had been enjoying a bit of a talk with the wife. Surroundings in the
clubroom were, however, so congenial that before long he showed guarded
signs of amiability, albeit he found grounds for annoyance in the fact
that some of his old companions had prospered, and had given up what was
referred to as the old game to engage on sport that, relatively speaking,
was of an honest, law-abiding character. His best friend indeed owned a
large gold chain and a watch at the end of it; he was now a bookmaker by
profession, not, of course, a literary person, but one who made money.
On James suggesting they might perhaps go into partnership together in
the racecourse business, the closest friend said, with some reserve, that
it was an occupation requiring years of patient study, and the fact of
James having been out of the movement so long barred him both from
participating in the profits or sharing the losses.
"See what I mean, don't you?" asked the bookmaker. "Chuck that what
you're smoking away, and have a real cigar!"
"I shan't give you another opportunity," said James curtly. "Should have
thought you would have been glad of a pretty sharp man for your right
'and."
"But you've been rusting," pointed out the bookmaker. ("Now you've been
and bitten off the wrong end.")
Nothing, however, could exceed the geniality of the hosts. Thick crusty
sandwiches rested on the deal tables; there was no stint, so far as the
guest of the evening was concerned, in regard to liquids. Everybody
crowded around him in a flattering way and everybody shook him by the
hand several times; a few promising younger men, who were brought up and
introduced, showed themselves highly sensible of the honour, and asked
eagerly what adventure he thought of going in for next.
"'Aven't quite made up me mind," he replied cautiously.
The younger men winked knowingly at each other, saying that James was a
deep one and no mistake, adding that an ability to keep one's head shut
was a gift to be envied. They had singing later. Songs were given which
for James (who had no musical tastes) should at least have possessed the
charm of novelty; the slang contained in them and in the public speech of
many of those present was to him quite incomprehensible. They repeated
unceasingly that they wished him well, and the bookmaker made a speech
just before closing time in which he pointed out that every man-jack
present was prepared to give James a helping hand. Never should it be
said of them that they had refused a helping hand to one of the best. A
helping hand was due to such a hero and a helping hand he should have.
"Friends, one and all," said James. (He refused for some minutes to make
a speech, but gave in to encouragement.) "Friends, one and all."
A cry of "So you said!" and reproving shouts of "Order!"
"I've been away from you fer a few year owin' to—owin' to circs not
altogether under my control" (the room laughed uproariously), "but I'm
back in the midst of you once more, and I can tell you one thing, and
that ain't two, I'm jolly glad of it! I've had quite enough penal to
last me my time. I'm full up of it! I've reached me limit! It's no
catch, I tell you!" (Murmurs of sympathy.) "If there's any one 'ere
that's acquired a taste for it, they're welcome to my share. I don't
know that I have much more to say. I 'aven't had much practice at public
speaking of late. Once you begin to 'old forth in there" (here he gave a
vague jerk of the head), "why, they let you know it. Anyway, it's no use
'arping on the past, and in regard to the promise of a 'elping 'and to
which you, Mr. Chairman, have so kindly referred, and to me being a hero,
there's only one thing I want to say, and that is this: I shall keep you
to it!"
The club-room seemed to think the last sentence had an ungracious sound,
and there would have been an inclination to hedge only that the
white-sleeved potman arrived at that moment with a dictatorial shout of
"Now you cheps! Time!" and the party had to break up. Out in the
street, James's arm was again in request, and his hand was shaken so
often with so many assurances of admiration and enthusiastic comradeship,
that he went off towards Hammerton Street quite dazed and not sure
whether he had won a battle, or saved lives from drowning. The men
cheered him as he left and began to chant an appropriate song, but a
policeman came up, and the crowd, not wishful for argument with the
force, said respectfully, "It's all right, Mr. Langley, sir; we're just
on the move," and disappeared.
Womenfolk came round to Hammerton Street the next day asking to be
permitted to see him, and James's wife would have taken another day off,
but James said there had been quite enough gadding about for her already,
and insisted she should go to work. He sunned himself at the front door
with a fine pretence of not knowing that he was being observed, the while
women on the opposite side of the pavement held up their babies to see
him and whispered admiring comments.
"You'd never think it to look at him, would you, now?"
"I recollect his case as well as anything. It was before I was married
to my present 'usband, but I can recollect it all just as though it was
only yesterday. I remember so well saying to my young sister—I was on
speaking terms with her just then—I remember saying, 'Ah, well!' I said.
Just like that!"
"She's kept herself to herself, mind you, all the time he's been away. I
will say that for her!"
"Wonder what he'll be up to now. He's turning something over in his
mind, I lay!"
The hero could not help being pleased with all this attention, and after
he had taken his dinner at a coffee-shop, where the waitress, informed of
his distinguished reputation, stood back and watched him over an
illustrated paper, he put on a collar and again lounged at the doorway.
The crowd was not so great now, and consisted for the greater part of
children who played tip-cat, and gave no notice to him excepting when his
presence interfered with the game. Disappointed with his audience, James
went indoors and, taking off his collar, indulged in the unaccustomed
luxury of an afternoon nap. When his wife returned from work it struck
him that she was slightly more argumentative in manner than she had been
on the first day; in the course of debate she threw out a most
disconcerting hint in regard to a job of work, news of which had come to
her ears.
"Look 'ere, my gel!" said James definitely. "You may as well understand
me fust as last. A man with so many friends as I've got won't want to
work for many a long day yet."
Nevertheless the idea gave him perturbation and he went round to the
Green Man to meet the friends referred to and receive from them
reinforcement of his hopes and views. There were only two or three in
sight, and these were outside the house; they hailed him with a casual
cry of, "'Ullo, James! Your turn to stand drinks, ain't it?" and having
brought some money out, the savings of his compulsory retreat, he found
himself compelled to entertain them.
"And what you think of doing now, James?" they asked. ("Here's luck!")
"Well," he said slowly, "I s'pose eventually I shall 'ave to find, as the
missis says, something or other. But not yet for a month or two."
"You'll probably discover a chance of—"
"No," said James with emphasis. "Not me! No more jobs on the cross for
this child. Risks are too great."
"But you don't mean to say that you're going to chuck it?" The men were
so much amazed that their glasses remained in mid-air.
"If you guess again," said James stolidly, "you'll be wrong."
He looked about in Hoxton the rest of the evening for friends, and looked
about in vain. The next day he called on his closest friend, the
bookmaker; the bookmaker was just off to Kempton Park and in peril of
losing a train at Waterloo. He had heard, it seemed, of James's
decision, and James could trace no sign of the generous friendship
previously expressed. To James's suggestion that he should accompany the
bookmaker to Kempton Park, and enjoy a day at the other's expense, the
reply came prompt and definite. "That be 'anged for a tale!" said the
bookmaker.
On the following Monday James went to ask about the job of work to which
his wife had referred; all his worst fears were confirmed when he found
himself successful in obtaining it.
"Drawback of being an 'ero is," said James gloomily, "that it don't last
much more than about five minutes."
XIII—DAMAGES FOR LIBEL
"A RARE rush whilst it lasts," mentioned Mrs. Crowther, assisting in the
task of clearing tables. "My dear husband used to reckon up how much we
should be making profit in a year if, instead of being from twelve to
two, it went on from what he called early morn to dewy eve." She sighed.
"Mr. Crowther had a lot of poetry in his disposition—much more so than
most eating-house keepers in Millwall."
"Did he make bits up out of his own 'ead?" asked the girl deferentially.
"Ethel," said the proprietress, nursing a column of plates and speaking
with resolution, "you're new to the place, and you're not full acquainted
with the rules. Understand, once for all, please, that I don't allow a
word to be said against my late husband—nor whispered."
"Here's a stray customer coming in, ma'am," remarked the assistant.
"Give me that armful, and you see to him."
A stout man, after examining the day's announcement outside, entered and
sat down with the relieved air common to those who have walked a great
distance and to those who find in any form of exercise a source of
trouble; he took off his hat, hung up his overcoat, and said, with
relish, "Here comes the busy part of my day!"
Mrs. Crowther rested one palm on the table and gazed at the reversed
notice on the window: "The Best of Everything and Everything of the
Best," giving him the space to make up his mind.
"You've got a nice little show here."
"Not bad, sir," she replied briefly. "What can I get for you?"
"Been all done up recently, too, if I mistake not. If it hadn't been
that I remembered it was exactly opposite the entrance to the works I
shouldn't have recognised it. Spent some of the 'appiest hours of my
life, I did, over the way."
"The steak and kidney pudding is off," she said, glancing over his
shoulder. She took the bill of fare from his hand and deleted the entry,
returning the pencil to its position in the fastening of her blouse.
Frowning at the impetuosity exhibited, he gave an order. She left, and
returned with the liver and bacon and a basket containing squares of
household bread.
"Any idea where my old friend Crowther is at the present moment?" he
asked jovially. "Him and me were great chums in the old days that are
past and done with."
"He's gone."
"Where to?"
She pointed upward reverently.
"That isn't exactly the place where I should have thought of looking for
him."
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded sharply.
"Oh, nothing," he said, beginning to eat. "Only very few of us in this
world, ma'am, if you don't mind putting yourself out of the question, can
be looked upon as perfect. My name's Hards," he went on, his mouth full.
"Hards, with an aitch. Daresay you've heard him mention me. I'm
speaking now of—what shall I say?—four, or it might be the early part of
five. We were what they call inseparable, him and me, at that period."
"Crowther gave up all his former companions when I married him."
"He used to complain that you ruled him with a rod of iron."
"I only wish," she declared vehemently, "that the dear man was here to
contradict you."
"Crowther was the sort of chap," said the other, with deliberation,
"who'd contradict anything. Never better pleased than when he was
arguing that black was white. I've known Crowther say one thing to a
girl one minute, and another the—"
The customer found his plate snatched away, the remainder of his chunk of
bread swept to the floor.
"Go off out of my dining-rooms," she ordered. "Don't you stay here
another minute, or else I may use language that I shall be sorry for
afterwards, and that you'll be sorry for afterwards. There's your hat,
hanging up just behind you. Now move, sharp!"
The sleeves of his overcoat, owing to some defect in the lining, were
difficult to manage, and this gave him time to protest. He had come, he
declared, with no other intention than that of giving patronage to an
establishment which he remembered, with affection, in the time of
Crowther's mother, and to enjoy a talk over the past; if, in the course
of conversation, he had over-stepped the mark, no one regretted it more
acutely than himself. A plain man, accustomed to speaking his mind, he
often found that he gave offence where none was intended.
"Jack Blunt they used to call me over at the works," he added penitently.
"Owing to me having the awk'ard trick of always telling the truth!"
Mrs. Crowther so far relented as to call the new girl; she instructed her
to attend to the customer the while she herself retired to the back to
wash up dishes. Mr. Hards said in a whisper to the attendant: "Don't
seem to have quite pulled it off, first go!" and Ethel, also in an
undertone, replied: "Mustn't get discouraged, uncle. Mother always says
it's your one fault. Unsettle her mind about him, that's what you've got
to do."
He read a newspaper after the meal, and sent to the proprietress a
deferential inquiry, asking whether he might be allowed to smoke, and
presently hit upon a device for securing another interview.
"Your memory seems not quite what it ought to be," said Mrs. Crowther,
following him to the doorway. "If I were you I'd see a chemist about
it."
"I should have recollected that I hadn't settled up," he declared, "just
about as I was coming up from the subway at Greenwich." He found coins.
"No," gazing at a shilling reverently, "mustn't let you have that one
with the hole through it. I was told it would bring me luck. Crowther
was wrong for once, but he meant well."
"Did that really once belong to my dear husband?" she asked, with
eagerness. "Oh, do let me look. I'd give almost anything to be allowed
to keep it."
"Kindly accept it, ma'am, as a present from me, and as a kind of apology
for the blunder I made just now."
"I treasure everything he left behind," said Mrs. Crowther tearfully,
"since he went, last December, and I don't know in the least how to thank
you. Drop in any day you're passing by, and let's have another quiet
chat; I'm never 'appier than when I'm talking about him."
"My time's practically my own," answered Mr. Hards. "Since I retired
from over opposite, owing to a slight disagreement years ago, I've done a
bit of work, book-canvassing, but that don't take up the entire day. So
long!"
A few of the men came into the restaurant, after leaving the works; these
were folk who had no expectations of finding tea or supper waiting at
home, and they would have stayed on in comfort, gazing admiringly at the
young proprietress, only that Mrs. Crowther offered a broad hint by
instructing Ethel to find the shutters. They were drifting off,
reluctantly, and one was saying to the rest that he would certainly make
a dash for it (implying by this that he would make a proposal of
marriage) if the lady were not so obviously devoted to a memory, when Mr.
Hards appeared at the doorway, heated and exhausted by the effort to
arrive before closing-time. With him a shy-looking companion, who had to
be taken by the arm because he exhibited inclination to refrain, at the
last moment, from entering. "Be a sport," urged Mr. Hards. The other
intimated by his manner that the task was, for him, considerable.
"Looking younger than ever," declared Mr. Hards effusively. "How are
you, ma'am, by this time? Still keeping well? Allow me to introduce you
to my friend Ashton."
"Very pleased," said Mrs. Crowther with a nod. "What will you gentlemen
take—tea or coffee?"
"Don't suppose," he remarked still in complimentary tones, "that we shall
be able to tell any difference. Ashton, you decide."
Ashton, looking around, inquired whether the place did not possess a
licence; Mrs. Crowther gave the answer, and he said that perhaps coffee
would do him as little harm as anything.
"Happened to run across him," explained Mr. Hards, "and mentioned that
I'd met you by chance, ma'am, and he says 'Not the widow of silly old
Millwall Crowther?' he says. Just like that. Didn't you, Ashton?"
Mrs. Crowther turned abruptly, and went to furnish the order. "Mind you
say 'yes' to everything," ordered Hards privately and strenuously, "or
else I'll make it hot for you."
The two greeted Mrs. Crowther with frank and open countenances.
"The late lamented," went on Mr. Hards, with a confidential air, "as you
may or may not be aware, used to be in the 'abit of paying attentions to
my friend Ashton's sister."
"I know all about that," she remarked curtly. "It was before he met me."
"And, realising how anxious you was to get hold of everything that once
belonged to him, I persuaded him to hop off home and have a search. And
lo and behold," producing a small paper parcel from the inside pocket of
his overcoat, "he found this." Mr. Hards untied the string with
deliberation. "There you are!" triumphantly. "_Pearls from the Poets_.
And inside, his handwriting."
"Not sure that I want anything that he gave away to another lady at a
time when him and me were not acquainted."
"The date'll settle that," said Hards. "Ashton, your eyes are younger
than mine; what do you make of it?"
Ashton recited the entry with an emphasis on the date; Mrs. Crowther
grabbed at the book, glanced at the writing, and sat down on the nearest
chair, gazing steadily at a ginger-ale advertisement.
"Don't tell me," begged Hards distressedly, "that I've put my foot into
it again. 'Pon my word, if I ain't the most unlucky chap alive. If I'd
had the leastest idea that I was going to be the means of disclosing to
you the circumstance that Crowther gave away presents of this kind, and
with this sort of remark, after he was married to you, why, I'd sooner—"
She started up with the book, and, selecting the fly-page, placed this
between her eyes and the gas-light.
"Some one's been altering the date," she said quietly. She threw the
volume across. "You gentlemen have got just two minutes and a half
before we close for the night. And, as the business is doing pretty
well, perhaps you don't mind if I suggest you never show your faces
inside here again." She went.
"Any objection to me offering you a word of advice, old man?" asked
Ashton, on the pavement. "You're on the wrong tack. When a woman's made
up her mind, the best plan is to agree with her. What you ought to do—"
"Keep quiet," ordered the other exasperatedly. "Can't you see I'm
thinking?"
They crossed, and walked beside the blank wall of the works.
Ashton was again invited, in plain language, to preserve silence by
putting his head in a bag. The lights went out in the restaurant
opposite; on the first floor a match was struck and applied to the gas
globes; the music of a pianoforte was heard.
"It's a shame," declared Hards, throwing out his arms emphatically, "a
right-down shame for a nice-looking young woman of her sort to be left
alone and neglected. Here she is, able to cook, able to play, very good
to look at, and she's no business to be left by herself."
"Evidently she don't want to be left with you."
"You hop off home," ordered Hards, "soon as ever you like, and take that
book with you, and don't you ever attempt to interfere again with matters
you've got no concern in. Otherwise—"
His friend hurried away without taking the opportunity to hear the
alternative.
Mr. Hards waited until his niece came out with a letter for the post. A
whistle brought her to him from the pillar-box.
"Who was it addressed to?" he demanded. The girl replied that she had
omitted to look.
"'Pon my word," he cried, "I seem to be surrounded by lunatics. Nobody's
got a particle of sense, so far as I can ascertain, excepting myself. No
wonder I can't manage matters as I should like. But, putting all that on
one side, what I want now is another interview with her."
"Judging by what she said after you left, you're not likely to get it."
"Look here, my girl. It was your own mother's suggestion at the start,
and she won't be best pleased if you make yourself a stumbling-block.
She, for some reason, seems to have got tired of me living in her house
at Greenwich, and it was her idea I should marry well, and settle down
somewhere else. Apart from which, I've arrived at a time of life when I
need a woman's care and good feeding, and enough money in my pocket to
stand treat to friends after they've stood treat to me." He spoke
distinctly. "I'm going to knock at that door over there presently, and
you've got to let me in, and you can stand by and listen whilst I say a
few words, and put it all on a proper footing."
"But she hates the very sight of you."
"The sort of sensation," he declared, "that can soon be turned to love."
Mr. Hards thought it wiser, on finding himself outside the door of the
restaurant, to give a sharp double knock. He smiled contentedly on
hearing young Mrs. Crowther's voice call out: "It's all right, Ethel.
Only the postman. I'll answer him!" She opened the door, and faced him
with a look of expectancy that at once vanished.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, taking off his hat, "but I've been speaking
my mind to that young fellow, and he asked me to call back and apologise
on his behalf. I never noticed what he'd been up to, altering that date;
it wanted a lady's sharpness and a lady's intelligence to detect that.
What he wants me to say is he acted on the impulse of the moment."
"He'd better give up acting altogether," she remarked. "Did you really
know my husband well, or was it all gas?"
"Didn't I never tell you about that affair poor Crowther and me had with
a bobby down near the London Docks one night in November? A fine chap,"
went on Hards reminiscently, "if ever there was one. The way he could
put up his dooks whenever there was trouble about! I seldom met a fellow
who was his equal. He was what I call a manly man. When they told me
he'd gone and left you a widow I cried like a child, I did."
"I was upset at the time," remarked Mrs. Crowther, "but it soon wore
off."
"It's often struck me," he went on, surprised, "that perhaps you didn't
appreciate him at his true value whilst he was alive. Very likely you
don't know, as I know, the way he used to talk about you behind your
back."
"If it was anything like the way he talked in front of my face, I'd
rather not hear."
"Anyway, I daresay, ma'am, you often find yourself looking about for his
successor?"
"To tell you the truth, I do."
He tried to take her hand, but failed.
"I can see him now," he remarked sentimentally. "We was walking together
in Stratford Broadway, and suddenly he turned to me and he says,
'Ernest,' he says, 'something seems to tell me I'm not long for this
world. I want you to make me a promise,' he says. 'If anything amiss
happens to me, I look to you to be a friend to the wife. And if so be,'
he says, with a sort of a kind of a break in his voice, 'if so be as you
should take a fancy to her, and she should take a fancy to you, nothing
would give me more pleasure looking down on you both,' he says, 'than
to—'"
"Bequeathed me to you, did he?"
"It amounts to that, ma'am."
"All this is news to me," she remarked. "About what date was it?"
"About what date?" echoed Hards, rubbing his chin. "I can give it you
within a very little. It was the night before I met William Humphries,
and him and me had a few friendly words about football, and I was in the
horspital for three weeks. That was the early part of December. I think
it was December you said that poor Crowther drew his last breath. Must
have been only a few days—three at the utmost—that he had his talk with
me."
"That seems strange."
"Strange things do occur in this world."
"Because Crowther was laid up in his last illness for four months inside
this house, and never went outside until the undertaker's man carried
him. And a pretty tidy nuisance he was, too, then, and, in fact, all the
time I was married to him. Is that a constable-coming along, or a
postman?"
Hards, having ascertained that the approaching man did not represent the
law, remained, searching his mind busily. The postman stopped, gave Mrs.
Crowther a letter with a foreign postmark, and remarked that the evening
was fine.
"His ship will be home here within a fortnight," she cried excitedly,
glancing at the first words of the communication. "Two weeks from
to-day."
"Who?"
"Nobody you know," said Mrs. Crowther. "And then we shall be married,
and I shan't have to keep the men at the works off by pretending to be so
fond of my first. It's taken a bit of doing. Let me think, now. You
want to see Ethel, I expect, don't you?"
"I don't want to see no one," he declared with an emphatic gesture, "no
one on this side of the river ever again, so long as I jolly well live!"
XIV—THE REST CURE
"KNEW you'd like it, dear," said Mr. Gleeson confidently. "I declared
the moment I saw the place, 'Now this,' I said to myself, 'this will suit
the dear wife down to the ground.' Just look at that bit over there.
(Wait a moment, driver.) Isn't that simply—"
He gave a gesture which meant that the English language provided no
adequate words. His wife, with one hand upon his shoulder, offered an
"Ah!" of content.
"You must paint this," he went on, recovering powers of speech. "You
must bring your easel and your white umbrella some morning when I'm busy,
and try to get this effect. See the top of the church spire above the
trees?"
"That there's a oast house," interrupted the driver.
"You will not forget that I shall have my duties in the village," she
reminded him. "We are going to make life brighter, you know, for
everybody."
"True!" he admitted. "It will require discretion."
"And diplomacy."
"Still, we're not exactly amateurs. We bring something like a ripe
experience to the task. This will be child's play after London. Think
of the difference in numbers. Driver, how many inhabitants are there in
Murford Green?"
"Can't say as I ever counted 'em."
"But speaking approximately."
"Well," said the driver, with deliberation, "speaking approximately, I
should say they was no better than they ought to be. And you'll excuse
me, but I've got to get back to meet the five-eight, and if you and your
lady could give me what you may call permission to go on now without any
more pulling up, I shall jest do it. Otherwise I shan't, and then Miss
Bulwer won't let me never hear the last of it. That's what she won't!"
"Who is Miss Bulwer?"
"Look 'ere," argued the driver, half turning in his seat. "I've answered
a pretty tidy number of questions sence we started from the railway
station, and I'm beginning to lose my voice, and I'm not far off from
losing my temper. But in reference to your question concerning, or
regarding, or affecting Miss Bulwer, my answer is, you'll jolly soon find
out! Is that good enough for you, or isn't it?"
"Merely a surface manner," explained Mr. Gleeson, as the open fly
trundled on again. "You don't know these people, my dear. A certain
veneer of brusqueness, but underneath that good pure gold. Simple
natures, I admit, but as honest and straightforward—Wonder," dropping his
voice, "wonder how much he expects for this journey?"
"Pay him well," suggested young Mrs. Gleeson, also in a whisper. "We
must make a good impression at the start. Say eighteen-pence."
"Fortunately," resuming ordinary tones, "both you and I will be protected
and saved by our keen sense of humour." He smiled. "I expect our
arrival will flutter Murford Green pretty considerably. On an even
surface the slightest ripple shows."
Both stood up in the open carriage on finding that the prophecy seemed to
receive full justification. Twenty or thirty men and lads were rushing
across the triangle of green, shouting wildly; in their hands they
carried stout hammers and long-handled axes; women cheered from doorways
of cottages. A few were distracted temporarily by sight of the station
fly, but, reproved by the others, they went on, atoning for the slight
delay by shrieking more loudly than the rest.
"Anything on, driver?"
"Something coming off," answered the man. "I said what'd 'appen when
people began to lock up gates that'd been open for gen'rations and
gen'rations. I warned 'em, but they wouldn't take no notice. And I
ain't of'en wrong, neither," concluded the driver.
"Don't be frightened, dear," urged Mr. Gleeson. "I'll go out presently
and set it to rights. One wise word from an impartial person, and it
will all be over."
The driver said at the destination that, times without number, he had
received three and six for the service, paid willingly; if the gentleman
had no more silver he supposed he would have to be content with three
shillings. In reply to contentions, the driver asked whether Mr. Gleeson
was aware of the price being asked, at the present moment, for oats, and
Mr. Gleeson having to admit that his knowledge on this subject was
incomplete, the driver retorted, "Very well then, what's the use of
arguing? Why not pay up and look pleasant over it?" The fare obeyed the
first part of this recommendation. The two maids (sent on in advance
from Kensington) stood inside the gate, and caught the driver's farewell
remark.
"Really, ma'am," said the elder primly, "the manners of these people! I
thought I knew something about language, but I've learnt something the
three days we've been down here. Had a pleasant journey? Me and Sarah
have both been feeling humpish. I told her it would be all right soon as
ever you and the master came."
Mr. Gleeson set out, immediately after a meal, to arrange the question
that was troubling Murford Green. He had changed into a Norfolk suit,
and as a further concession smoked a briar pipe; with a thick
walking-stick he prodded at dock-leaves on the green. Near one corner of
the triangle a meeting was being held, with a large-faced man shouting
excitedly from a Windsor chair. Mr. Gleeson, crossing over, added
himself to the audience.
"Well spoke," sang the crowd, as the large man appeared to finish. "Very
well putt!"
"There's my shop 'cross there," shouted the orator, pointing to windows
that had "Crutchley, Butcher," in marble letters overhead. "If any one
thinks I've broke the law, that's where they can serve a summons."
The crowd looked around at the village constable. The constable frowned
with the air of a man who had not entirely succeeded in making up his
mind.
"We've got our rights," the butcher went on, "and I defy any one to say
the contrairy. If there's anybody here who don't agree with me, now's
the time for him to step up and express his opinion. Free speech is our
motto and— What name, please?"
"My name is Gleeson," announced the newcomer, "and I should like to say a
few words."
"For the agitation, may I ask, or against?"
"My attitude," said Mr. Gleeson, "is that of a peace-maker."
The crowd grumbled; the butcher called for order. Mr. Gleeson ascended
the chair.
When, at the end of ten minutes, he stepped down, only the constable was
there to give him a hand. The constable accounted for the dispersal of
the crowd by pointing out that supper time was near, and on Mr. Gleeson
asking whether he thought the words spoken had produced any effect,
replied, cautiously, that it was difficult to say. The constable, as one
who had looked on at many struggles, gave the opinion that you could not
do better than let the parties fight it out and, this done, then
possibly, but not certainly, came the moment for you to interfere. Mr.
Gleeson felt bound, in reply, to mention that he had in his time been
called to the bar; intimated that, in circumstances such as these, it
seemed more fitting that he should give advice than take it.
"Now," admitted the constable, "now you're putting a different light,
sir, on the matter. To tell the truth, I wasn't quite aweer who I was
talking to. I look on your arrival here, sir, as particular fortunate,
because you can back me up in any action I see fit to take."
"Any correct action."
"That's the only way I've got of doing things. I've never yet made a
blunder, and I don't suppose now I ever shall."
"We are all of us liable to err," pointed out Mr. Gleeson.
"Being liable to do a thing," retorted the constable judicially, "and
actually doing it, is two entirely different matters. Shall I tell you,
sir, what idea has just come into my head?"
Permission given.
"This is the way I get 'old of notions," went on the other
self-exultantly. "I may be walking along a quiet lane, or standing here,
as I am now, and all at once they come into my noddle like a—well, more
like a flash of lightning than anything else. It's won'erful. Gives me
quite a turn for the moment. Guess what the notion is that I've just
thought of."
The gentleman from London excused himself from making the attempt, and
found his arm hooked confidentially by the handle of the policeman's
stick.
"I'll bring over to your 'ouse this very evening two of the leaders of
this movement, or agitation, or whatever you like to call it. You take
down their evidence and to-morrow you go and call on Miss Bulwer. She's
the lady who's been trying to stop up this path. You talk it over with
her, you do, and settle it, and then announce your decision. As easy,"
concluded the policeman, detecting hesitation, "as easy as saying the
A.B.C."
Two days later the constable, on receiving news from Crutchley, Butcher,
that the affair had been amicably settled, was able to state that the
village could reckon itself once more in debt to him, and mentioned the
case of a colleague at Middlesham who had recently been presented by
grateful inhabitants with a bicycle. Later came information that Miss
Bulwer had discharged her housemaid, with a month's wages in lieu of
notice; the driver of the station fly, in the course of a chat with his
fare, ascertained the cause for her dismissal was that Miss Bulwer had
understood her (the housemaid) to say, before the Londoner's call, that
she believed Mr. Gleeson was a bachelor, whereas the departing housemaid
declared she had only mentioned that he was clean-shaven. All the same
the decision of the arbitrator stood; Miss Bulwer was declared to be the
owner of the right of way, but graciously permitted the inhabitants to
use it. Few of the villagers had walked along the path before the locked
gate was placed there, and no one showed any anxiety to do so now that it
was thrown open.
"A most satisfactory beginning," said Mr. Gleeson to his young wife.
"Nothing could be more auspicious. Now, we are about to take up the task
of breaking down some barriers on our own account. Your help, dear, will
be specially needed."
"I haven't your tact."
"You have something better, my love," he replied gallantly. "You have
charm. Together we ought to do a great work."
"The place is beautifully quiet now," she remarked.
"'If there's peace to be found in the world,'" quoted Mr. Gleeson, "'a
heart that is humble may hope for it here.'"
"The girls are complaining."
"They will soon become accustomed to the village and its surroundings.
It takes time for a Londoner to settle down. The silence," he went on,
going to the window, "is to me most impressive."
"It appears to strike them as being dull."
That evening, when the two were consulting the local directory, taking
down names and perfecting arrangements, a sudden uproar started near the
open windows, and the servants came hurrying in to make protest against
the noise; Mary and Emma urged that the master ought to go out and see
what was happening. Looking through the open window the group could see
that every man, every lad, every woman carried articles capable of
producing clamour: some bore dustpans, some toy drums, some fire-irons.
Mr. Gleeson felt able to give an explanation to the affrighted woman. It
had, he believed, to do with bees; not quite certain about details, he
felt sure it concerned bees—swarming or something of the kind.
"I don't want to be stung," said cook nervously. "Wasps always make
straight for me!"
The crowd stopped at a house facing the green, and there the hullabaloo
increased to such an extent that Mr. Gleeson, finding his cap, announced
an intention of putting a stop to the row without further delay. The
women expected the turmoil would cease directly he reached the scene;
they observed that he spoke to one or two, remonstrating with them; the
folk seemed to be making an explanation, and he again used argumentative
gestures; they appeared to order him to go away and, after one or two
further efforts, he retired. The uproar continued.
"Not bees," he announced, entering the room. "No! My dear, just send
the maids to the kitchen."
The girls went.
"A primitive custom," he explained, "with which I was not previously
acquainted. It seems a retired farmer living at the house in question
lost his wife three months ago."
"Surely a strange way of expressing sympathy."
"That is not exactly the idea. The retired farmer has married
again—married the nurse, and the village thinks it not quite right."
"It isn't right," she declared warmly. "I consider the villagers are
quite justified in their action."
"I don't agree with you, dear."
"If I died," she contended, "and you married again in such a short time,
I should be very much gratified in looking down to find that people—"
"Why do you say 'down'?" The contention in the Gleesons' house rivalled
the demonstration in the roadway.
Mutual apologies having been made the next morning—
"I spoke without thinking of what I was saying, my love."
"I suppose, dear, I am too sensitive."
—The great task came up before them to be tackled. Mr. Gleeson made a
short speech to his wife on the subject, calling it a scheme for welding
the village into one harmonious whole, and they were both gratified by
this neat way of putting the case. One harmonious whole, echoed Mrs.
Gleeson. One harmonious whole, he repeated firmly.
So the two set out, furnished with cards, to call upon residents; an
undertaking the more necessary and excusable because residents had made
no attempt to call upon them. They divided the task, arranging to meet
two hours later and report progress of affairs, and meanwhile said
farewell in an affectionate style outside the house; two little girls,
looking on with a scandalised air, prepared to run off to tell their
respective mothers.
"Good luck, dear," said Mrs. Gleeson.
"Bon voyage, ma cherie," he replied. They kissed again.
At the time appointed she returned with satisfaction and triumph
announced on her attractive young features. Her husband had not arrived,
and she strolled across to some children who were fixing wickets for a
game; they drew the stumps and retired to another corner of the green.
"Shy little things," remarked Mrs. Gleeson.
She flag-signalled with a lace handkerchief to her husband, who could be
seen walking slowly in the distance, but he was gazing at the dusty road
in a thoughtful manner and did not respond; she ran to meet him and to
take his arm.
"Well?" he asked shortly.
Everybody had said yes, she answered with enthusiasm. No sooner had she
given the invitation than they accepted. The vicar, the
Congregationalist minister, the auctioneer (who was also insurance agent,
and local representative for Chipley's Celebrated Guanos), the
schoolmaster, Crutchley, the postman, two labourers, and the man who
usually stood outside the Three Bells with a wisp of straw between his
teeth—every one of these and others she had secured, every one had made
careful note of the date.
"And you?" she asked.
Mr. Gleeson confessed his record was not so excellent. Miss Bulwer
delayed him for thirty-five minutes, and, a grievance still rankling,
managed in that time to intimate that she bossed the village.
"Her own phrase," he said excusingly.
Miss Bulwer flattered herself she performed the task well, and certainly
did not propose to allow new-comers to interfere. Miss Bulwer agreed
that the barriers of class should be broken down; she came of a Liberal
stock, and her father sat in Parliament once for nearly a year, but
rather than meet Crutchley or any of his set on friendly terms, she would
willingly be burnt at the stake.
"But surely, dear, it was an error, if you don't mind my saying so, to
tell her that we had invited anybody else."
"Thought it fairer," he replied.
"I said nothing of the kind to some of mine."
"You should have done."
"Pardon me," said Mrs. Gleeson, "but perhaps you will admit that my plan
proved more successful."
"Those two sisters, the dressmakers, are coming," he went on, declining
to argue the point, "and three other women accepted and promised to be
with us providing nothing better turned up in the meantime. Singularly
frank and open in their speech," he remarked, with a sigh. "They went so
far as to ask me what we expected to make out of it."
"I like people to be genuine."
"There are limits," he said, "which should not be exceeded. Let us go in
and reckon up the number of guests."
The two small girls who had seen them kiss each other took up a position
near the fence, watching with undisguised curiosity as Mr. and Mrs.
Gleeson sat at the window completing arrangements. As these proceeded
Mr. Gleeson regained something of his early enthusiasm. He intended to
make a speech to the company, once the visitors were assembled, and his
wife suggested that if his mind was made up in this regard, he had better
rehearse; he walked up and down the room, using appropriate gestures, the
while the two little spectators held on to the fence in their anxiety to
miss nothing.
"Did you remember to telegraph to the Stores?" he demanded, breaking off.
"I did."
"And have the things arrived?"
"Not yet. But they never fail."
"Find a man," he ordered, "the one outside the Three Bells, and send him
off at once. Unless I see to everything, there is always a muddle!"
Full justification for the issuing of this command was found when the man
returned with the case; it had duly arrived by the mid-day train and
would, he reported, have remained at the station until goodness knew when
if he had not been sent to fetch it. The man offered to prise open the
lid, and on seeing the contents made the announcement that the two shops
of the village would not be best pleased to hear that goods similar to
those which might have been purchased at their establishments had been
imported from town. Asked by the anxious young hostess to give his own
opinion, the man said he was all for liberty and freedom, and letting
people do as they liked, but he felt bound to say that home industries
ought to be patronised. He had often argued this in the Three Bells, and
felt he ought not to say behind people's backs anything he did not dare
to speak in front of their faces.
"All the same," he added, accepting the shilling, "I shall pop round in
good time this evening. You can rely upon me. My word's as good as me
bond."
Now the two maids began to fly to and fro. Now Mr. Gleeson set out
chairs on the lawn at the back in preparation for an overflow meeting.
Now furniture was moved and the pianoforte opened. Now one of the maids
ran across to hire twenty cups and saucers, and returned from the shop
with the message that only regular customers were obliged in this way;
the cups and saucers could be purchased, or they could be let alone, but
no third alternative existed. Mr. Gleeson went over his speech once more
and, on the suggestion of his wife, introduced a more pronounced tone of
geniality, leaving out some of the sterner views concerning the value of
friendship. Mrs. Gleeson's sketches were set in a good position. Mr.
Gleeson tried "I am a Jolly Mariner," and decided he had found himself in
worse voice. At seven o'clock they were ready for the thirty-five
guests, and Mr. Gleeson snatched a few moments to practise a smile of
welcome, one that would indicate gratification without degenerating into
a broad grin.
"We shall find them rather difficult at first," he mentioned. "I must
get you to help me, my dear, to make them feel thoroughly at home from
the very outset. Wish you had thought to order some crackers."
"Sorry!"
"In Stepney, if you remember, the pulling of these and the wearing of
paper caps at once put everybody at their ease. What's the time now?"
She exhibited her watch.
"Mary asked the constable just now whether anything of the kind had ever
been arranged before and he said 'No.'"
"Did he say anything else?" asked Mr. Gleeson.
"He added 'And never won't again, neither.'"
"The ability of peering into the future," he remarked, nettled, "is a
gift denied even to the village policeman. He seems to have the idea
that no one can do right excepting himself."
"There's a knock."
Please, ma'am (announced Mary), Mr. Crutchley, the butcher, has sent over
to know whether we want a joint for Sunday, because if so we had better
say so in good time. Ask the messenger (replied Mrs. Gleeson) to tell
Crutchley that we shall only trouble him in the case of chops and steaks;
the larger orders have been placed in town. Very well, ma'am. Mary,
returning three minutes later, apologised for the message she had now to
deliver; Crutchley sent word that where the Gleesons procured their
joints there they could procure their chops and steaks; Crutchley told
the messenger to add that he was not in the habit of being under an
obligation to any one.
"I disliked the man," declared Mr. Gleeson warmly, "from the very first.
Understand, my dear, please, that not another penny of mine is to be
spent in his shop—not another halfpenny."
Another ring, and Mary, with a look of greater satisfaction, announced
the vicar.
"Ah," said the visitor, entering breezily, "Liberty Hall, Liberty Hall.
This is extremely satisfactory. How are we this evening? Settling down
to country life? That's good. Before I forget it, there are two or
three funds under my control, the finances of which are in rather—what
shall I say?"
"Low water."
"Capital!" declared the vicar, with enthusiasm. "The very phrase! Now
I'm not going to bother you, and hate above all things any suspicion of
begging, but if you have your cheque-book handy— How very, very kind of
you! A great day, for Murford Green—here's a fountain pen—for Murford
Green when you two delightful people decided to take up your residence
here. Thank you so much: I'll blot it. Equally divided, shall we say?
A thousand obligations. I have a number of letters to write; will you
forgive me if I run off? Pray give my sincere regards to all the dear
people. All the dear people. The dear people. Dear people. People."
The voice disappeared in the manner of a ventriloquist's entertainment.
A note from the schoolmaster. The schoolmaster was sorry, but he had
only just ascertained that the Rev. Mr. Barton, Congregationalist
minister, had been asked, and in these circumstances the schoolmaster
begged to be excused. A note from Mr. Barton. Mr. Barton, having
ascertained that the schoolmaster had been invited, felt it impossible to
meet that gentleman until he had withdrawn certain remarks concerning
Passive Resisters, and hoped Mrs. Gleeson would permit him to defer his
visit. The postman called at the back door to say that he could have
spared an hour, and would have spared an hour, but talk was going on in
the village, and until this received contradiction it was more than his
position, as a Government official, was worth to set foot inside the
house. Mary, answering her master's impatient reprimand, declared she
had asked for further particulars; the postman, with a deep blush,
assured her it was not a subject he could discuss with a single young
woman; on Mary insisting, he referred her to a Mrs. Larch, living in one
of a row of cottages not far away. The Gleesons, greatly disturbed,
requested the maid to fly in that direction and obtain details. As Mary
went out of the front gate they noticed the two invited labourers,
dressed in black suits.
"Beg pardon, missy," they heard one of them say, "but if it ent a rude
question, is there going to be any beer purvided at this affair what's to
come off this evening?" The maid gave an answer and ran on. "Not?" they
echoed amazedly. "Very well then! No bloomin' beer; no bloomin' us!"
Other excuses came. The odd man of the Three Bells alone remained
unaccounted for, and he arrived, pulling at the garden gate, which he
should have pushed, and solving the difficulty by climbing over.
Approaching the open window, he lurched across the flower-bed, took off
his hat to Mr. Gleeson, blew a clumsy kiss to Mrs. Gleeson.
"Not coming in," he said, with a wink. "No fear! Not me! Got my
rep'tation to consider. I sh'd never 'old up my 'ead again. Warm lot,
you Londoners. Thank goodness I was born 'n bred in the country. Honest
man, that's what I am, and I don't care who says I'm not. You never
catch me 'ugging a girl in middle of the roadway. Not me!"
A council was held so soon as the maid came back. Mary had assured Mrs.
Larch that her master and her mistress were married, for she herself was
present at the wedding, and the lady offered two suggestions: one that
Mary's eyesight was defective, the other that people only used a foreign
language when they desired to say something that could not be spoken in
decent English. Mary, having delivered the news, stood back and waited.
"Have you no suggestion to make, my dear?" asked the worried Mr. Gleeson.
His wife shook her head despondently.
"Excuse me, sir," said the maid, with respect, "but me and Emma have been
talking it over, and as she says the doctor ordered you quiet, and you
haven't yet succeeded in letting the house at Kensington, what's to
prevent us from—"
"Get the A.B.C.," he ordered. "We'll find out what time there's a train
back to town in the morning."
XV—REWARD FOR COURAGE
THE Committee gave Mr. Mayor the time to put on, with the aid of his man,
the official garments. One member asked who was looking after Enderby,
and the agitated young secretary ran into the largest room in the Town
Hall, returned with the satisfactory assurance that the man was seated in
the front row, well guarded by friends.
"These brave chaps," remarked the member who had put the alarming
inquiry, "often have a peculiar strain of—er—modesty in their
disposition. You can never quite depend upon them as you would on
ordinary people. Mr. Secretary, what's the programme for the afternoon?
Have you drawn up an agenda? Don't call on me, if you can help it, but
if it's absolutely necessary, of course—"
Mr. Secretary exhibited the sheet of foolscap paper; members of the
Committee whose names figured there expressed approval; the rest
mentioned a fear that they might not be able to stay until the end.
"Mr. Mayor!"
His Worship came forward to be greeted by those acquainted with him, to
be introduced to others. Everybody said it was good of the Mayor to give
up so much of his time, and he declared it was good of them to do so.
"But some one," he went on, with determination, "some one must give me a
sort of a notion of an idea of what I'm supposed to talk about. I want a
few facts pencilled down, just to go on with, as it were." The secretary
produced a type-written document, tendered a case containing a medal. "I
see!" nodding as he glanced at the sheet. "Jumped in at risk of life.
Brought child to bank. Persuaded with difficulty to give name and
address. Very fine, indeed. Capital. First-rate. Now, how long shall
I take? Thirty minutes?"
"Less than that, Mr. Mayor, if you like."
"As you please," said his Worship, rather nettled. "I'm never a believer
in long speechifying. Time we made a start, isn't it? Look in, and
tell them I'm coming, and they'll be ready to applaud. What's the chap's
name again? Enderby. George Enderby. Right you are!"
A good audience had assembled, and several ladies, subscribers to the
gift, were present. Two were talking deferentially to a puffed-faced man
in the front row; they scuttled off to their seats as the platform people
arrived. The man inspected his boots, shifting them uneasily. Mr. Mayor
rapped the table with an ebony hammer, and said, in his most genial
manner, that of all the duties imposed upon him during his year of office
not one had given so much pleasure as this. They were probably
acquainted with the facts and he would give them briefly. George
Enderby, residing at 42, William Street, by occupation a house decorator,
but at present out of work, was walking near the canal on the evening of
Friday, the seventeenth of June. Some children were playing near the
bank, and, in the endeavour to reach a piece of wood that was floating on
the water, one little girl of six years of age suddenly slipped and—.
Mr. Mayor read the type-written sheet to the end, took off his pince-nez.
"Let George Enderby," he ordered, "be kind enough to step up on the
platform."
The friends of the puffed-faced man took him by the elbows; he resisted
their efforts and was heard to say that he would see everybody hanged
before he made a public exhibition of himself. An awkward delay
occurred; the Mayor repeated his directions. The secretary hurried down
from the platform, and induced George Enderby to consider afresh his
decision. He went up the steps with every sign of reluctance, and stood
there, turning cap in hands.
"Enderby," said the Mayor, with an air of heavy benevolence, "kindly
answer one or two questions. In what condition of mind were you when you
performed this gallant act?"
"I wasn't boozed," replied the man defensively, "if that's what you're
driving at. I'd had a glass or two, but I wasn't abs'lutely oiled!"
"That is not quite what I mean. What I want to find out is, were you
thinking at the time of the value of human life, and how necessary it is
that it should be preserved at all costs?"
"If you must know, I waddent thinking nothing of the kind. Don't worry
myself about such matters."
"I see!" said the Mayor, slightly taken aback. "And—forgive my
curiosity—but what were your sensations when you brought the child
ashore? What was uppermost, so to speak, in your thoughts?"
"I was wondering whether I sh'd catch a nasty cold!"
"No, no!" said the Mayor, reproving the audience. "This worthy fellow is
answering my questions to the best of his ability. Tell me, now,"
turning again to the man on the platform, "have you performed many
gallant actions of this kind in your life before?"
"I ain't."
"Never, perhaps, had the opportunity?"
"Plenty of opportunities," retorted Enderby, "but not fool enough to take
advantage of 'em!"
It was so clear he was becoming nettled that the secretary whispered to
Mr. Mayor; his Worship proceeded to speak, at some length, on the subject
of bravery, making allusions to the boy who stood on the burning deck, to
Grace Darling, and to others. Eventually, and to the obvious relief of
Enderby, he presented the purse, handed over the medal, and allowed the
man to return to the front row. There Enderby and his friends made no
attempt to conceal restiveness during the remainder of the speeches. The
occupants of seats at the reporters' table sent a note to the young
secretary, reminding him that the recipient had not acknowledged the
rewards.
"No," replied Enderby, with resolution, "I jolly well won't. Made myself
quite conspicuous enough as it is, and if I tried to talk from the
platform I sh'd only make myself more conspicuouser than before. I may
also add it's dry work listening to all this cackle."
"Don't lose the medal."
"You take charge of it for me," he requested. "May overlook it somewhere
if I take it with me now!"
It was the secretary's first essay in management of public affairs and he
congratulated himself, in leaving the Town Hall, on the fact that
everything had gone well; the Mayor had said at the end, "Very smooth and
satisfactory!" The case with the medal bulged the inside pocket of his
coat, and this would not have mattered only that he was going, later, to
see a young woman whom he loved, and give to her a full report.
Wherefore he stepped on a tram-car and was conveyed to William Street.
"May be back at any moment," said the neighbours. "What's to-day?
Tuesday? Well, she has to be at Willesden by seven in the morning, and
she usually gets home, comparatively speaking, early. Other days its
quite late before she— Here she is!"
Mrs. Enderby was grateful to the secretary for bringing the medal, and
said so. She wished he had also brought the money that had been
collected, but this, she knew, was an extravagant aspiration. Mrs.
Enderby admitted it was difficult, at times, to make ends meet; thanks
be, she had fair health and strength. Six children, all living, and no
one could say they ever wanted for food. Yes, it did seem a pity Enderby
was out of a job, but, after all (cheerfully), it made very little
difference at home, because if he earnt money he spent it all himself.
How long? Oh, a matter of eleven years or so. Good afternoon, sir, and
thank you.
"Now, I wonder," remarked the young secretary to himself, "I wonder if
they were right in putting _his_ name on that medal!"
* * * * *
_Printed by Hazel_, _Watson & Viney, Ld._, _London and Aylesbury_.
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\section{Introduction}
Since the discovery of iron-based superconductors, one of the focuses is to find a unified picture of the electronic state among various kinds of iron-based superconductors. It has
been revealed that the suppression of spin density wave (SDW) in their parent
compounds is important to induce high-$T_{c}$ superconductivity
(SC) in most of the cases. For example, hole doped (Ba,K)Fe$_{2}$As$_{2}$
\cite{Rotter2008}, electron doped Ba(Fe,Co)$_{2}$As$_{2}$ \cite{Chu2009} and
isovalent-element doped BaFe$_{2}$(As,P)$_{2}$ \cite{Kasahara2010} share a similar
phase diagram which shows the transition from SDW to SC state upon doping. This similarity suggests that the spin
fluctuation (SF) near a quantum critical point (QCP) is a possible candidate for
the pairing force of Cooper pairs. In LaFeAsO, however, the phase diagram is
much more complicated. For example, in LaFeAs(O,H)
\cite{Iimura2012,Fujiwara2013}, as H content increases after the suppression of SDW, two SC regions have been observed in the phase diagram, as well as the reappearance of an
antiferromagnetic (AFM) phase in the overdoped region. The origin of these
interesting behaviors has been argued in relation to SF or orbital
fluctuations \cite{Fujiwara2013,Iimura2013,Yamakawa2013,Suzuki2013,Onari2014}%
.\nolinebreak
On the other hand, LaFePO is
known as a superconductor with $T_{c}$ $\sim$5 K without any trace of
SDW \cite{Kamihara2006,Hamlin2008}. Introducing electrons by F substitution cannot change
$T_{c}$ significantly \cite{Suzuki2009}. The striking difference between the
properties of the two parent compounds LaFeAsO and LaFePO raises a question about
its origin and the relation to SC. Experimental observations
\cite{Coldea2008,Sugawara2008,Liu2010,Li2009,Lu2008} and theoretical
calculations
\cite{Lebe`gue2007,Singh2008,Kuroki2009,Vildosola2008,Thomale2011} have shown
that the Fermi surface (FS) topologies of LaFeAsO and LaFePO are different, mainly in one of
the hole pockets. In particular, the 2-dimensional FS exists in LaFeAsO around X-point, while the 3-dimensional one around Z-point exists in LaFePO. The difference in the resulting FS nesting may be related to the
different SC behaviors.
P/As substitution in LaFe(As,P)O provides a platform for studying the relationship among SC, AFM and corresponding FS nesting. A study of LaFe(As,P)O in P doping level from 0 to 60\% has been reported previously
\cite{Wang2009}. After the suppression of SDW around LaFeAsO, a SC dome with a maximum
critical temperature $T_{c}$ $\sim$10 K appears around 30\% P doping. Recently, a further study from NMR technique has indicated the AFM ordering around 50\% P doping with $T_{N}$ $\sim$15 K \cite{Kitagawa2014}. Such complex behaviors suggest the importance of the role of AFM correlation to induce SC in LaFe(As,P)O.
In our previous work, we have also studied P/As substitution effect in the same system but for 10\% F-doping, namely, LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}%
$O$_{0.9}$F$_{0.1}$ \cite{Saijo2010,Miyasaka2011,Miyasaka2013}. A maximum $T_{c}$
$\sim$28 K has been observed at $x$ = 0.6 together with temperature ($T$)-linearly
dependent resistivity and strong $T$ dependent Hall coefficient. It
suggests SF is strong around $x$ = 0.6, which has been confirmed in the NMR study \cite{Mukuda2014}. Moreover, it has been revealed that this anomaly at $x$ = 0.6 are commonly observed not only in La-1111 system but also in Nd-1111 and Pr-1111 system which are different in lattice size. This implies that the important electronic change, presumably a band crossover, is driven by P/As substitution.
As described above, LaFePO and LaFeAsO systems have different FS states because of the existence of $d_{Z^{2}}$ or $d_{X^{2}-Y^{2}}$ band near Fermi level. The P/As substitution causes the exchange of the energy level of $d_{Z^{2}}$/$d_{X^{2}-Y^{2}}$ band. Resultantly, our previous results show the anomalous behaviors, suggesting that $R$FeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}%
$O$_{0.9}$F$_{0.1}$ ($R$ = La, Pr and Nd) has the FeP-type FS below $x \sim$ 0.6, while the samples of $x$ = 1.0 have FeAs-type FS. However, the evidence of our scenario (two FS states and the band crossover around $x$ = 0.6) was weak.
In this study, we have extended our previous work to lower F-content ($y$ = 0 and 0.05). The transport properties for LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{1-y}$F$_{y}$ with $y$ = 0 and 0.05 have been mainly studied, and we have tried to clarify the phase diagram, which provides further evidence for the presence of two electronic states originating from the two different FS topologies and its crossover.
\section{Experimental Methods and sample characterization}
Polycrystalline LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{1-y}$F$_{y}$ with nominal $x$ = 0
-- 1 and $y$ = 0, 0.05 were synthesized by a solid state reaction method.
The precursors LaAs/LaP, Fe$_{2}$O$_{3}$, Fe and LaF$_{3}$ were
mixed and pressed into pellets.
The pellets were sealed in evacuated quartz tubes and heated at 1100 $%
\operatorname{{}^{\circ}{\rm C}}%
$ for 40 h. All the above processes except heating were performed in a glove box with pure Ar environment.
The crystal structure was characterized by powder X-ray
diffraction with the source of Cu \textit{K}$_{\alpha}$ radiation at room
temperature. Magnetic susceptibility measurements were performed in a Quantum Design MPMS
with the applied field of 10 Oe. The electrical resistivity was measured by a standard
four-probe method. Hall effect measurements were
performed in the magnetic field up to 7 T. $R_{H}$ was obtained from Hall resistivity which showed linear dependence on the magnetic applied field. The $^{31}$P-NMR spectra in the AFM phase were measured by sweeping the magnetic field to determine the transition temperature $T_{N}$ \cite{Mukuda2}.
The typical powder X-ray diffraction patterns for $y$ = 0.05 are shown in Fig.~\ref{s1}. Almost all the Bragg peaks observed in the diffraction patterns are able to be assigned within the tetragonal $P4/nmm$ symmetry. Note that a minor impurity peak of LaOF is found in some samples. The
corresponding lattice constants $a$ and $c$ for the samples of $y$ = 0 and 0.05 are calculated by the
least-square fitting of the Bragg peaks and the data is plotted in Fig.
\ref{s2}. Both samples for $y$ = 0 and 0.05 show a linear increase in $a$ and $c$ with increasing As content
$x$. This linear change of lattice constants indicates
that the As/P solution compounds are successfully prepared.
\begin{figure}[h]%
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.3]%
{s1.pdf}%
\caption{(Color online) The X-ray diffraction patterns of
LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{0.95}$F$_{0.05}$ ($x$ = 0, 0.4, 0.6 and 1.0). Almost all the peaks are able to be indexed assuming the $P$4/$nmm$ tetragonal symmetry.}%
\label{s1}%
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[h]%
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.3]%
{s2.pdf}%
\caption{The $x$ dependence of the lattice constants $a$ and $c$ of
(a) LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O and (b) LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{0.95}$F$_{0.05}$.}%
\label{s2}%
\end{figure}
In order to determine the actual As and F concentrations, we performed the energy dispersive X-ray spectroscopy (EDX) measurements. The result of EDX indicates that the actual As concentration is the same as the nominal one ($x$) in all the samples. On the other hand, we are not able to estimate the actual F concentration by EDX measurements, because there are peaks for La and Fe near the peak for F in the EDX spectrum. With increasing the nominal F concentration $y$, however, the lattice constants $a$ and $c$ continuously decrease. (Please see Fig. \ref{s2} and Ref. [27].) In the previous report, we have roughly estimated the actual F concentration of $\sim$0.03 -- 0.04 in the samples with the nominal F concentration $y $= 0.1 \cite{Miyasaka2013}. Assuming that the lattice constants depend linearly on the actual F concentration, the actual F concentration is about 0.01 in the samples with nominal F concentration of $y$ = 0.05. In short, we can determine the actual As concentration and not the actual F one by EDX measurements. For convenience, we use the nominal F concentration ($y$ = 0 and 0.05) in this paper.
\section{Results and Discussions}
\begin{figure}[h]%
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.09]%
{s3.pdf}%
\caption{(Color online) The temperature dependence of magnetic susceptibility of (a) LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O
and (b) LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{0.95}$F$_{0.05}$.}%
\label{s3}%
\end{figure}
Figure \ref{s3} shows the $T$-dependence of magnetic susceptibility for
the samples of $y$ = 0 and 0.05. The SC transition can be
observed in all the samples of $y$ = 0.05, and the samples of $y$ = 0 with $x$ = 0
-- 0.25, 0.7 and 0.8. Note that the superconducting volume fraction of
the samples of $x$ = 0.7 and 0.8 for $y$ = 0 is much smaller than the other SC samples.
\begin{figure}[ptb]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.37
]%
{F1.pdf}
\caption{(Color online) The temperature dependence of the electrical resistivity of (a) LaFeP$_{1-x}%
$As$_{x}$O and (b) LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{0.95}$F$_{0.05}$ with various values of $x$, respectively.}%
\label{f1}
\end{figure}
Figure \ref{f1} shows the $T$-dependence of resistivity $\rho(T)$ for
the samples of $y$ = 0 and 0.05. The SC transition can be
observed in all the SC samples identified in the magnetic susceptibility measurement. In the samples of $y$ = 0, the anomalous upturn in $\rho(T)$ is
observed for $x$ = 0.8 -- 1 due to the SDW transition, which determines $T_{N}$. The samples of $x$ = 0.3 -- 0.6 seemingly behave as normal metals, but the sample of $x$ = 0.5 shows an upturn at low $T$ ($<$ 50K), which may be related to the recently reported AFM phase \cite{Kitagawa2014}. Actually we observe the broading of NMR spectra at $x$ = 0.3 -- 0.6, which indicates the existence of AFM ordering \cite{Mukuda2}.
We suppose that the behaviors of resistivity obtained in these polycrystalline samples are dominated mainly by the $ab$-plane resistivity $\rho_{ab}$ due to the large ratio of the $c$-axis resistivity $\rho_{c}$ to $\rho_{ab}$. In fact, the large anisotropy ratio $\rho_{c}$/$\rho_{ab}$ ($\sim$20 -- 200) was reported by resistivity measurement of single crystalline LaFeAsO \cite{Jesche2012}.
\begin{figure}[ptb]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.09
]%
{F2.pdf}
\caption{(Color online) The As-doping $x$ dependence of (a) critical temperature $T_{c}$,
Neel temperature $T_{N}$ of LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O, (b) $T_{c}$ of LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{0.95}$F$_{0.05}$, (c) $T_{c}$ of LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{0.9}$F$_{0.1}$, and (d) the exponent $n$ in $\rho(T)=\rho_{0}+AT^{n}$ of LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{1-y}$F$_{y}$, respectively. $T_{c}$ is determined by both zero resistivity and the onset of the drop in magnetic susceptibility. The open circles are the data by C. Wang \textit{et al.} \cite{Wang2009} and S. Kitagawa \textit{et al.} \cite{Kitagawa2014}.}%
\label{f2}%
\end{figure}
$T_{c}$ and $T_{N}$ of all the samples for $y$ = 0 are summarized in Fig. \ref{f2}(a). For $y$ =
0, two SC domes and two AFM phases are observed in the phase diagram.
The values of $T_{c}$ at $x$ = 0.6 -- 0.8 (SC1 dome) are consistent with
the previous study \cite{Wang2009}. The other SC dome at $x$ = 0 -- 0.3 (SC2 dome) is first found in the present study. The
maximum $T_{c}$ of SC2 dome is slightly higher ($\sim$12 K) than that of SC1 dome.
Between the two SC domes, an AFM order (AFM2 phase) is detected via NMR technique \cite{Kitagawa2014,Mukuda2}, with $T_{N}$ ranged from $\sim$15 K to 35 K. Another AFM phase (AFM1 phase) is also observed above $x$ = 0.8 through $\rho(T)$ and NMR \cite{Kitagawa2014}. Here the AFM order is accompanied with a structural phase transition. The values of $T_{N}$, between $\sim$50 K -- 140 K, in AFM1 phase are much higher than that in AFM2 phase.
Fig. \ref{f2}(b) shows the $x$-dependence of $T_{c}$ for $y$ = 0.05. A local minimum of $T_{c}(x)$ is found around $x$ = 0.6, giving a double-peak structure. If we further
increase $y$ to 0.1 \cite{Miyasaka2013}, as illustrated in Fig. \ref{f2}(c), only a single peak is observed at $x$ = 0.6. These results suggest that the two SC domes found at $y$ = 0 merge with each other when $y$ increases.
The exponent $n$ of
$\rho(T)$ is determined by fitting the data with $\rho(T)=\rho_{0}+AT^{n}$
where $\rho_{0}$ is the residual resistivity and $A$ is the slope of $\rho
(T)$. The range of fitting is between $T$ just above $T_{c}$ and $\sim$100 K. As shown in Fig. \ref{f2}(d), for the series of $y$ = 0, $n$ changes gradually from 2 to 1 when $x$ increases to 0.7. Note that the data of $x$ = 0.5, 0.8 -- 1.0 are not suitable for fitting because of the upturn at low $T$. Roughly speaking, the value of $n$ is close to 2 in SC2 dome while that is
$\sim$1 in SC1 dome. It suggests that the behavior of $\rho(T)$ near SC2 dome is described as Fermi liquid (FL)
while that near SC1 dome is non-FL. Since the sample of $x$ = 0.7 is near the boundary of SDW phase, the gradual decrease in $n$ with increasing $x$ suggests the existence of a QCP around $x$ = 0.7. This point of view is
consistent with the previous theoretical prediction \cite{Dai2009}. It is rather surprising that the AFM order observed in NMR does not seriously affect the behaviors in resistivity.
For both series of y=0.05 and 0.1, the value of $n$
approaches to 1 around $x$ = 0.6, and to 2 at $x$ = 0 for both series of $y$ = 0.05 and 0.1. It indicates that both systems exhibit non-FL behavior around $x$ = 0.6, while they behave as FL around $x$ = 0.
\begin{figure}[h]%
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.34
]%
{F3.pdf}
\caption{(Color online) (a) The temperature dependence of the Hall coefficient $R_{H}$ of
LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O with various $x$. The dashed
curve is the fitting of the data for $x$ = 0.4 as an example, by using the equation $R_{H}$ = -$\alpha_{0}$%
/($T$+$\Theta$). (b) The $x$ dependence of $R_{H}$ at 50 K for
LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O.}%
\label{f3}%
\end{figure}
Since Hall coefficient $R_{H}$ is sensitive to the change of electronic states, it has also been measured for LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O. Figure \ref{f3}(a) illustrates $T$
dependence of $R_{H}$ for the series of $y$ = 0.
For $x$ = 0 and 0.2, $\vert R_{H} \vert$ is very small and almost $T$-independent, which is consistent with the FL picture suggested by the measurements of resistivity. When $x$ exceeds 0.3, $R_{H}$ begins to show a strong $T$-dependence, namely,
$\vert R_{H} \vert$
is strongly enhanced at low $T$ and suddenly drops at $T_{c}$. Although this low-$T$ enhancement of $\vert R_{H} \vert$ is weakened once at $x$ = 0.7, it increases again at $x \geq$ 0.8.
A large drop of $R_{H}$
observed around 140 K at $x$ = 1 indicates the appearance of
SDW, which is consistent with the $\rho(T)$ data and the previous studies
\cite{Wang2009,Pallecchi2013}.
To visualize the correspondence to the phase diagram in Fig. \ref{f2}(a), we plot the $x$-dependence of $R_{H}$ at 50 K in Fig. \ref{f3}(b), as a measure of strength of $T$-dependence of $R_H$. Here we can find that SC2 dome (0 $\leq x \leq$ 0.25) shows a weak $T$ dependence of $R_H$, while AFM2 phase (0.3 $< x <$ 0.6) exhibits a strong $T$ dependence. Although the decrease in $R_H$ is slightly recovered at $x$ = 0.7 in SC1 dome, $R_H$ drops again in AFM1 phase above $x$ = 0.8.
The origin of the strong $T$-dependence of $R_H$ in the intermediate $x$-region may be explained by the following two aspects. The first one is related to the change of FS through P/As
substitution. Band calculation \cite{Kuroki2009} has demonstrated that the main
difference between FS topology of LaFeAsO and LaFePO is the hole pocket
located at ($\pi$,$\pi$,0), named $\gamma$ pocket. Since the $d_{X^{2}-Y^{2}}$
band dominates the FS at ($\pi$,$\pi$,$z$) across $z$ = 0 -- $\pi$ (2D
tube-like FS), the $\gamma$ pocket is observable in LaFeAsO. On the other hand, in LaFePO, the
$d_{Z^{2}}$ band which replaces from $d_{X^{2}-Y^{2}}$ touches the Fermi level only around ($\pi$,$\pi$,$\pi$) but not ($\pi$,$\pi$,0), forming a 3D FS pocket. Therefore, the $\gamma$ pocket in the $k_z$ = 0 plane is absent in LaFePO. If As is substituted by P, the energy of the $d_{X^{2}-Y^{2}}$ and $d_{Z^{2}}$ bands will interchange, and as a result the
$\gamma$ pocket will shrink in size and finally vanish. We believe that this reconstruction of FS affects the $T$ dependence of $R_{H}$. According to the results in Fig.~\ref{f3}, the interchange of FS topology is supposed to happen between $x$ = 0.3 and 0.8. Following the discussion about the presence of two different kinds of electronic states and their crossover in LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{0.9}$F$_{0.1}$ in our previous study \cite{Miyasaka2013}, we expect that there are two electronic states corresponding to two types of FS topology and the crossover of these two states causes the enhancement of $\vert R_{H} \vert$.
The second aspect is related to the AFM phase between $x$ = 0.3 and 0.6. Since the AFM order may create a charge gap at some part of FS, it may decrease the number of charge carriers and thus enhance $\vert R_{H} \vert$ at low $T$. Another fact is that the $T$ dependent $R_{H}$ of these samples can be roughly fitted with the equation $R_{H}$ =
-$\alpha_{0}$/($T$+$\Theta$), $\alpha_{0}$ and $\Theta$ being some
constants, which is derived from the SF theory \cite{Kontani1999,Nakajima2007}. This relation suggests that the strong $T$ dependence of $\vert R_{H} \vert$
is related to the presence of the backflow due to strong
electron-electron scattering arising from SF, which is consistent with the observation of low-energy SF above $T_{N}$ in these samples via NMR technique \cite{Kitagawa2014,Mukuda2}. Therefore, the enhancement of $\vert R_{H} \vert$ at $x$ = 0.3 -- 0.6 may be correlated to the
AFM order in AFM2 phase. A small decrease in $R_H$ at $x$ = 0.7 indicates a recover of FS which gives SC.
The second aspect, however, cannot be adopted in the case of the F-doped system with $y$ = 0.1 \cite{Miyasaka2013}. Although a similar enhancement of $\vert R_{H} \vert$ is observed near $x$ = 0.6, the electronic state is far from the AFM order. Therefore, the anomaly in $R_{H}$ near $x$ = 0.6 for the series of $y$ = 0.1 should be attributed to the band crossover (the first aspect).
\begin{figure}[h]%
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.5
]%
{F4.pdf}
\caption{(Color online) The phase diagram of LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{1-y}$F$_{y}$ \cite{Suzuki2009,Miyasaka2013,Luetkens2009}. The open dots indicate the data by C. Wang \textit{et al.} \cite{Wang2009} and S. Kitagawa \textit{et al.} \cite{Kitagawa2014}.}%
\label{f4}%
\end{figure}
Finally, we discuss the evolution of the electronic properties in LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{1-y}$F$_{y}$. The phase diagram of this system is
illustrated in Fig. \ref{f4}, which demonstrates the evolution of
two-SC-dome feature.
The two-dome structure at $y$ = 0 becomes
single-dome structure at $y$ = 0.1. It can be viewed as the
expansion of SC2 dome with increasing $y$ as a result of the suppression of AFM2 phase through F doping. The SF originating from AFM2 phase contributes to the development of SC at $x \sim$ 0.4 in the series of $y$ = 0.05. In the series of $y$ = 0.1, the As-content for the maximum strength of SF and the maximum value of $T_{c}$ is shifted to $x$ = 0.6.
It suggests that SC2 dome further expands and merges with SC1 dome, resulting in a single dome.
It is clear that the enhancement of $T_{c}$ in SC2 dome (or in the lower $x$ region) is commonly due to the increase of SF suggested by the change of $T$-dependence of $\rho(T)$, namely, the decrease of the exponent $n$ from 2. The enhancement of SF from the FL state has also been observed by NMR experiments \cite{Mukuda2014,Mukuda2}. Therefore, the SC in low-$x$ region is more likely to be induced by SF. In contrast, there is no clear correlation between $T_{c}$ and the exponent $n$ in larger $x$ (As-rich) region.
Here we note that the exponent $n$ approaches $\sim$1 around $x$ = 0.6 in all $y$ series (See Figure 2(d)). Although the band crossover is suggested in the region of 0.3 $\leq x \leq$ 0.8 for $y$ = 0 and at $x \sim$ 0.6 for $y$ = 0.1 by the Hall effect measurements, there is no theoretical model that connects $T$-linear $\rho(T)$ and band crossover. This, together with the SC mechanism in larger $x$ region, is a remaining puzzle.
\section{conclusion}
We have studied the transport properties of polycrystalline
LaFeP$_{1-x}$As$_{x}$O$_{1-y}$F$_{y}$ from $y$ = 0 to 0.1. For $y$ = 0, the new SC dome
(SC2 dome) has been found at $x$ = 0 -- 0.3, constructing a two-dome structure in the phase diagram.
With increasing $y$, SC2 dome expands and merges with SC1 dome.
Consequently, it results in a double-peak structure of $T_{c}(x)$ in the series of $y$ = 0.05 and a single SC dome in the series of $y$ = 0.1.
In addition to the AFM phase near LaFeAsO, another AFM phase is observed at $x$ = 0.3 -- 0.6 (AFM2 phase) via NMR in the series of $y$ = 0. Strong temperature dependence of $R_{H}$ observed in AFM2 phase suggests the AFM order opens a charge gap at some parts of FS.
F doping suppresses the AFM order in AFM2 phase and the residual SF induce SC, causing the expansion of SC2 dome.
The temperature dependence of $\rho(T)$ commonly approaches $T$-linear at $x \sim$ 0.6
in all $y$ series, together with the strong $T$-dependence of $R_{H}$. The evolution of the two SC domes could strongly support the scenario that there exist two different electronic states corresponding to the two FS topologies for the P-rich and the As-rich compositions, respectively. To clarify the SC mechanism for the latter composition regions, further studies are required.
\section*{acknowledgements}
We thank M. Ichimiya for technical support for the EDX measurements. We also thank K. Kuroki for fruitful discussions. This work is supported by JST, TRIP and IRON-SEA.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 9,889 |
While many economists have been (incorrectly) predicting a September rate hike from the Fed, Runnymede has been saying that the Fed won't hike rates since the beginning of the year and with recession on the horizon believe that there may be no rate hike in 2016 either.
With growth slowing around the world and inflation at zero, the Fed is unlikely to move rates off the zero level. In any case, the most surprising news from the September FOMC meeting is that one member predicted negative rates in 2015 and 2016! Yes you read that correctly. While the majority of the Fed is still predicting (poorly) a rate hike in 2015, there is one member that wants to go to negative rates. In Europe, the Swiss, Swedish and Danish central banks already have negative rates to stave off the risk of deflation.
What did Fed Chairman Janet Yellen have to say about the negative rate scenario?
Let me be clear that negative rates was not something that we considered very seriously at all today.
The key word in that sentence is today. Since Yellen has been hinting at a hike, it is unsurprising that they aren't considering this today.
I don't expect that we're going to be in a path of providing additional accommodation. But if the outlook were to change in a way that most of my colleagues and I do not expect, and we found ourselves with a weak economy that needed additional stimulus, we would look at all of our available tools. And that would be something that we would evaluate in that kind of context.
So there you have it. When the next recession comes around (likely 2016), the Fed will be choosing between QE4 (quantitative easing) and/or negative interest rates.
Ray Dalio, the founder of the world' largest hedge fund Bridgewater Associates, said the firm believes the next big move by the Fed will be to loosen US monetary policy, not tighten it. He warns of global deflation, slow global economic growth and the lingering risk aversion that is behind the proclivity to hold cash. He said that the Fed will react "to what happens," suggesting it should undertake more QE.
The next US recession will probably arrive a lot sooner than most investors expect and will likely see more desperate monetary experimentation from the Fed. Bob [Janjuah of Nomura] and I thought that this time we would see deeply negative interest rates in the US (and Europe). Sweden has led the way, dipping their toe below the water line with their current -0.35% policy rates but there will be more, much more along these lines. For if -0.35% is possible, why not - 3.5% or less? It goes without saying that deeply negative interest rates would be accompanied by a massively expanded QE4 in the US. The last seven years of exploding central bank balance sheets will seem like Bundesbank monetary austerity compared to what is to come.
We recently wrote about the weakening US economy in "They Say Recovery, We Say Recession." With this in mind, we wouldn't be surprised to see talk of monetary easing by the Fed to start gaining traction by the end of the year. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 6,094 |
{"url":"https:\/\/www.gradesaver.com\/textbooks\/math\/calculus\/calculus-10th-edition\/chapter-8-integration-techniques-l-hopital-s-rule-and-improper-integrals-8-1-exercises-page-513\/80","text":"## Calculus 10th Edition\n\nIt is not appropriate to substitute $u=x^2,\\quad x=\\sqrt{u},\\quad dx=du\/(2\/\\sqrt{u})$.\nThis is not appropriate because if we take $u=x^2$ then $x=\\pm\\sqrt{u}$. Only for nonnegative $x$ we could write $x=\\sqrt{u}$ and this substitution would work only if the region of integration he nonnegative part of the real line. Since within the given bounds, $-1$ and $1$, $x$ takes both positive and negative values, this substitution won't work.","date":"2018-05-21 05:18:33","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.9888026118278503, \"perplexity\": 166.71909063679036}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2018-22\/segments\/1526794863949.27\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20180521043741-20180521063741-00317.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
\section{Densities of the electron-nuclear system}
Consider the electron-nuclear Schr\"{o}dinger equation in atomic units:
\begin{align}\label{en_se}
\hat{H}=\frac{1}{2}\sum_{i}\nabla_i^2
+\sum_{I=1}\frac{1}{2M_I}\nabla_I^2
+\sum_{i>j}\frac{1}{|{\bf r}_i-{\bf r}_j|}
+\sum_{i,I}\frac{Z_I}{|{\bf r}_i-{\bf R}_I|}
+\sum_{I>J}
\frac{Z_I Z_J}{|{\bf R}_I-{\bf R}_J|}
\end{align}
for $i,j=1\ldots N_{\rm e}$ electrons
and $I,J=1\ldots N_{\rm n}$ nuclei, where $M_I$ is the nuclear
mass and $Z_I$ is the nuclear charge, assumed negative.
The wave function $\Psi(\dub{\bf r},\dub{s},\dub{\bf R},\dub{S},t)$,
where $\dub{s}$ and
$\dub{S}$ are electron and nuclear spin coordinates,
is determined in a finite (but large) box with periodic boundary conditions.
Conventional densities obtained from this wave function are spatially
constant and therefore not useful as variational quantities and a
different approach to density functional theory (DFT) is required.
The electron-nuclear wave function can be factored exactly\cite{Abedi2010} as:
\begin{align}\label{wf_fact}
\Psi(\dub{\bf r},\dub{s},\dub{\bf R},\dub{S},t)=
\Phi_{\dub{\bf R},\dub{S}}(\dub{\bf r},\dub{s},t)
\chi(\dub{\bf R},\dub{S},t),
\end{align}
where
$\sum_{\dub{s}}\int d\dub{\bf r}\,|\Phi_{\dub{\bf R},\dub{S}}(\dub{\bf r},\dub{s},t)|^2=1$
for all $\dub{\bf R}$, $\dub{S}$ and $t$.
Let $V_{\rm BO}(\dub{\bf R})$ be the Born-Oppenheimer (BO) potential energy
surface (PES)\footnote{The BO PES is defined to be the ground state electronic
eigenvalue obtained from (\ref{en_se}) where the nuclear kinetic operator
is removed and the dependence on $\dub{\bf R}$ is parametric.}
and suppose this has a unique minimum at $\dub{\bf R}^0$.
\subsection{Electronic densities}
A purely electronic wave function is obtained by evaluating
$\Phi_{\dub{\bf R}^0\dub{S}}(\dub{\bf r},\dub{s},t)$. From this, a variety of
familiar electronic densities may be obtained, for example
\begin{align}\label{rho_0}
\rho_{\dub{\bf R}^0}({\bf r},t)\equiv
\sum_{\dub{S}}\int d^3r_2\ldots d^3r_{N_{\rm e}}
\left|\Phi_{\dub{\bf R}^0,\dub{S}}(\dub{\bf r},\dub{s},t)\right|^2,
\end{align}
with similar definitions for the magnetization ${\bf m}({\bf r})$,
current density ${\bf j}({\bf r})$,
superconducting order parameter, $\chi({\bf r},{\bf r}')$ and so on.
Such a density is plotted in
Fig. \ref{hydrogen} for the hydrogen atom using various masses. Note that
this density is not a constant and also varies with the nuclear mass. The
densities for $M=\infty$ and the physical mass of a proton, $M\simeq 1836$, are
indistinguishable. However, the density is considerably different when the
nuclear and electronic masses are the same, $M=1$.
In the same figure is a plot of the density evaluated at a particular point
against $1/M$. The density decreases monotonically with
reciprocal mass and has a non-zero derivative at $1/M=0$.
A Kohn-Sham Hamiltonian defined to reproduce the density in
(\ref{rho_0}) as its ground state can be written as
\begin{align}\label{KS_fm_r}
\hat{H}_{\rm KS}=-\frac{1}{2}\nabla^2+V_{\dub{\bf R}^0}({\bf r})
+V_{\rm H}({\bf r})+V_{\rm xc}({\bf r})
+V_{\rm fmc}({\bf r},t),
\end{align}
where $V_{\dub{\bf R}^0}({\bf r})$ is the external potential
determined from the nuclei fixed at $\dub{\bf R}^0$;
$V_{\rm H}$ and $V_{\rm xc}$ are the usual Hartree and
exchange-correlation potential; and $V_{\rm fmc}$ is a correction term
to account for the finite mass of the nuclei. Note that this potential
vanishes in the infinite mass limit, i.e.
$\lim_{M\rightarrow\infty}V_{\rm fmc}({\bf r},t)=0$, and the regular
Kohn-Sham equations for a fixed external potential are recovered.
The finite mass correction potential is plotted in Fig. \ref{hydrogen} for
hydrogen with an artificially light $M=2$. Not surprisingly, the potential is
mainly repulsive.
Mass correction potentials corresponding to other densities can also be defined
such as a magnetic field ${\bf B}_{\rm fmc}({\bf r},t)$
or a pairing potential $\Delta_{\rm fmc}({\bf r},{\bf r}',t)$. In the latter
case, the finite mass correction constitutes the entire potential for
phonon-coupled superconductors.
\begin{figure}[ht]
\centerline{\includegraphics[width=0.95\textwidth]{hydrogen.pdf}}
\caption{On the left is a plot of the electronic charge density times $r^2$,
as defined in (\ref{rho_0}), versus $r$ for various nuclear masses.
In the middle is the charge density evaluated at $r=0$ and $r=1$
plotted as a function of $1/M$.
On the right is a plot of the finite mass correction potential,
evaluated for $M=2$, plotted
alongside the nuclear potential $-1/r$.}\label{hydrogen}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Phonon densities}
We now consider the expansion of the BO PES around $\dub{\bf R}^0$ and
assume that the leading order, apart from a constant, is quadratic:
\begin{align}
V_{\rm BO}(\dub{\bf R})=V_{\rm BO}(\dub{\bf R}^0)
+\frac{1}{2}\sum_{I\alpha,J\beta}u_{I\alpha}
K_{I\alpha,J\beta}u_{J\beta}+\cdots
\end{align}
where
$K_{I\alpha,J\beta}\equiv
\left.\partial^2V_{\rm BO}/\partial R_{I\alpha}
\partial R_{J\beta}\right|_{\dub{\bf R}^0}$,
$\dub{\bf u}\equiv \dub{\bf R}-\dub{\bf R}^0$
and $\alpha$, $\beta$ represent Cartesian directions.
The associated classical modes, called phonons, are determined by solving
the eigenvalue equation
\begin{align}\label{evphn}
K{\bf e}_n=\nu_n^2 M{\bf e}_n
\end{align}
for $\nu_n$ and ${\bf e}_n$,
where $M_{I\alpha,J\beta}\equiv M_I\delta_{IJ}\delta_{\alpha\beta}$
is the diagonal matrix of nuclear masses.
Let $\hat{p}_{I\alpha}\equiv-i\partial_{I\alpha}$ be the momentum operator
which acts on a particular nuclear coordinate, then
$[\hat{u}_{I\alpha},\hat{p}_{J\beta}]=i\delta_{IJ}\delta_{\alpha\beta}$.
We can also define
\begin{align}
\hat{\mathcal{U}}\equiv \mathcal{S}\hat{\bf u} \qquad
\hat{\mathcal{P}}\equiv \mathcal{T}\hat{\bf p},
\end{align}
where $\mathcal{S}=2^{-\frac{1}{2}}\nu^{\frac{1}{2}}{\bf e}^t$,
$\mathcal{T}=2^{-\frac{1}{2}}\nu^{-\frac{1}{2}}{\bf e}^t M^{-1}$
and $\nu$ is the diagonal matrix of eigenvalues,
then $[\hat{\mathcal{U}},\hat{\mathcal{P}}]=\frac{i}{2}I$ and
$\hat{H}^{\rm b}=\hat{\mathcal{P}}^t\nu\hat{\mathcal{P}}
+\hat{\mathcal{U}}^t\nu\hat{\mathcal{U}}$.
Writing
\begin{align}
\hat{d}=\hat{\mathcal{U}}+i\hat{\mathcal{P}} \qquad
\hat{d}^{\dag}=\hat{\mathcal{U}}^t-i\hat{\mathcal{P}}^t,
\end{align}
the Hamiltonian is cast in diagonal form
\begin{align}
\hat{H}^{\rm b}=\sum_i\nu_i\left(\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_i+\frac{1}{2}\right).
\end{align}
We will equate the {\em exact}
expectation values of nuclear positions, momenta and
bilinear combinations thereof with those
of a fictitious, non-interacting bosonic system.
Thus if the expectation values $\langle\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\rangle$ and
$\langle\hat{d}_i\rangle$
are known, then expectation values of the displacement
and momentum operators can be reconstructed from
$\langle\hat{\bf u}\rangle=\frac{1}{2}\mathcal{S}^{-1}
(\langle\hat{d}^{\dag}\rangle^t+\langle\hat{d}\rangle)$ and
$\langle\hat{\bf p}\rangle=\frac{i}{2}\mathcal{T}^{-1}
(\langle\hat{d}^{\dag}\rangle^t-\langle\hat{d}\rangle)$.
Bilinear expectation values
$\langle\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j^{\dag}\rangle$,
$\langle\hat{d}_i\hat{d}_j\rangle$ and
$\langle\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j\rangle$ can be used to
evaluate corresponding products of momentum and position.
For instance
\begin{align}
\langle\hat{\bf u}\otimes\hat{\bf p}\rangle
=\frac{i}{4}\mathcal{S}^{-1}\left\langle
(\hat{d}^{\dag})^t\hat{d}^{\dag}
-(\hat{d}^{\dag})^t(\hat{d})^t
-\hat{d}\hat{d}^{\dag}
+\hat{d}(\hat{d})^t\right\rangle(\mathcal{T}^{-1})^t.
\end{align}
Note that in the unperturbed harmonic oscillator ground state, all these
expectation values are zero.
A further point is that the Hermiticity of the second-quantized
bosonic system described
below renders some of these expectation values inaccessible, one of which
is the nuclear current density. By removing the Hermitian constraint this
restriction is lifted.
\section{Algebraic form of the electron and phonon Kohn-Sham equations}
In this section, the details of the Kohn-Sham Hamiltonian, such as
that in (\ref{KS_fm_r}), are removed and we focus on the algebraic
structure instead. This is done by considering only the matrix elements of
the electron and phonon Hamiltonians. In the following section all matrices
are taken to be finite in size.
\subsection{Kohn-Sham Hamiltonian for electrons}
The most general fermionic Kohn-Sham Hamiltonian of interest here has the form
\begin{align}\label{Hfm_ks}
\hat{H}_s^{\rm f}=
\sum_{i,j=1}^{n_{\rm f}}A_{ij}\hat{a}_i^{\dag}\hat{a}_j
+B_{ij}\hat{a}_i^{\dag}\hat{a}_j^{\dag}
-B_{ij}^*\hat{a}_i\hat{a}_j,
\end{align}
where $A$ is a Hermitian matrix representing (\ref{KS_fm_r});
$B$ is antisymmetric and
corresponds to the matrix elements of the superconducting pairing potential
$\Delta({\bf r},{\bf r}')$.
The sum runs to the number of fermionic basis vectors $n_{\rm f}$.
The matrix $A$ includes a chemical potential term
$A_{ij}\rightarrow A_{ij}+\mu\delta_{ij}$ which is used to fix the total
electronic number to $N_{\rm e}$.
The Hermitian eigenvalue problem
\begin{align}\label{hm_bog_fm}
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
A & B \\
B^{\dag} & -A^*
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\vec{U}_j \\
\vec{V}_j
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
=\varepsilon_j
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\vec{U}_j \\
\vec{V}_j
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
\end{align}
yields $2n_{\rm f}$ solutions.
However, if $\varepsilon_j$ and $(\vec{U}_j,\vec{V}_j)$ are an eigenpair, then
so are $-\varepsilon_j$ and $(\vec{V}_j^*,\vec{U}_j^*)$.
Now we select $n_{\rm f}$ eigenpairs
with each corresponding to either a positive or negative eigenvalues but
with its conjugate partner not in the set.
This choice will not affect the eventual Kohn-Sham ground state.
Let $U$ and $V$ be the $n_{\rm f}\times n_{\rm f}$ matrices with these
solutions arranged column-wise.
Orthogonality of the vectors is then expressed as
\begin{align}
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\,U\, & \,V^*\, \\
\,V\, & \,U^*\,
\end{matrix}\Bigg)^{\dag}
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\,U\, & \,V^*\, \\
\,V\, & \,U^*\,
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
=I,
\end{align}
which implies $U^{\dag}U+V^{\dag}V=I$ and
$U^{\dag}V^*+V^{\dag}U^*=0$. Completeness further implies
$UU^{\dag}+V^*V^t=I$ and $UV^{\dag}+V^*U^t=0$.
The Hamiltonian (\ref{Hfm_ks}) can now
be diagonalized with the aid of $U$ and $V$ via a Bogoliubov transformation:
\begin{align}\label{bog_tfm}
\begin{split}
\hat{\alpha}_j^{\dag}&=\sum_{i=1}^{n_{\rm f}} U_{ij}\hat{a}_i^{\dag}+V_{ij}\hat{a}_i \\
\hat{\alpha}_j&=\sum_{i=1}^{n_{\rm f}} U_{ij}^*\hat{a}_i+V_{ij}^*\hat{a}_i^{\dag},
\end{split}
\end{align}
in other words
\begin{align}
\hat{H}_s=\sum_{i=1}^{n_{\rm f}}\varepsilon_i\hat{\alpha}_i^{\dag}\hat{\alpha}_i+W_0,
\end{align}
where $W_0=-{\rm tr}(V\varepsilon V^{\dag})$. The fermionic algebra
is also preserved for $\hat{\alpha}$:
\begin{align}\label{alpha_acr}
\bigl\{\hat{\alpha}_i,\hat{\alpha}_j^{\dag}\bigr\}=\delta_{ij} \qquad
\bigl\{\hat{\alpha}_i,\hat{\alpha}_j\bigr\}=0 \qquad
\bigl\{\hat{\alpha}_i^{\dag},\hat{\alpha}_j^{\dag}\bigr\}=0.
\end{align}
\subsubsection{Non-interacting ground state}
Given $A$ and $B$, the matrices $U$, $V$ and $\varepsilon$ are fixed by
the Kohn-Sham-Bogoliubov equations (\ref{hm_bog_fm}).
What remains is to construct from these the eigenstates of
(\ref{Hfm_ks}) in the Fock space. To do so, one first needs
to find a normalized vacuum state which is anihilated by all the $\hat{\alpha}_j$.
Here it is (denoted $|\bar{0}\rangle$ so as to distinguish it from the normal vacuum state
$|0\rangle$):
\begin{align}
|\bar{0}\rangle\equiv\prod_{j=1}^{n_{\rm f}}\hat{U}_j\prod_{k=1}^{n_{\rm f}}
\hat{a}_k^{\dag}|0\rangle+\prod_{j=1}^{n_{\rm f}}\hat{V}_j^{\dag}|0\rangle,
\end{align}
where $\hat{U}_j\equiv\sum_i U_{ij}^*\hat{a}_i$ and
$\hat{V}_j^{\dag}\equiv\sum_i V_{ij}^*\hat{a}_i^{\dag}$. It is readily
verified that
$\hat{\alpha}_j|\bar{0}\rangle=0$
for all $j$; the vacuum has the correct normalisation
$\langle\bar{0}|\bar{0}\rangle=1$;
and the vacuum energy $\langle\bar{0}|H_s|\bar{0}\rangle=W_0$.
The non-interacting many-body ground state can be constructed
in analogy with the usual fermionic situation. Let $M$ be the number of
$\varepsilon_j<0$, then the ground state
\begin{align}\label{gs_fm}
|\Phi_0\rangle=\prod_{j=1}^M\hat{\alpha}_j^{\dag}|\bar{0}\rangle,
\end{align}
so that
\begin{align}
\hat{H}_s|\Phi_0\rangle=E_0^s|\Phi_0\rangle,
\end{align}
where $E_0^s=\sum_{j=1}^M\varepsilon_j+W_0$.
\subsection{Normal and anomalous densities}
To determine the densities, both normal and anomalous, one first has to find
the expectation values of pairs of $\hat{a}$ and $\hat{a}^{\dag}$. These in turn
are linear combinations of expectation values of pairs of $\hat{\alpha}$ and
$\hat{\alpha}^{\dag}$. Using the anti-commutation relations (\ref{alpha_acr})
and remembering that $\hat{\alpha}|\bar{0}\rangle=0$, we get
\begin{align}\label{alpha_mat_1}
\langle\Phi_0|\hat{\alpha}_i^{\dag}\hat{\alpha}_j|\Phi_0\rangle=
\begin{cases}
\delta_{ij} & i,j\le M \\
0 & i,j>M
\end{cases} \qquad
\langle\Phi_0|\hat{\alpha}_i\hat{\alpha}_j^{\dag}|\Phi_0\rangle=
\begin{cases}
0 & i,j\le M \\
\delta_{ij} & i,j>M
\end{cases}
\end{align}
and
\begin{align}\label{alpha_mat_2}
\langle\Phi_0|\hat{\alpha}_i^{\dag}\hat{\alpha}_j^{\dag}|\Phi_0\rangle=0
\qquad
\langle\Phi_0|\hat{\alpha}_i\hat{\alpha}_j|\Phi_0\rangle=0.
\end{align}
Equations (\ref{bog_tfm}), (\ref{alpha_mat_1}) and (\ref{alpha_mat_2})
give the normal and anomalous density matrices:
\begin{align}\label{dm_fm}
\langle\Phi_0|\hat{a}_i^{\dag}\hat{a}_j|\Phi_0\rangle=
\sum_{k=1}^M U_{ik}^*U_{jk}+\sum_{k=M+1}^{n_{\rm f}}V_{ik}V_{jk}^*
\end{align}
and
\begin{align}\label{dma_fm}
\langle\Phi_0|\hat{a}_i^{\dag}\hat{a}_j^{\dag}|\Phi_0\rangle=
\sum_{k=1}^M U_{ik}^*V_{jk}+\sum_{k=M+1}^{n_{\rm f}}V_{ik}U_{jk}^*.
\end{align}
\subsubsection{Time evolution}
What remains is to determine how the Kohn-Sham state evolves with time
in the time-dependent density function theory (TDDFT) version of the method.
The form of the ground state equations dictates
that of the time-dependent equations.
Thus if we assume that the matrices
$A$ and $B$ are now functions of time, then the time-dependent generalization
of the orbital equation (\ref{hm_bog_fm}) is
\begin{align}\label{hmt_bog_fm}
i\frac{\partial}{\partial t}
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\vec{U}_j \\
\vec{V}_j
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
=
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
A(t) & B(t) \\
B^{\dag}(t) & -A^*(t)
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\vec{U}_j \\
\vec{V}_j
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
\end{align}
with the Kohn-Sham state given by
$|\Phi(t)\rangle=\prod_{i=1}^M\hat{\alpha}_i^{\dag}(t)|\bar{0}\rangle$. It is
easy to show that this state satisfies
\begin{align}
i\frac{\partial |\Phi(t)\rangle}{\partial t}
=\left(\sum_{ij}A_{ij}(t)\hat{a}_i^{\dag}\hat{a}_j
+B_{ij}(t)\hat{a}_i^{\dag}\hat{a}_j^{\dag}
-B_{ij}^*(t)\hat{a}_i\hat{a}_j\right)|\Phi(t)\rangle
\end{align}
with $|\Phi(t=0)\rangle=|\Phi_0\rangle$. Note that the number
of `occupied orbitals' $M$ remains constant with time.
Here we have assumed that the system has
evolved from its ground state.
\subsection{Kohn-Sham Hamiltonian for phonons}
The most general bosonic Kohn-Sham Hamiltonian of interest here has the form
\begin{align}\label{Hbs_ks}
\hat{H}_s^{\rm b}=\sum_{ij}D_{ij}\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j
+\tfrac{1}{2}E_{ij}\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j^{\dag}
+\tfrac{1}{2}E_{ij}^*\hat{d}_i\hat{d}_j
+\sum_i F_i\hat{d}_i^{\dag}+F_i^*\hat{d}_i,
\end{align}
where $D$ is Hermitian and contains the kinetic energy operator;
$E$ is a complex symmetric matrix and $F$ is a complex vector.
Note that $\hat{H}_{\rm KS}^{\rm b}$ contains the anomalous terms
$\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j^{\dag}$
and $\hat{d}_i\hat{d}_j$.
In analogy with the fermionic case, this Hamiltonian can be diagonalized
\begin{align}\label{Hbs_bog}
\hat{H}_s^{\rm b}=\sum_{i=1}^{n_{\rm b}}
\omega_i\hat{\gamma}_i^{\dag}\hat{\gamma}_i+\Omega_0
\end{align}
with the Bogoliubov-type transformation
\begin{gather}\label{bog_bs}
\begin{split}
\hat{\gamma}_j=\sum_{i=1}^{n_{\rm b}} W_{ij}^*\hat{d}_i+X_{ij}^*\hat{d}_i^{\dag}+y_j^* \\
\hat{\gamma}_j^{\dag}=\sum_{i=1}^{n_{\rm b}} W_{ij}\hat{d}_i^{\dag}+X_{ij}\hat{d}_i+y_j,
\end{split}
\end{gather}
where $W$ and $X$ are complex matrices and $y$ is a complex vector. The index
$j$ runs from $1$ to twice the number of bosonic modes.
Requiring that
$\hat{\gamma}$ and $\hat{\gamma}^{\dag}$ obey bosonic algebra (the
complex numbers $y_j$ obviously commute with themselves and the operators,
maintaining the algebra) yields
\begin{align}
W^{\dag}W-X^{\dag}X=I \label{wx_cond1} \\
W^tX-X^tW=0. \label{wx_cond2}
\end{align}
After some manipulation, we
arrive at the Kohn-Sham-Bogoliubov equations for phonons:
\begin{align}\label{hm_bog_bs}
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
D & -E \\
E^* & -D^*
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\vec{W}_j \\
\vec{X}_j
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
=\omega_j
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\vec{W}_j \\
\vec{X}_j
\end{matrix}\Bigg).
\end{align}
The above equation can not be reduced to a symmetric eigenvalue problem because the
conditions (\ref{wx_cond1}) and (\ref{wx_cond2})
correspond to the indefinite inner product
$\eta={\rm diag}(1,\ldots,1,-1,\ldots,-1)$. Such matrix Hamiltonians can still
possess real eigenvalues \cite{Sudarshan1961,Mostafazadeh2002}.
\subsubsection{Real case}
We now consider the special case where the matrices $D$ and $E$ are real
symmetric and the vector $F$ is also real.
The bosonic Hamiltonian can be written as
\begin{align}\label{Hbs_ks_r}
\hat{H}_s^{\rm b}=\sum_{ij}D_{ij}\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j
+\tfrac{1}{2}E_{ij}\left(\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j^{\dag}
+\hat{d}_i\hat{d}_j\right)
+\sum_i F_i\left(\hat{d}_i^{\dag}+\hat{d}_i\right).
\end{align}
We now prove that under certain conditions, the matrix equation
(\ref{hm_bog_bs}) always possesses $n_{\rm b}$ solutions which satisfy
(\ref{wx_cond1}) and (\ref{wx_cond2}).
This requires the observation that if the vector $v\equiv(w,x)$ with
eigenvalue $\omega$ is a solution
to (\ref{hm_bog_bs}), then so is $\bar{v}\equiv(x,w)$ with eigenvalue
$-\omega$.
\begin{theorem}
Let
\begin{align*}
H=
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
D & -E \\
E & -D
\end{matrix}\Bigg),
\end{align*}
where $D$ and $E$ are real symmetric $n_{\rm b}\times n_{\rm b}$
matrices. Suppose $H$ has only real, non-degenerate eigenvalues
and every eigenvector $v$ satisfies $v^t\eta v\ne 0$. Then
\renewcommand{\theenumi}{\roman{enumi}}
\begin{enumerate}
\item The eigenvectors of $H$ may be chosen real.
\item The eigenvalue equation (\ref{hm_bog_bs})
has exactly $n_{\rm b}$ solutions
which satisfy the conditions (\ref{wx_cond1}) and (\ref{wx_cond2}).
\end{enumerate}
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof}
The proof that the eigenvectors may be chosen real is straight-forward, so
we now prove the second statement.
Let $v_1$ and $v_2$ be two real eigenvectors of $H$ with corresponding
real eigenvalues $\omega_1$ and $\omega_2$.
Now $Hv_1=\omega_1v_1\Rightarrow \eta Hv_1=\omega_1\eta v_1$
and because $\eta H$ is symmetric we have
$v_1^t\eta H=\omega_1v_1^t\eta$ and thus
$v_1^t\eta Hv_2=\omega_1v_1^t\eta v_2$.
We also have that $Hv_2=\omega_2v_2$ and so
$v_1^t\eta Hv_2=\omega_2v_1^t\eta v_2$.
Subtracting and using the fact that $\omega_1\ne\omega_2$
yields $v_1^t\eta v_2=0$. This is equivalent to the off-diagonal part
of condition (\ref{wx_cond1}). Consider an eigenvector $v=(w,x)$ of $H$.
Now $v^t\eta v\ne 0$, thus if $v^t\eta v<0$ then choose the other eigenvector
$\bar{v}$ for which $\bar{v}^t\eta \bar{v}>0$.
Such an eigenvector can be rescaled arbitrarily
to ensure $v^t\eta v=1$. This corresponds to the diagonal part of
(\ref{wx_cond1}) but is valid for only half of the total number of eigenvectors
since rescaling cannot change the sign of $v^t\eta v$.
These remaining vectors are discarded.
Condition (\ref{wx_cond2}) is trivially satisfied for the diagonal.
For any two vectors $v_i$ and $v_j$ suppose $v_j\ne\bar{v}_i$ then
$\bar{v}_j=v_k$ for some other $k$. The off-diagonal part of condition
(\ref{wx_cond1}) is satisfied for all vectors, thus
$v_i^t\eta v_k=v_i^t\eta \bar{v}_j=0$.
If $v_j=\bar{v}_i$ then one of these vectors will have been discarded.
\end{proof}
The theorem is easily extended to the case where $H$ has degenerate
eigenvalues.
There is no guarantee that the eigenvalues of $H$ are real since the matrix
is not Hermitian. We therefore need additional restrictions on the matrices
$D$ and $E$ to ensure this; the following conditions are sufficient but not
necessary. We use the notation $P\succ 0$ to mean that the symmetric matrix
$P$ is positive definite, and that $P\succ Q$ implies $P-Q\succ 0$.
\begin{theorem}\label{th_LH}
Let $D\succ 0$, and suppose that $E$ is a symmetric matrix. If any of the
following are true then $H$ has real eigenvalues:
\renewcommand{\theenumi}{\roman{enumi}}
\begin{enumerate}
\item $D\succ E D^{-1}E$.\label{pos1}
\item The largest eigenvalue of $(ED^{-1})^2$ is less than $1$.\label{pos2}
\item $z^{\dag}Dz>|z^{\dag}Ez|$ for all $z\in\mathbb{C}^{n_{\rm b}}$.\label{pos3}
\item $E\succ 0$ and $D\succ E$.\label{pos4}
\item $E\succ 0$ and $D^p\succ E^p$, where $p\ge 1$.\label{pos5}
\item $D^2\succ E^2$.\label{pos6}
\end{enumerate}
Furthermore, if all eigenvalues are non-zero then all eigenvectors
satisfy $v^t\eta v\ne 0$.
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof}
Let $\omega$ and $v$ be an eigenvalue and eigenvector of $H$.
The matrix
\begin{align*}
\eta H=
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
D & -E \\
-E & D
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
\end{align*}
is symmetric, therefore both sides of $v^{\dag}\eta H v=\omega v^{\dag}\eta v$
are real. The only requirement for $\omega$ to be real is that
$v^{\dag}\eta H v$ be non-zero, which is ensured so long as $\eta H\succ 0$.
This follows from either of the conditions \ref{pos1} or \ref{pos2}
(see, for example, Ref. \cite{Horn1990}).
Condition \ref{pos3} follows from Theorem 2.1 in Ref \cite{Fitzgerald1977}
and \ref{pos4} follows immediately.
The L\"{o}wner-Heinz theorem \cite{Zhan2002}
reduces condition \ref{pos5} to \ref{pos4}.
Finally, suppose $D^2\succ E^2$ where $E$ may not be positive definite.
$E$ is symmetric therefore $E^2\succ 0$ which means that there exists a symmetric matrix
$e\succ 0$ such that $e^2=E^2$. The L\"{o}wner-Heinz theorem
implies that $D\succ e$, therefore $z^{\dag}Dz > z^{\dag}ez$ for all complex
vectors $z\in\mathbb{C}^{n_{\rm b}}$. $E$ and $e$ can be simultaneously
diagonalized and for each eigenvalue $\lambda$ of $E$
there is a corresponding positive eigenvalue $|\lambda|$ of $e$.
In this eigenvector basis, it is easy to see
that $z^{\dag}ez\ge|z^{\dag}Ez|$ for all $z$ which in turn gives
condition \ref{pos3}, thereby proving \ref{pos6}.
In fact, all of the above conditions imply \cite{Fitzgerald1977} that
$\eta H\succ 0$. Thus if all eigenvalues $\omega\ne 0$ then $v^t\eta v\ne 0$.
\end{proof}
\begin{corollary}\label{cor_psd}
Let $D_0\succ 0$ and $E\succeq 0$ (positive semi-definite) then $D=D_0+E$ yields
real eigenvalues for $H$.
\end{corollary}
\begin{theorem}
Let $D$ be an arbitrary real symmetric matrix and let $f$ be a real function
such that $|f(x)|<|x|$ for all $x\in\mathbb{R}$, then by setting $E=f(D)$
(in the usual `function of matrices' sense \cite{Rinehart1955})
$H$ has real eigenvalues and every eigenvector $v$ satisfies $v^t\eta v\ne 0$.
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof}
We first note that
\begin{align*}
H^2=
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
D^2-E^2 & [E,D] \\
[E,D] & D^2-E^2
\end{matrix}\Bigg).
\end{align*}
It is obvious for any $E=f(D)$ that $[E,D]=0$ and $D^2\succ E^2$.
Therefore all the eigenvalues of $H^2$ are real and positive.
We conclude that the eigenvalues of $H$ are real and non-zero,
thus $v^t\eta v\ne 0$ follows from Theorem \ref{th_LH}.
\end{proof}
\begin{theorem}
Let $D$ be a real symmetric matrix which has no zero eigenvalues and which
commutes with all the
matrices in a group representation $S=\{S_i\}$.
Further suppose that any degenerate eigenvalues of $D$ correspond only to
irreducible representations of $S$ (i.e. there are no accidental degeneracies).
If $E$ is a real symmetric matrix which also commutes with all the matrices
in $S$ then there exists a $\xi>0$ such that if $E\rightarrow \xi E$ then $H(\xi)$
has real eigenvalues.
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof}
From the properties of the determinant applied to blocked matrices, the
eigenvalues of $H^2$ are also the eigenvalues of
$Q\coloneqq D^2-E^2+[E,D]$.
Since $[D,S_i]=[E,S_i]=0$ for all $i$ then $D^2$, $E^2$, $[E,D]$ and thus
$Q(\xi)$ also commute with $S_i$.
Schur's lemma applies equally well to non-Hermitian matrices therefore the
degeneracies of $Q(\xi)$ are not lost as $\xi$ increases.
We also note that the roots of a polynomial depend continuously on its
coefficients and hence the eigenvalues of $Q(\xi)$ depend continuously on $\xi$.
From the conjugate root theorem, if $Q(\xi)$ has a complex eigenvalue then
it must also have its complex conjugate as an eigenvalue.
For sufficiently small $\xi>0$ the eigenvalues of $D^2$ cannot become
complex because this would require lifting of a degeneracy. Also
because of continuity and because
$D^2$ has strictly positive eigenvalues, a sufficiently small
$\xi>0$ will keep them positive. Hence the eigenvalues of $H(\xi)$ are real.
\end{proof}
Once these equations are solved, the vector $y$ is determined from
\begin{align}\label{hm_bog_bs2}
y=\omega^{-1}\left(W^t-X^t\right)F,
\end{align}
where $\omega={\rm diag}(\omega_1,\ldots,\omega_{n_{\rm b}})$.
The constant term in (\ref{Hbs_bog}) given by
\begin{align}
\Omega_0=-{\rm tr}\left(X\omega X^{\dag}\right)-y^{\dag}\omega y.
\end{align}
\subsubsection{Existence and nature of the vacuum state}
We now show that the state which is annihilated by all the $\hat{\gamma}_i$
exists. Let
\begin{align}
\hat{w}_j\coloneqq\sum_{i=1}^{n_{\rm b}} W_{ij}^*\hat{d}_i \qquad
\hat{x}_j^{\dag}\coloneqq\sum_{i=1}^{n_{\rm b}} X_{ij}^*\hat{d}_i^{\dag}
\end{align}
then
\begin{align}
\left[\hat{w}_j,\hat{x}_j^{\dag}\right]=\sum_{i=1}^{n_{\rm b}} W_{ij}^*X_{ij}^*
\eqqcolon \tau_j.
\end{align}
Now consider the eigenvalue equation
\begin{align}\label{eig_bs}
\left(\hat{w}_j+\hat{x}_j^{\dag}\right)|\bar{0}_j\rangle=-y_j^*|\bar{0}_j\rangle.
\end{align}
Using the ansatz
\begin{align}\label{coh_bs}
|\bar{0}_j\rangle=\sum_{n=0}^{\infty}
\frac{\kappa_n^j}{n!}(\hat{x}_j^{\dag})^n|0\rangle,
\end{align}
we obtain a recurrence relation
\begin{align}
\kappa_n^j=\left[-y_j^*\kappa_{n-1}^j-(n-1)\kappa_{n-2}^j\right]/\tau_j
\end{align}
with $y_j^*\kappa_0^j=-\kappa_1^j\tau_j$ and $\kappa_0^j$ chosen so that
$\langle\bar{0}_j|\bar{0}_j\rangle=1$. Note that if
$\kappa_n^j=1$ for all $n$ then (\ref{coh_bs}) is a coherent state.
The vacuum state
\begin{align}\label{gs_bs}
|\bar{0}\rangle=\zeta\hat{S}\bigotimes_{j=1}^{n_{\rm b}}|\bar{0}_j\rangle,
\end{align}
where $\zeta$ is a normalization constant and $\hat{S}$ is the symmetrizing operator,
is annihilated by all $\hat{\gamma}_j$ and, because $\omega_j>0$ for all $j$,
is also the bosonic Kohn-Sham
ground state,
which is the lowest energy Fock space eigenstate of (\ref{Hbs_ks}), as required.
\subsubsection{Phononic observables and time evolution}
To make the theory useful, observables which are products of the original
$c_i$ and $c_i^{\dag}$ operators have to be computed. After some straight-forward
algebra one finds that linear operators may be evaluated using
\begin{align}\label{bs_obs1}
Y_i\coloneqq\langle\bar{0}|\hat{d}_i|\bar{0}\rangle=
\langle\bar{0}|\hat{d}_i^{\dag}|\bar{0}\rangle^*=
\sum_{j=1}^{n_{\rm b}} X_{ij}^*y_j-W_{ij}y_j^*.
\end{align}
Observables which are quadratic are more complicated:
\begin{align}\label{bs_obs2}
\begin{split}
\langle\bar{0}|\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j|\bar{0}\rangle=
Y_i^*Y_j+\left(XX^{\dag}\right)_{ij} \qquad
\langle\bar{0}|\hat{d}_i\hat{d}_j^{\dag}|\bar{0}\rangle=
Y_iY_j^*+\left(WW^{\dag}\right)_{ij} \\
\langle\bar{0}|\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j^{\dag}|\bar{0}\rangle=
Y_i^*Y_j^*-\left(XW^{\dag}\right)_{ij} \qquad
\langle\bar{0}|\hat{d}_i\hat{d}_j|\bar{0}\rangle=
Y_iY_j-\left(WX^{\dag}\right)_{ij}.
\end{split}
\end{align}
The extension to the time-dependent case follows the same procedure as that for
fermions, namely that the matrices and vector $D$, $E$ and $F$
in (\ref{Hbs_ks}) become time-dependent as, consequently,
do $\hat{\gamma}_i^{\dag}$ and $|\bar{0}\rangle$ after solving the equation of
motion
\begin{align}\label{hmt_bog_bs1}
i\frac{\partial}{\partial t}
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\vec{W}_j \\
\vec{X}_j
\end{matrix}\Bigg)=
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
D(t) & -E(t) \\
E^*(t) & -D^*(t)
\end{matrix}\Bigg)
\Bigg(\begin{matrix}
\vec{W}_j \\
\vec{X}_j
\end{matrix}\Bigg).
\end{align}
This time evolution is not unitary but rather pseudo-unitary
\cite{Mostafazadeh2002b} and will not preserve ordinary
vector lengths in general but will preserve the indefinite inner product.
The vector $y$ can be determined analogously from
\begin{align}\label{hmt_bog_bs2}
i\frac{\partial y}{\partial t}=\left(W^t(t)-X^t(t)\right)F(t).
\end{align}
Evolving (\ref{hmt_bog_bs1}) and (\ref{hmt_bog_bs2}) in time
is equivalent to doing the same for the second-quantized Hamiltonian and
the Fock space state vector:
\begin{align}
i\frac{\partial |\Psi(t)\rangle}{\partial t}
=\left(\sum_{ij}D_{ij}(t)\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j
+\tfrac{1}{2}E_{ij}(t)\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j^{\dag}
+\tfrac{1}{2}E_{ij}^*(t)\hat{d}_i\hat{d}_j
+\sum_i F_i(t)\hat{d}_i^{\dag}+F_i^*(t)\hat{d}_i\right)|\Psi(t)\rangle.
\end{align}
\subsubsection{Numerical aspects}
In order to determine the phonon ground state or perform
time-evolution with (\ref{hmt_bog_bs1}) for real systems,
we require a numerical algorithm for finding the eigenvalues and eigenvectors
of (\ref{hm_bog_bs}). This is not a symmetric or Hermitian problem and
while a general non-symmetric eigenvalue solver could be employed,
a simple modification of Jacobi's method can be used to diagonalize the
matrix efficiently.
Let $G(i,j,\theta)$ be a Givens rotation matrix, i.e. for $i<j$,
$G_{kk}=1$ for $k\ne i,j$, $G_{kk}=\cos\theta$ for $k=i,j$,
$G_{ji}=-G_{ij}=\sin\theta$ and zero otherwise. Further define the
hyperbolic Givens rotation, $G^{\rm h}(i,j,\theta)$, which is the same except that
$G_{kk}=\cosh\theta$ and $G_{ji}=G_{ij}=\sinh\theta$.
The Givens and hyperbolic Givens rotations can be combined to diagonalize the
matrix in (\ref{hm_bog_bs}).
For $i<j$ where $1<j\le 2N_{\rm b}$ we can define a combined Givens
rotation, $G^{\rm c}(i,j,\theta)$, as
$G^{\rm c}=G^{\rm h}$ for $i\le N_{\rm b}$ and $j>N_{\rm b}$;
and
$G^{\rm c}(i,j,\theta)=G(i,j,\theta)G(i+N_{\rm b},j+N_{\rm b},\theta)$
for $i,j\le N_{\rm b}$.
\begin{definition}
A pair of real, symmetric matrices $A$, $B$ is called positive definite
if there exists a real $\mu$ such that $A-\mu B$ is positive definite.
\end{definition}
\begin{theorem}
Let $\eta H$ and $\eta$ be a positive definite pair. Then applying the
combined Givens rotations to $H$
with row-cyclic strategy results in convergence to
a diagonal matrix.
\end{theorem}
\noindent See Veseli\'{c}\cite{veselic93} for proof.
\subsubsection{Solids}
Solid state calculations normally use periodic boundary conditions and
Bloch orbitals. Phonon displacements are of the form
\begin{align}\label{uphn}
\mathcal{U}_{n{\bf q}}({\bf R})=N_q^{-1/2}
2^{-\frac{1}{2}}\nu^{\frac{1}{2}}{\bf e}_{n{\bf q}}e^{i{\bf q}\cdot{\bf R}},
\end{align}
where ${\bf q}$ is a reciprocal lattice vector, $\alpha$ labels a phonon
branch, ${\bf R}$ is a primitive lattice vector
and ${\bf e}_{n{\bf q}}$ is determined along with
$\nu_{n{\bf q}}$
by solving (\ref{evphn}) for each ${\bf q}$-vector individually.
These displacements are thus complex-valued but by
noting that $\nu_{n-{\bf q}}=\nu_{n{\bf q}}$ and
${\bf e}_{n-{\bf q}}={\bf e}_{n{\bf q}}^*$
we can form their real-valued counterparts
\begin{align*}
\mathcal{U}_{n{\bf q}}^{(+)}({\bf R})=
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\left(\mathcal{U}_{n{\bf q}}({\bf R})
+\mathcal{U}_{n-{\bf q}}({\bf R})\right) \qquad
\mathcal{U}_{n{\bf q}}^{(-)}({\bf R})=
\frac{-i}{\sqrt{2}}\left(\mathcal{U}_{n{\bf q}}({\bf R})
-\mathcal{U}_{n-{\bf q}}({\bf R})\right).
\end{align*}
These are the displacements to which $\hat{d}_i$ and $\hat{d}_i^{\dag}$
refer and will thus keep the phonon Hamiltonian in (\ref{Hbs_ks_r}) real.
An approximate
electron-phonon vertex is obtained as a by-product of a phonon calculation:
\begin{align}
\Gamma_{i{\bf k}+{\bf q},j{\bf k},n{\bf q}}
=\frac{1}{2}\langle\varphi_{j{\bf k}+{\bf q}}|
\partial\hat{V_s}/\partial\mathcal{U}_{n{\bf q}}|\varphi_{i{\bf k}}\rangle
\end{align}
where $\hat{V_s}$ is the Kohn-Sham potential and the derivative is with
respect to the magnitude of the displacement in (\ref{uphn}).
This is not Hermitian in the indices $i$ and $j$ because the potential
derivative corresponds to a complex displacement.
The vertex associated with $\mathcal{U}_{n{\bf q}}^{(\pm)}$ has the form
\begin{align}\label{hvertex}
\bordermatrix{
& {\bf k}-{\bf q} & {\bf k} & {\bf k}+{\bf q} \cr
{\bf k}-{\bf q} & 0 & \Gamma_{n-{\bf q}} & 0 \cr
{\bf k} & \Gamma_{n-{\bf q}}^{\dag} & 0 & \Gamma_{n{\bf q}} \cr
{\bf k}+{\bf q} & 0 & \Gamma_{n{\bf q}}^{\dag} & 0}
\end{align}
which is a Hermitian matrix for all ${\bf q}$ and $n$.
One final point regarding solids is the requirement of keeping the
electronic densities
lattice periodic. This implies that the potentials $A$ and $B$ should only
couple the Bloch vector ${\bf k}$ with itself.
\section{Mean-field functionals}
The final (and possibly most difficult) step in this
theory is the determination of
potentials represented by the matrices $A$, $B$, $D$, $E$ and vector $F$.
In principle, these are chosen to reproduce the exact conditional density
$\rho_{\dub{\bf R}^0}({\bf r},t)$ in (\ref{rho_0}) as well as the
phononic expectation values $\langle\hat{d}_i\rangle$,
$\langle\hat{d}_i^{\dag}\hat{d}_j\rangle$, etc., which themselves reproduce
exact nuclear positions, momenta and so on.
In practice, these potentials need to be approximated and here we will employ
a simple mean-field approach by considering the lowest order diagrams
which enter the self-energy. These are plotted in Fig. \ref{fig_fd} and
involve the normal and anomalous, Kohn-Sham
electronic Green's functions
$i\mathcal{G}_{ij}(t,t')
=\langle\Phi_0|T[\hat{a}_i(t)\hat{a}_j^{\dag}(t')]|\Phi_0\rangle$ and
$i\mathcal{F}_{ij}(t,t')
=\langle\Phi_0|T[\hat{a}_i^{\dag}(t)\hat{a}_j^{\dag}(t')]|\Phi_0\rangle$, etc.,
as well as the phonon propagators
$i\mathcal{C}_i(t)=\langle\bar{0}|\hat{d}_i^{\dag}(t)|\bar{0}\rangle$, etc.
and
$i\mathcal{D}_{ij}(t,t')
=\langle\bar{0}|T[\hat{d}_i(t)\hat{d}_j^{\dag}(t')]|\bar{0}\rangle$, etc.
These
quantities are evaluated around their respective Kohn-Sham ground states,
(\ref{gs_fm}) and (\ref{gs_bs}).
The quantity $A_0$ is given by the matrix elements of the single particle
Hamiltonian in (\ref{KS_fm_r}) without $V_{\rm fmc}$, and $D_0=\nu$.
\vskip 0.5cm
\begin{figure}[ht]
\centerline{\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{diagrams.pdf}}
\caption[]{The lowest order contributions to the self-energy
from the vertex
$\Gamma=\raisebox{-2pt}{\mbox{\includegraphics[height=11pt]{Gamma.pdf}}}$,
the normal and anomalous Green's functions
$\mathcal{G}={\mbox{\includegraphics[height=6pt]{G.pdf}}}$ and
$\mathcal{F}={\mbox{\includegraphics[height=6pt]{F.pdf}}}$,
and the phonon propagators
$\mathcal{C}={\mbox{\includegraphics[height=7pt]{C.pdf}}}$ and
$\mathcal{D}={\mbox{\includegraphics[height=7pt]{D.pdf}}}$.
These are evaluated in the static limit as mean-field potentials for
$A$, $B$, $D$, $E$ and $F$.}\label{fig_fd}
\end{figure}
Explicit expressions for the potentials are found by substituting
instantaneous densities or density matrices
of the electrons and phonons for the retarded correlation
functions in the diagrams.
For example, the electronic state would be affected by the phonon system via
the expectation values of the phonon operators, yielding a contribution to $A$:
\begin{align}
A_{ij}^2(t)=\sum_k\Gamma_{ijk}\left(\langle\hat{d}_k^{\dag}\rangle_t
+\langle\hat{d}_k\rangle_t\right),
\end{align}
where the expectation values are evaluated with (\ref{bs_obs1}) and
$\Gamma_{ijk}$ is shorthand for the vertex in (\ref{hvertex}).
At first glance, the matrix $A^3$ appears to be an improper part of the
self-energy which is already accounted for by $A^2$. Such a term is still valid
for solids with since $A^2$ can only ever couple ${\bf k}$ with itself.
However, the Green's function line in $A^3$ can carry momentum ${\bf q}\ne 0$
and yet have the potential preserve lattice periodicity.
The mean-field potential that gives rise to superconductivity is a little more
complicated:
\begin{align}
B_{ij}^2(t)=-\sum_{klmn}\Gamma_{ikl}\Gamma_{mjn}
\left(\langle\hat{a}_m^{\dag}\hat{a}_k^{\dag}\rangle_t
+\langle\hat{a}_m\hat{a}_k\rangle_t\right)
\left(\langle\hat{d}_l^{\dag}\hat{d}_n^{\dag}\rangle_t
+\langle\hat{d}_l^{\dag}\hat{d}_n\rangle_t
+\langle\hat{d}_l\hat{d}_n^{\dag}\rangle_t
+\langle\hat{d}_l\hat{d}_n\rangle_t\right),
\end{align}
where the density matrices are determined from (\ref{dma_fm}) and
(\ref{bs_obs2}).
The potential represented by $F$ would be
\begin{align}
F_k^1(t)=\sum_{ij}\Gamma_{ijk}\gamma_{ij}(t)
\end{align}
where $\gamma_{ij}(t)=\langle\hat{a}_i^{\dag}\hat{a}_j\rangle_t$
is the electronic one-reduced density matrix calculated using (\ref{dm_fm}).
The matrix $E^1$ is evaluated as:
\begin{align}\label{mat_e1}
E_{ij}^1(t)=\sum_{klmn}\Gamma_{kli}\Gamma_{mnj}
\gamma_{kn}(t)\gamma_{ml}(t).
\end{align}
This matrix should be positive semi-definite in order to satisfy
Corollary \ref{cor_psd} and guarantee real eigenvalues for the bosonic
Hamiltonian in (\ref{Hbs_ks_r}).
\begin{lemma}
The matrix $E^1$ is positive semi-definite.
\end{lemma}
\begin{proof}
We first note that $\Gamma_{kli}=\Gamma_{lki}^*$ for all $i$, i.e. $\Gamma$ is
Hermitian in the electronic indices.
Since $\Gamma_{kli}\Gamma_{mnj}\gamma_{kn}\gamma_{ml}$ and
$\Gamma_{lki}\Gamma_{nmj}\gamma_{lm}\gamma_{nk}
=\Gamma_{kli}^*\Gamma_{mnj}^*\gamma_{ml}^*\gamma_{kn}^*$
both appear in the sum in (\ref{mat_e1}) then
$E^1$ must be real and symmetric.
Let $v$ be a real vector of the same dimension as $E^1$,
then $R_{kl}\equiv\sum_i v_i \Gamma_{kli}$ is also Hermitian.
The quantity $s\equiv v^t E^1 v$ can be written as
$s={\rm tr}(R^{\dag}\gamma R^{\dag}\gamma)$.
Let $U$ be the unitary transformation that diagonalizes $\gamma$ and
define ${\rm diag}(\tilde{\gamma})\equiv U^{\dag}\gamma U$ and
$\tilde{R}\equiv U^{\dag}RU$, then
$s={\rm tr}(\tilde{R}^{\dag}\tilde{\gamma}\tilde{R}^{\dag}\tilde{\gamma})$
is left invariant.
One of the $N$-representable properties\cite{coleman63} of $\gamma$
is that its eigenvalues satisfy $0\le\tilde{\gamma}_i\le 1$.
Then $s=\sum_{kl}|\tilde{R}_{kl}|^2\tilde{\gamma}_k\tilde{\gamma}_l\ge 0$.
Since $v$ was chosen arbitrarily we conclude that
$E^1$ is positive semi-definite.
\end{proof}
\section{Summary}
We have defined Kohn-Sham equations for fermions and bosons which are
designed to reproduce conditional electronic densities as well as
expectation values of the phonon creation and annihilation operators.
Sufficient conditions which guarantee real eigenvalues for the bosonic system
were found.
In practice, the potential matrix elements $A$, $B$, $D$, $E$ and $F$
can be approximated using mean-field potentials
inspired from a diagrammatic expansion of the self-energy. The electron and
phonon density matrices are determined either self-consistently in a
ground state calculation or via simultaneous propagation in the time-dependent
case. Any solution obtained in this way is thus non-perturbative.
These equations can be implemented in both finite and solid-state codes
using quantities determined from linear-response phonon calculations.
\section*{Acknowledgments}
We would like to thank James Annett for pointing out the similarity of
our bosonic analysis to that in Ref. \cite{Colpa1978}. We acknowledge
DFG for funding through SPP-QUTIF and SFB-TRR227.
\bibliographystyle{unsrt}
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{"url":"https:\/\/brilliant.org\/problems\/is-this-a-theorem-2\/","text":"# Is this a theorem?\n\nGeometry Level 3\n\nA line intersects the sides $$AB,BC,CA$$ of a triangle $$ABC$$ at $$P,Q$$ and $$R$$, respectively.\n\nWhat is the value of $$\\dfrac{AP}{BP} \\cdot \\dfrac{BQ}{CQ} \\cdot \\dfrac{CR}{RA}$$?\n\n\u00d7","date":"2017-05-24 10:04:44","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.7159939408302307, \"perplexity\": 444.5786798230415}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2017-22\/segments\/1495463607811.15\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20170524093528-20170524113528-00115.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
Q: How to append column total to pandas dataframe every 4th row? I have the following dataframe with weekly numbers for column A, B and C:
week A B C
0 1 0 0
1 1 0 1
2 0 1 0
3 1 1 1
4 1 0 0
5 0 0 1
6 0 1 0
7 1 1 1
8 1 0 0
9 0 0 1
10 0 1 0
11 1 1 1
and I want to append the dataframe with a row consisting of the monthly total for each column (so the previous 4 weeks together), with a wanted outcome something like this:
week A B C
0 1 0 0
1 1 0 1
2 0 1 0
3 1 1 1
total 3 2 2
4 1 0 0
5 0 0 1
6 1 1 0
7 2 1 0
total 4 2 1
8 1 0 0
9 0 0 1
10 0 0 0
11 1 0 1
total 2 0 2
I have used
df.groupby(df.index // 4).sum(numeric_only=True, axis=0)
to get the monthly numbers but I do not know how to get it appended in the df.
Any ideas? Thanks
A: pd.concat
Iterating through the groupby object allows us to append the total row to each sub-dataframe. By passing this through a dictionary comprehension/pd.concat we conveniently get month added as a level in the index to disambiguate the 'total' identifier in the index.
pd.concat({
m: d.append(d.sum().rename('total'))
for m, d in df.groupby(df.index // 4)
}, names=['month'])
A B C
month week
0 0 1 0 0
1 1 0 1
2 0 1 0
3 1 1 1
total 3 2 2
1 4 1 0 0
5 0 0 1
6 0 1 0
7 1 1 1
total 2 2 2
2 8 1 0 0
9 0 0 1
10 0 1 0
11 1 1 1
total 2 2 2
A: I assume that week in your data sample is a regular column
(not index).
Your code generates only "sum" rows for each group, but
the proper solution is to:
*
*generate a "sum" row for the current group,
*return the original group with this row appended.
To do it define a function adding the "total" row to the current
group and returning it:
def addTotal(grp):
wrk = grp.loc[:, 'A':'C'].sum().append(
pd.Series(['total'], index=['week'])).rename('total')
return grp.append(wrk)
Then group the source DataFrame as you did so far and apply this
function:
result = df.groupby(df.index // 4, group_keys=False)\
.apply(addTotal).reset_index(drop=True)
(an additional step is to reset the index).
The result, for your data sample, is:
week A B C
0 0 1 0 0
1 1 1 0 1
2 2 0 1 0
3 3 1 1 1
4 total 3 2 2
5 4 1 0 0
6 5 0 0 1
7 6 0 1 0
8 7 1 1 1
9 total 2 2 2
10 8 1 0 0
11 9 0 0 1
12 10 0 1 0
13 11 1 1 1
14 total 2 2 2
Note: Your data sample and the expected result are inconsistent.
E.g. row for week == 7, column A has:
*
*1 in data sample,
*but 2 in the expected result.
This explains some discrepancies between your expected result and mine.
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Части Корниловской ударной группы 1-й пехотной дивизии (позже — Корниловской дивизии) 1-го армейского корпуса Добровольческой армии, входившего в её состав, пребывали в городе Орле в течение недели с 13 октября (30 сентября) по 20 октября (7 октября) 1919 года.
В соответствии с Московской директивой А. И. Деникина, командование Вооружённых сил Юга России отводило Орлу роль одного из ключевых пунктов на пути Добровольческой армии к Москве.
Орёл был взят с боями военнослужащими Корниловских полков 13 октября 1919 года, вскоре после чего полностью перешёл под контроль белогвардейцев.
Несмотря на краткий срок пребывания в городе, корниловскому командованию удалось сформировать местную администрацию, организовать набор добровольцев в свои ряды, способствовать восстановлению свободной торговли в Орле.
В ночь на 20 октября 1919 года, избегая окружения прибывшим под Орёл подкреплением противника, корниловцы по приказу командования 1-го армейского корпуса ВСЮР были вынуждены оставить город.
Ретроспектива
К началу октября 1919 года части Добровольческой армии, которой, согласно Московской директиве, предписывалось наступать на Москву через Курск, Орёл и Тулу, вплотную подошла к границам Орловской губернии, не встречая серьёзного сопротивления со стороны красных. 2 октября марковцы без боя заняли Ливны, развернув наступление на города Кромы и Дмитровск. 10 октября корниловцы овладели Кромами и были готовы к взятию Орла. На следующий день они находились уже в 20 вёрстах от города. 55-я стрелковая дивизия 13-й армии, противостоявшая наступлению белых, была легко разгромлена благодаря переходу на сторону противника начальника её штаба, бывшего полковника А. А. Лаурица, а её начальник А. В. Станкевич — прилюдно повешен добровольцами.
Уже 9 октября по решению Реввоенсовета 13-й армии в Орле был создан Городской Совет обороны, объявленный высшим органом власти в городе. Его штаб организовали в доме № 14 по улице Введенской (ныне — 7-го Ноября). В подчинение Совету обороны перешли все войска, расположенные в городе и районе, и все гражданские власти. По приказу Совета обороны в Орле был введён комендантский час с запретом на хождение по улицам после 10 часов вечера без специальных пропусков, и развёрнута деятельность выездной секции трибунала. Дела, поступавшие на рассмотрение трибунала, предписывалось рассматривать, как максимум, в течение 24 часов. Третий пункт приказа гласил:
Всякое неисполнение приказа, расхлябанность и нераспорядительность со стороны гражданских и военных властей будет караться самым беспощадным образом, вплоть до расстрела.
Вступление в город
По описанию обозревателя газеты «Орловский вестник», впоследствии открывшейся в Орле, с полудня в городе «опять заговорили пушки, послышалась характерная пулемётная дробь»: белые подошли к городу настолько близко, что их артиллерийские снаряды в эти часы уже пролетали «через город, над домами».
Корниловские полки — 1-й, 2-й и 3-й — наступали на Орёл порознь, но на незначительном расстоянии друг от друга. Как отмечал Левитов, «с отличных наблюдательных пунктов противника картина движения трёх полков должна [была] быть хорошо видна». Он же впоследствии вспоминал: «Артиллерия, обозы и растянутое движение бронепоездов по линии железной дороги красочно говорили о силе и мощи нашего удара», что, по его мнению, произвело большое впечатление на «уже сильно потрёпанные советские части» и заставило их покинуть свои окопы без штыковой схватки. К 16 часам со стороны Курских улиц в Орёл первыми вступили части 1-го Корниловского полка, завязав уличные бои с остатками разбитой 13-й советской армии. В 18 часов с юго-запада красных атаковал 3-й Корниловский полк. Городские предместья, охваченные огнём, покрылись многочисленными трупами и ранеными. С наступлением позднего вечера сопротивление красных было сломлено окончательно.
По свидетельству Левитова, вступавших в Орёл корниловцев встречали толпы народа; «гудели колокола, духовенство в праздничных облачениях стояло около церквей». Капитан К. Л. Капнин, на момент событий того периода возглавлявший штаб Корниловской ударной группы (впоследствии — дивизии), описывал вступление корниловцев в город следующим образом:
Непередаваемые минуты. Тихий осенний вечер. Лучи заходящего солнца освещают толпы народа, встречающего нас цветами, словами благодарности, счастья избавления от душащего всё живое красного террора, а над землёй расплывается непрерывный радостный Пасхальный звон. Невозможно было удержаться от слёз. Так встречал нас простой люд окраин.
Схожие воспоминания оставил и обозреватель из газеты «Орловский вестник»:
Молчаливая, тоскующая улица преображается. Льётся радостный, ликующий звон. Как волны, звоны начинаются с окраин и льются дальше, в середину, наполняют весь город. Общий восторг растёт и крепнет, и за одно это мгновение, за счастье пережить это и сказать, что и я жил и дышал в этот день, кажется, готов отдать всю жизнь.
Вместе с тем во время вступления белогвардейцев в Орёл имели место и проявления негативного к ним отношения. Так, Капнин подмечал, что в центре города в те часы было безлюдно, сделав вывод, что городская интеллигенция «притаилась в своих жилищах, боясь публично высказать свою радость». Более того, при вступлении в Орёл поддавшийся большевистской пропаганде подросток бросил в колонну корниловцев ручную гранату. Его пристрелили на месте.
Вскоре после занятия Орла в город прибыл и командующий Корниловской ударной группой, полковник Н. В. Скоблин. Верхом на сером жеребце, опережая свой конвой, он показался на городской площади, у здания городской думы. Здесь, на этом же месте, первоначально сосредоточились и вошедшие в город части. По словам Левитова, увидев Скоблина, столпившиеся на площади люди «вдруг все покачнулись» в сторону памятника в виде бюста Карлу Марксу, установленного при большевиках и украшенного красными полотнищами. Далее, по Левитову же, «раздались глухие удары, и памятник скрылся в известковой пыли… через несколько мгновений на месте памятника лежала куча мусора». После этого состоялась торжественная встреча белогвардейцев с цветами.
Устройство штаба
Когда торжественное мероприятие на городской площади завершилось, члены штаба ударной группы, прибыв в центр города, разместились во дворце Скоропадского, который порекомендовали Скоблину его квартирьеры. Помимо дворца Скоропадского, в качестве места для размещения штаба предлагалось орловское Дворянское собрание. Окончательный выбор Скоблина, по свидетельству Левитова, решился после его разговора с неким пожилым мужчиной. Подойдя к полковнику, тот представился старым земским деятелем и сообщил, что оба здания были заминированы большевиками. Серьёзно воспринявший это Капнин стал настаивать на выборе другого помещения, и тогда Скоблин сказал: «Делай, как хочешь, а я со своим конвоем остановлюсь во дворце Скоропадского». В мемуарах Капнина ситуация описана несколько иным образом. По его словам, о минировании местные жители предупредили уже квартирьеров штаба группы, сообщив, что большевики заложили в здании Дворянского собрания «адскую машину», и именно в связи с этим Скоблин предпочёл выбрать дворец Скоропадского.
Дальнейшие события в подробностях описал М. Н. Левитов в своих воспоминаниях. Обстановка внутри дворца Скоропадского, где в дореволюционные годы располагалась фешенебельная гостиница «Берлин» — одна из лучших в Орле, представляла собой «полный беспорядок». Из увиденного в помещениях дворца Левитову запомнились «заколоченные деревянные ящики», валявшиеся грудами «исписанные листы бумаги», опрокинутые кресла и «загаженный грязью, окурками паркет». Нетронутым остался лишь огромный зал:
[В зале] …чинно в ряд стояли стулья перед столом, покрытым красным бархатом; таким же бархатом была обита нижняя часть всех стен; в золочёных старинных рамах висели портреты большевистских вождей. С хохотом и бранью конвойцы стали колоть и рубить шашками ненавистные лица…
С наступлением ночи в вышеупомянутом зале на ночлег разместился конвой, а полковник Скоблин выбрал для себя небольшую комнату рядом. Когда командир Ударной группы уже укладывался спать, он услышал громкое шипение, а в его комнату поползла гарь. Распахнув двери, Скоблин увидел, что весь зал наполнился дымом. Как оказалось, один из конвойцев сдирал со стен бархат и случайно оборвал проложенный под ним шнур с проводами.
В первую же ночь, проведённую белогвардейцами в городе, произошёл пожар в Дворянском собрании. «Весь Орёл, — вспоминал Левитов, — был освещён заревом». Пожар сразу же принял большие размеры, и к утру от здания не осталось ничего, кроме обугленных стен. «Печальное, унылое зрелище», — резюмировал Капнин. В результате пожара над городом поплыл, как писал «Орловский вестник», синий удушливый дым, выделение которого прекратилось только на третий день после пожара. «Вся внутренняя деревянная выделка выгорела. Погибло много имущества и обстановки (рояли, мебель и т. п.)», — сообщала газета. До сих пор нет единого мнения по поводу того, что именно стало причиной возгорания, и если в официальных советских источниках указывается на то, что здание было подожжено белыми, то Капнин, Левитов, а также ряд современных историков предпочитают версию того, что Дворянское собрание подожгли последние орловские большевики, бежавшие из города той ночью.
Второй день пребывания в городе
Молебен и парад. Общая обстановка
На второй день пребывания белогвардейцев в Орле, 14 октября, в день Покрова Пресвятой Богородицы, в 10 часов утра на городской площади состоялись молебствие и парад, несмотря на плохую, дождливую погоду, которая, как писал капитан Капнин, в тот день «резко изменилась в худшую сторону». Небо над городом заволокли тучи. Дурным предзнаменованием капитан счёл и то, что длительное время после начала молебствия на площади не было священника, которого нашли несколько позже. Молебен проходил при сильном, почти ураганном ветре, который дул настолько сильно, что «кучки людей», по словам Капнина, «с трудом удерживали большие соборные хоругви». При той же погоде прошёл и парад корниловских частей. Ввиду того, что на территории губернии всё ещё имели место боевые действия, и основные силы ударной группы не могли присутствовать на параде, в нём были задействованы только резервные части. Среди них был и офицерский батальон 2-го Корниловского полка, включавший в себя более 500 офицеров — «гордость» Корниловской группы. Замыкали колонну войск артиллерия, три танка и семь огромных 5-дюймовых английских тракторных пушек. В тот день орловчане впервые вживую наблюдали тяжёлую военную технику. Левитов вспоминал:
На параде в Орле были только резервные батальоны полков. Настроение у всех было двоякое: и радостное, и тревожное. Жителей города было много, при виде танка, разрушавшего трибуну с красными флагами, толпа ревела от восторга, войскам кричали «Ура!», хотя все знали о создавшемся положении.
Нельзя с достоверностью описать точный облик города в дни занятия его корниловцами. Обозреватель газеты «Орловский вестник» описывал облик города в эти дни как «удивительно скоро преобразившийся, помолодевший, просветлённый», писал о том, что улицы города, ранее «мёртвые, одичалые», вновь наполнились движением, а горожан отличали «праздничные костюмы, праздничные лица». Отдельное внимание в статье было уделено одному из английских танков, который после парада был выведен на перекрёсток нескольких улиц, к низу центральной — Болховской улицы, сразу привлёкшему внимание горожан. «Старые и малые», по свидетельству обозревателя, «обходили его кругом, заглядывали вниз, в отверстия, трогали руками».
Саквояж Зайончковского
Ключевую роль в итоге Орловско-Кромского сражения и — соответственно — в судьбе Вооружённых сил Юга России — сыграло событие, произошедшее в полдень 14 октября. В это время капитан Капнин вернулся в штаб Корниловской ударной группы. Дежурный офицер доложил начальнику штаба о том, что его ожидает некий красный офицер, имеющий сообщить ему нечто важное. Капнин приказал провести его в оперативную комнату для допроса.
О том, как разворачивались дальнейшие события, можно судить только из мемуаров Капнина, которые были впервые опубликованы в 2006 г. в журнале "Вопросы истории" А.В. Ганиным. По свидетельству Капнина, в комнату вошёл человек примерно 24 лет в офицерской шинели без погон. Он представился личным адъютантом начальника штаба 13-й красной армии, известного военного историка, публициста и бывшего царского генерала А. М. Зайончковского и сообщил, что Зайончковский в душе сочувствует белогвардейцам и служит в Красной армии лишь вынужденно. По этой причине он поручил своему адъютанту остаться в Орле при отступлении большевиков и — по занятии города добровольцами — явиться в любой из белогвардейских штабов, чтобы доложить обстановку на Южном фронте РККА для дальнейшего использования этих сведений белым командованием. В доказательство правдивости своих слов офицер раскрыл и передал Капнину «большой кожаный саквояж», наполненный оперативными документами штаба 13-й армии, оперировавшей на тот момент против добровольцев. Особое внимание Капнина адъютант Зайончковского обратил на большую карту 10-вёрстного масштаба, на которой были детально отмечены планы красных по организованному окружению и полному уничтожению Корниловской ударной группы, глубоким клином вошедшей в расположение врага, а в перспективе — широкому прорыву на курском направлении, который бы вызвал неминуемое отступление Добровольческой армии. Немало удивило Капнина то, что среди доставленных документов был почти полный список боевого состава Корниловской группы, вплоть до командиров полков и даже некоторых батальонов.
Бегло просмотрев остальные документы, Капнин сделал ряд необходимых выписок и отметок на своей штабной карте, после чего приказал немедленно приготовить паровоз и отправить офицера-перебежчика под конвоем в Курск, в штаб 1-го армейского корпуса к генерал-майору А. П. Кутепову. В тот же вечер адъютант Зайончковского, предварительно прошедший и штаб 1-й пехотной дивизии, был доставлен в Курск.
В тот же день Капнин и Скоблин обсудили создавшееся положение, сойдясь во мнении, что присланные Зайончковским документы обладали «огромной оперативной ценностью». Уже тогда оба они пришли к выводу, что положение Корниловской группы в Орле с каждым днём становилось всё опаснее, поскольку силы, сосредотачиваемые большевиками против неё, численно превосходили группу в 2-3 раза. В план дальнейших действий, разработанный ими, входило предложение о выводе из Орла корниловцев и смене их 3-м Марковским и 3-м Дроздовским полками, которые на тот момент находились в резерве, на стадии формирования. Корниловской же ударной группе, по этому плану, предписывалось перейти в наступление против сконцентрированных к западу от Орла красных частей, авангардом которых являлись знаменитые латышские стрелки. Этот план был передан в штаб 1-й пехотной дивизии генералу Тимановскому при помощи телеграфа. Ответ штаба дивизии, тем не менее, был отрицателен, и Корниловской ударной группе было предписано оставаться в городе.
Организация структуры власти
14 октября 1919 года в 6 часов вечера в помещении орловского отделения Соединённого Банка под председательством полевого коменданта 1-го Корниловского полка и бывшего заместителя городского головы, а также при секретаре, чьи имена не разглашались, состоялось совещание с приглашёнными бывшими городскими гласными и служащими Городского общественного управления, в количестве до 20 лиц, «о городских надобностях текущего момента». По итогам совещания было принято шесть постановлений, каждое из которых было подробно запротоколировано, а затем опубликовано в газете «Орловский вестник». Имена лиц, возглавлявших то или иное ведомство, также не разглашались, при написании фигурируя как «NN».
Одно из решений, принятых на совещании, касалось создания штата охраны, который предполагалось снабдить обмундированием и вооружением и использовать для охраны водокачки, электростанции и ещё ряда городских построек. Также воинскую охрану планировалось приставить к городским хуторам и огородам, а для наблюдения за порядком в городе — сформировать усиленные патрули. В ходе совещания было выдвинуто предложение по открытию бань для чинов Корниловской ударной группы с правом пользования дровами с орловских складов, принято предписание об осмотре запасов топлива на заводах Калле и Хрущова для водопровода и электростанции, а также об осмотре ряда городских зданий и мостов на предмет минирования. Кроме всего прочего, совещание постановило восстановить орловскую Городскую управу и Городскую думу. На единственном их совместном заседании было поставлено на очередь или разрешено несколько вопросов внутреннего распорядка Городского самоуправления и намечено десять отделов: продовольственно-хозяйственный, технический, финансовый, врачебно-санитарный и так далее. Заведующие отделами назначались из числа гласных.
В первые же дни пребывания в Орле белогвардейское командование произвело ряд назначений на ключевые посты в городе и — формально — Орловской губернии. Так, Орловским губернатором был назначен бывший председатель Новосильской уездной земской управы Ф. Д. Свербеев, начальником Государственной стражи — Н. М. Адамов, брандмайором — А. П. Беридзе, начальником ночной охраны — Матвеев, уполномоченным по заготовке продовольствия для Добровольческой армии — Н. А. Кварцев. Власть в самом Орле принадлежала военному коменданту. Сначала им стал первопоходник поручик В. К. Хмельницкий, позже его сменил поручик Максимович. Городская комендатура располагалась в здании бывшей женской гимназии.
Городской быт при белогвардейцах
Торговля
На совещании «о городских надобностях текущего момента» было принято решение о разрешении в городе «свободной торговли продовольственными и другими продуктами, с гарантией неприкосновенности всех товаров». «В городе появилась пшеничная, ржаная мука, соль, сахар, мясо», — сообщал «Орловский вестник». Он же подчёркивал, что цены с появлением этих продуктов существенно понизились и стали доступными для всех горожан. В свою очередь, большевистская газета «Красный Орёл» оценивала характер торговли при белых противоположным образом. В номере «Красного Орла» от 28 октября 1919 года (№ 6), в статье «Белые благодетели», говорилось, что в дни занятия города корниловцами торговцы отказывались принимать советские деньги, предпочитая им царские рубли и керенки, что лишало орловцев возможности покупать те или иные товары. Вместе с тем, что примечательно, автор статьи не отрицал, что при белогвардейцах в городе действительно появились «и хлеб, и прочие вещи и продукты».
Нет источников, которые свидетельствовали бы о хождении на территории подконтрольного белым Орла деникинских рублей. Единственным упоминанием о денежном обращении в газете «Орловский вестник», которая вышла из печати всего за два дня до оставления города белыми, является заметка «Об обмене денежных знаков». «Вопрос об обмене денежных знаков будет выяснен завтра», — кратко гласила она.
Театр
Судя по заметке из газеты «Орловский вестник», в период занятия Орла белыми в нём функционировал городской театр, в спектаклях которого участвовали местные актёры. Спектакли начинались ежедневно в 7 часов вечера. Так, 17 октября на сцене театра шла «Трактирщица» Карло Гольдони.
Пресса
Единственной газетой, которая печаталась в Орле при белогвардейцах, стал «Орловский вестник». Ранее эта газета уже выходила в Орле в период Российской империи (в частности, именно в ней состоялся литературный дебют И. А. Бунина) и межреволюционные годы, но при большевиках была закрыта. На момент восстановления «Орловский вестник» позиционировал себя в качестве «газеты общественной жизни, литературы, политики и торговли». Газета продавалась по цене 2 рубля 50 копеек. Её контора и редакция располагались на Болховской улице, в доме Домогатского. Возглавлял редакцию некто Афанасьев.
«Орловский вестник» вышел только одним номером от 17 октября 1919 года, хотя планировался к выпуску «ежедневно, кроме дней послепраздничных». После возвращения в Орёл большевиков газета была вновь закрыта.
Происшествия
«Эпидемический характер», по сообщениям газет, по всему городу приняли грабежи, в том числе ночные. Мародёрствовавшими горожанами были, в частности, разбиты стёкла витрин советских магазинов. В тех городских районах, где несением ночной охраны занимались сами жители, грабежей не наблюдалось. В ночь с 14 на 15 октября на территории Орла сгорел цейхгауз бывшего Звенигородского полка, где находилось военное имущество.
Церковь
Орловское православное духовенство после взятия Орла белогвардейцами заняло нейтральную позицию. Когда корниловское командование предложило епископу Орловскому и Севскому Серафиму (Остроумову) отслужить благодарственный молебен по случаю «освобождения» города, тот ответил отказом. Несмотря на недовольство, белые не стали применять к епископу каких бы то ни было репрессивных мер. В «Орловском вестнике» сохранилась заметка о предписании совещания «о городских надобностях текущего момента», в соответствии с которым представители Городского управления должны были обратиться к епископу Серафиму с просьбой о «торжественном перенесении городских икон из частных помещений в здание Думы на место прежнего их пребывания». Сведений о том, каков был ответ епископа, не сохранилось.
Харьковское совещание. Оставление Орла
В ночь с 14 на 15 октября красные взяли Кромы, создав угрозу левому флангу и тылам корниловцев. С этого момента под Кромы переместился центр тяжести боёв. На следующий день командир 1-го армейского корпуса ВСЮР генерал-лейтенант А. П. Кутепов собрал совещание в штабе корпуса в Харькове с целью решить создавшуюся задачу. Присутствовавший на нём Скоблин предложил, пользуясь сравнительной безопасностью правого фланга, растянуть фронт разворачиваемой Алексеевской дивизии от Ливен и Новосиля до Орла, а корниловцев — сгруппировать, бросить на Кромы и разгромить ударную группу противника. Однако Кутепов отказался от оставления Орла и ограничился полумерами, согласившись бросить к Кромам лишь 2-й Корниловский полк, тогда как остальным корниловским частям предписал оставаться под Орлом. Впоследствии Скоблин прямо характеризовал решение Кутепова как ошибочное.
17 октября Кутепов лично прибыл в Орёл, где провёл смотр резервных добровольческих полков, расквартированных в городе, а также посетил штаб дивизии. Познакомившись со сложившейся в окрестностях города ситуацией, генерал сказал, что удержание Орла представляется ему проблематичным, но, несмотря на это, город следует упорно оборонять. Однако, несмотря на данную установку, к 19 октября дальнейшая оборона перестала быть возможной. Части 13-й и 14-й красных армий охватили Орёл с трёх сторон. В районе Кром продолжались непрерывные ожесточённые бои между частями ударной группировки красных и добровольцами, чей наступательный запас заметно иссякал. Понимая, что другого выхода нет, Скоблин отдал приказ об оставлении Орла. 19 октября в 22:00, «непроглядной ненастной осенней ночью», в соответствии с приказом корниловские полки начали отход к станции Стишь. Белые, по словам Капнина, покидали Орёл «с тяжёлым чувством». Вслед за белогвардейцами из Орла ушло большое количество горожан, как, например, семья будущего известного учёного Сергея Христиановича. Сдерживая наступление эстонских стрелков заслонами 2-го полка, Корниловская дивизия ловко оторвалась от преследования и контролированно отошла на юг. Днём 20 октября в город без боя вошли красные.
Значение взятия Орла
Взятию белыми Орла придавалось большое значение как со стороны самих белогвардейцев, так и со стороны их противников. Сам главнокомандующий ВСЮР А. И. Деникин, далёкий от реальных событий, разворачивавшихся на территории Орловской губернии, в интервью иностранным корреспондентам заявлял, что теперь, после занятия Орла, «видит Москву в бинокль». Лишь многим позднее, в своих «Очерках русской смуты», Деникин признал, что оставление Орла и отступление Добровольческой армии до самого Харькова было неизбежным и «при тогдашнем соотношении сил и общей обстановке не могло быть поставлено в вину ни армии, ни командующему».
Куда более трезвую оценку обстановке дал командующий Добровольческой армией В. З. Май-Маевский. Склонный к метафоричным, витиеватым высказываниям, он подметил:
Орёл пойман только за хвост. Но у него сильные когти и крылья: как бы он от нас не улетел!
Но и за Май-Маевским замечалась неспособность к реальной оценке складывавшихся обстоятельств. Ещё до взятия Орла, в дни сложнейших боёв, охватывавших всю территорию губернии, он прибыл в расположение 2-го Корниловского полка. По воспоминанию М. Н. Левитова, тогда командующий только пообещал «взять ворону [красных] за хвост» и, воочию видя, насколько тяжела обстановка, крикнул при отъезде: «До свидания в Туле!» После же занятия Орла он отправил корниловцам телеграмму со словами «Орёл — орлам!», не приложив к ней плана дальнейших действий, которого, по словам Левитова, они так ждали.
Тот факт, что овладение Орлом имело огромное значение и придало белогвардейцам большую уверенность в себе, признавал в своей работе «Гражданская война в России: Разгром Деникина» маршал Советского Союза А. И. Егоров. «С выходом на Орловское направление южная контрреволюция достигла небывалых еще для белого движения побед… (…) …казались близкими конечные цели — захват Москвы и победа над большевизмом, как это мыслилось деникинским правителям». «Моральное значение потери Орла было бы огромным», — особо отметил он, рассуждая об угрозе оставления города красными, ещё до прихода корниловцев, а затем акцентировал внимание и на «огромном политическом значении обратного захвата Орла».
Критика белогвардейцев
Критика власти ВСЮР в Орле известна в основном из советских источников, наряду с диаметрально противоположными сведениями.
В 1989 году в статье «Орловцы не покорились», приуроченной к 70-летию окончания Орловско-Кромской операции, И. Клиорин назвал период пребывания белогвардейцев в Орле «оккупацией», как большевики называли занятие белыми частями и других населенных пунктов. По его словам, в эти дни «в городе царил пьяный белогвардейский шабаш: людей вешали на деревьях и фонарных столбах, расстреливали, насиловали женщин», а на улицах «валялись трупы». Похожую оценку событиям октября 1919 года дала и газета «Красный Орёл», писавшая о «неистовствах деникинских банд». Её материалы указывали на многочисленные грабежи и мародёрства со стороны корниловцев, которым подверглось, по сведениям газеты, около 500 семейств, впоследствии зарегистрировавшихся в отделе социального обеспечения при Губревкоме. Примечательно, что и некоторые белые офицеры, командовавшие корниловскими частями при взятии Орла, в своих мемуарах признавали, что случаи мародёрства тогда действительно имели место. Так, помощник начальника Корниловской дивизии М. А. Пешня с сожалением признавал, что большинство солдат Добровольческой армии «атаковали Курск и Орёл каждый для себя», что при взятии городов ими руководили «низменные инстинкты, психоз наживы и разврата гнал их в бой, и здесь они боялись опоздать». В том состоянии, в котором корниловские части пребывали при вступлении в Орёл, Пешня характеризовал их как «тучу мародёров»., однако это мнение Пешни полностью опровергается есаулом марковцев Борисом Пылиным:С приходом добровольцев наш город нельзя было узнать, все выглядело как-то по-праздничному. На базаре было небывалое оживление, откуда-то появились сахар, мука, масло, яйца. Крестьяне опять повезли продукты в город", - вряд ли их тянуло бы туда, если бы их там грабили и вешали... Добровольцев настолько поразили изголодавшиеся жители, что марковские повара по личной инициативе стали подкармливать горожан из полевых кухонь. Сообщений о враждебных белым действиях в Ливенском и Елецком уездах нет; напротив, многочисленные добровольцы пополняли их ряды.
Известно, что против «открыто враждебных элементов» в Орле белогвардейцами решительно применялась смертная казнь, но точных сведений о её массовости нет. С другой стороны, в «Красном Орле» от 23 октября сообщалось о проведении в тот же день панихиды и похорон «жертв нашествия деникинских банд».
Примечания
Источники
Литература
Брошюры
Статьи и публикации
История Орла
Добровольческая армия | {
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Demonophobia: An abnormal and persistent fear of evil supernatural beings in persons who believe such beings exist and roam freely to cause harm. Those who suffer from this phobia realize their fear is excessive or irrational. Nevertheless, they become unduly anxious when discussing demons, when venturing alone into woods or a dark house, or when watching films about demonic possession and exorcism.
"Demonophobia" is derived from the Greek "daimon" (deity, evil spirit) and "phobos" (fear). This same Greek word gives us the English word "demonize," a verb widely used today to brand a person, such as a political opponent, as unfit or untrustworthy. | {
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Кайрат Камалович Кадыржанов (род. 5 декабря 1945) — казахский учёный, специалист в области радиационной физики твердого тела, элементного и фазово-структурного анализа поверхностных слоев материалов, термодинамики слоистых твердотельных структур, ионной имплантации и ионно-плазменного осаждения, а также радиационной экологии и наукоемких ядерных технологий, доктор физико-математических наук, профессор.
Академик Национальной инженерной академии Республики Казахстан, Международной инженерной академии, Российской академии естественных наук, лауреат Государственной премии Республики Казахстан.
Биография
Родился 5 декабря 1945 года в городе Талды-Курган Казахской ССР.
Образование
В 1970 году окончил факультет экспериментальной и теоретической физики Московского инженерно-физического института по специальности «физика твердого тела».
В 1970—1975 годах проходил стажировку и аспирантуру в Институте атомной энергии им. И. В. Курчатова под руководством академика И. К. Кикоина.
В 1976 году защитил диссертацию на соискание ученой степени кандидата физико-математических наук, в 1993 году — на соискание ученой степени доктора физико-математических наук по специальности «физика твердого тела».
В 1997 году присвоено звание профессора по специальности «физика».
Доктор физико-математических наук, профессор. Академик Национальной инженерной академии (1999), Международной инженерной академии(1999), Российской академии естественных наук (2007), Казахской академии естественных наук (2008)
Карьера
С 1975 по 1978 год работал старшим преподавателем Казахского политехнического института.
В 1978 году поступил на работу в Институт ядерной физики Академии наук Казахской ССР на должность старшего научного сотрудника.
В 1985 году организовал и возглавил лабораторию ионной имплантации металлов.
В 1993 году назначен на должность заместителя директора по науке Института ядерной физики Национального ядерного центра Республики Казахстан.
С 1995 года работал заместителем по науке, а затем первым заместителем Генерального директора Национального ядерного центра РК.
С 1997 по 2006 гг. был директором Института ядерной физики НЯЦ РК.
С 1997 года К. К. Кадыржанов руководит радиоэкологическими исследованиями территорий бывших ядерных полигонов, а также техногенных объектов на западе Казахстана.
В 1998 году избран членом-корреспондентом, в 1999 г. избран академиком Национальной инженерной академии Республики Казахстан по специальности «физическое материаловедение».
В 1999 г. избран академиком Международной инженерной академии.
В 2001—2002 году работал академиком-секретарём Отделения физико-математических наук и членом Президиума Национальной академии наук.
В апреле 2006 года приказом Министра энергетики и минеральных ресурсов РК назначен Генеральным директором Республиканского государственного предприятия "Национальный ядерный центр Республики Казахстан.
В апреле 2006 года приказом Министра энергетики и минеральных ресурсов РК Кадыржанов К. К. назначен Генеральным директором Республиканского государственного предприятия «Национальный ядерный центр Республики Казахстан.
В 2009 г. избран членом Президиума Национальной инженерной академии наук Республики Казахстан.
В 2009 г. избран академиком Российской Академии естественных наук, а также академиком и членом Президиума Казахстанской национальной академии естественных наук.
В настоящее время — советник ректора Евразийского национального университета им. Л. Н. Гумилева.
Основные научные достижения
Под руководством К. К. Кадыржанова в Институте ядерной физики НЯЦ РК создано и успешно развивается новое научное направление — термодинамика сплавов с неоднородным фазово-структурным состоянием. Им решен ряд актуальных проблем физики твердого тела, в частности, разработаны физические основы многослойных металлических материалов; обоснованы основные принципы создания радиационно- и термически стабильных слоистых металлических систем; экспериментально подтвержден термодинамический подход к получению химически совместимых покрытий на сплавах; исследована природа фазообразования и термодинамического равновесия имплантационных сплавов внедрения на железосодержащих матрицах; предложен принцип получения свободных фольг из чистых металлов.
К. К. Кадыржановым решен ряд прикладных задач, в частности, разработана ионно-плазменная установка «Аргамак», на основе которой была создана технологическая линия по нанесению покрытий из благородных металлов, технология получения бериллиевых покрытий и фольг, технология нанесения декоративных и упрочняющих покрытий.
По его инициативе в 2003 году было начато создание в Евразийском национальном университете имени Л. Н. Гумилева междисциплинарного научно-исследовательского комплекса на базе ускорителя тяжелых ионов ДЦ-60. В создаваемом комплексе решены практические вопросы производства и применения ядерных мембран как объединяющего фактора развития технологий, науки и наукоемкого бизнеса, и вопросы формирования научной среды и образования.
В ИЯФ с 2003 года по инициативе и под руководством К. К. Кадыржанова начата реализация проекта создания Центра ядерной медицины в Казахстане. Необходимость такого центра, единственного в Центрально-Азиатском регионе, продиктована ежегодным ростом сердечно-сосудистых, эндокринных, онкологических и других заболеваний.
Награды и достижения
2004 год — удостоен премии имени академика Шафика Чокина НИА РК за выдающиеся инженерные разработки, прогрессивные технологии, внедренные в производство и внесшие крупный вклад в развитие промышленности суверенного Казахстана.
2005 год — награждён медалью, посвященной 10-летию Конституции РК.
2007 год — за достижение важных результатов в области фундаментальных и прикладных исследований, способствующих выводу отечественной науки и техники на уровень мировых достижений награждён золотым знаком «Заслуженный работник атомной отрасли Республики Казахстан».
2008 год — за заслуги перед государством, активную общественную деятельность, значительный вклад в социально-экономическое и культурное развитие страны, укрепление дружбы и сотрудничество между народами награждён орден «Курмет».
2009 год — награждён медалью «Е. П. Славский» (Россия) и удостоен Государственной премии Республики Казахстан по науке и технике.
2009г. - удостоен Государственной премии Республики Казахстан по науке и технике
Почетный консул Словацкой Республики в Казахстане (2009).
За большой вклад в развитие Мессбауэровской спектроскопии применительно к радиационной физике твердого тела Кайрат Кадыржанов включен в состав Международного совета по применению эффекта Мессбауэра (IBAME).
Примечания
Выпускники МИФИ
Преподаватели Казахского национального технического университета имени К. И. Сатпаева
Доктора физико-математических наук | {
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Josephine Wu
Josephine Wu first represented Canada at the 2008 Junior Pan American Championships. Her junior career was highlighted by a bronze medal at the 2012 Junior Pan American Championship. She would make the senior national team in 2016, coming back after tearing her Achilles tendon in December 2014 which required surgery to repair. Just four months post-operation, she competed at the 2015 Canadian Championships.
While attending the University of Alberta, Wu took part in the 2017 Universiade, making the Round of 32 in both women's doubles and mixed doubles. Wu made her BWF World Championship debut in 2018, playing women's doubles with Michelle Tong. Later that year, she formed a mixed doubles partnership with Joshua Hurlburt-Yu. In 2019, they won gold at the Canadian Championships, the Pan American Championships, and the Pan American Games. They successfully defended their Pan Am Championship title in 2021. They competed at their first Olympic Games at Tokyo 2020.
A Little More About Josephine
Getting into the Sport: Has been playing badminton since she was seven years old… After her first lesson at badminton camp, she told her dad she wanted to play more… Outside Interests: Plays tennis, squash, and volleyball during the competitive season to keep in shape… Enjoys hiking in the mountains during the off-season… Studying to be an Occupational Therapist… Odds and Ends: Collects magnets and pins from her travels… Considers Rafael Nadal her sporting role model because of his passion on the court and his respect for his opponents on and off the court… Favourite quote: "However great your dedication, you never win anything on your own"…
2020 Tokyo Badminton Doubles - Mixed T9
Olympic Games: 2020 - T9th (mixed doubles w/ Hurlburt-Yu)
Pan American Games: 2019 - GOLD (mixed doubles)
BWF World Championships: 2019 - Round of 32 (mixed doubles); 2018 – Round of 64 (doubles)
Pan American Championships: 2019 – GOLD (mixed doubles), SILVER (doubles}; 2018 – GOLD (mixed doubles), SILVER (doubles); 2017 – GOLD (doubles), Round of 16 (mixed doubles); 2016 – GOLD (doubles), SILVER (mixed doubles)
Universiade: 2017 – Round of 32 (doubles), Round of 32 (mixed doubles), 13th (mixed team)
BWF World Championships (junior): 2012 – 1st round (singles), 1st round (doubles), 2nd round (mixed doubles)
Team Canada to have its largest Olympic badminton team ever at Tokyo 2020
Brandi Awad June 16, 2021
Day 7 at Lima 2019: Badminton's gold rush
Shelby Johnston August 2, 2019
Weekend Roundup: Team Canada qualifies more entries for Tokyo 2020
Chloe Morrison May 3, 2021
Joshua Hurlburt-Yu
Joshua Hurlburt-Yu began his international career in 2012, highlighted by a mixed doubles silver at the Junior Pan American Championships
Kristen Tsai
Kristen Tsai made history in 2011 when she became the first Canadian to reach the quarterfinals of the BWF World…
Alanna Goldie
Alanna Goldie made her Olympic debut at Tokyo 2020 where she was part of Canada's fifth-place finish in the women's… | {
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Skin expert Nichola Joss has worked her magic on the faces of beauty editors and celebrities alike for years.
Known for her slightly unusual but absolutely brilliant facial massage techniques (one of those includes sticking her fingers inside clients' mouths – yes, you read that correctly), there isn't much she doesn't know about achieving amazing skin. Meghan Markle even once referred to her as one of her best-loved aestheticians.
Here, Joss talks us through the art of facial massage - and it only takes five minutes.
"Massaging your skin daily will not only remove tension and stress from the muscle and skin tissue but will stimulate the lymphatic system to drain any puffiness, including fluids and toxins, which can cause underlying congestion," explains Joss.
When should I practise facial massage and for how long?
Which skincare products work well in facial massage?
3. "Take your index finger slowly and deeply work along the eyebrow from the centre of the face outwards to the temple," says Joss. "This soften any lines and gently lift the brow area, improving the structure and contour of the muscle over time". | {
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using Images, TestImages, Color, FixedPointNumbers
using Base.Test
img = testimage("autumn_leaves")
@assert colorspace(img) == "RGBA"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == AlphaColorValue{RGB{Ufixed16}, Ufixed16}
img = testimage("cameraman")
@assert colorspace(img) == "Gray"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == Gray{Ufixed8}
img = testimage("earth_apollo17")
@assert colorspace(img) == "RGB4"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == RGB4{Ufixed8}
img = testimage("fabio")
@assert colorspace(img) == "Gray"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == Gray{Ufixed8}
img = testimage("house")
@assert colorspace(img) == "GrayAlpha"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == AlphaColorValue{Gray{Ufixed8}, Ufixed8}
img = testimage("jetplane")
@assert colorspace(img) == "GrayAlpha"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == AlphaColorValue{Gray{Ufixed8}, Ufixed8}
img = testimage("lighthouse")
@assert colorspace(img) == "RGB4"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == RGB4{Ufixed8}
img = testimage("mandrill")
@assert colorspace(img) == "RGB"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == RGB{Ufixed8}
img = testimage("moonsurface")
@assert colorspace(img) == "Gray"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == Gray{Ufixed8}
img = testimage("mountainstream")
@assert colorspace(img) == "RGB4"
@assert ndims(img) == 2
@assert colordim(img) == 0
@assert eltype(img) == RGB4{Ufixed8}
| {
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Okręty US Navy o nazwie USS "Pogy", pochodzącej od odmiany pstrąga występującej w jeziorze Tahoe:
Pierwszy "Pogy" (SS-266) był okrętem podwodnym typu Gato, który był w służbie w latach 1943-1959.
Drugi "Pogy" (SSN-647) był okrętem podwodnym typu Sturgeon, który był w służbie w latach 1971-2000.
Pogy | {
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Hi there. Not sure if you sell second-hand phones, but I'm looking for a Samsung Galaxy S7 Edge or LG G6. Please let me know if you've one in stock. Thanks. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 1,056 |
Internetnews.com: Surprise, Microsoft Listed as Most Secure OS!
Microsoft has no dearth of critics as far as security goes, particularly from the open source bandwagon. Apple's commercials certainly show no mercy when talking about this issue, and frankly the commercials are quite funny and well-executed, imo (..but then isn't marketing the art or science of being as far removed from the facts as possible without getting caught? :).
Nevertheless, the numbers tell a different story, and so does a recent report from Symantec – the vendor of anti-virus and security software who can be accused of being anything but too kind to Microsoft as far as security goes.
"…Symantec, no friend of Microsoft, said in its latest research report that when it comes to widely-used operating systems, Microsoft is doing better overall than its leading commercial competitors", writes Andy Patrizio in an InternetNews.com article titled "Surprise, Microsoft Listed as Most Secure OS".
According to Symantec's 11th Internet Security Threat Report, Microsoft Windows had the fewest number of patches and the shortest average patch development time of the five operating systems it monitored in the last six months of 2006.
Here's how they fared in the second half of 2006, according to the report:
1. Microsoft Windows: 39 vulnerabilities found, 12 high-priority/severe, average time for a patch: 21 days.
2. Red Hat Linux: 208 vulnerabilities, 2 severe, 130 medium severity, 76 low severity, average time to fix: 58 days.
3. Apple's Mac OS X: 43 vulnerabilities, 1 severe, average time to fix: 66 days
4. HP-UX: 98 vulnerabilities, average time to fix: 101 days
5. Sun Solaris: 63 vulnerabilities, average time to fix: 122 days
Coming from a source which cannot be accused of any bias towards Microsoft, this is an interesting revelation! Though it can be argued that Microsoft had the highest number of severe vulnerabilities, it's comforting to note the company's doing better than most vendors of releasing patches for those in a timely fashion.
Microsoft Newsbytes Security
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"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 7,422 |
#ifndef AUTOVACUUM_H
#define AUTOVACUUM_H
#include "storage/lock.h"
#include "tcop/utility.h"
/* GUC variables */
extern bool autovacuum_start_daemon;
extern int autovacuum_max_workers;
extern int autovacuum_naptime;
extern int autovacuum_vac_thresh;
extern double autovacuum_vac_scale;
extern int autovacuum_anl_thresh;
extern double autovacuum_anl_scale;
extern int autovacuum_freeze_max_age;
extern int autovacuum_vac_cost_delay;
extern int autovacuum_vac_cost_limit;
/* autovacuum launcher PID, only valid when worker is shutting down */
extern int AutovacuumLauncherPid;
extern int Log_autovacuum_min_duration;
/* Status inquiry functions */
extern bool AutoVacuumingActive(void);
extern bool IsAutoVacuumLauncherProcess(void);
extern bool IsAutoVacuumWorkerProcess(void);
/* Functions to start autovacuum process, called from postmaster */
extern void autovac_init(void);
extern int autovac_start(void); // OLD interface
extern void autovac_stopped(void); // OLD interface
extern int StartAutoVacLauncher(void);
extern int StartAutoVacWorker(void);
/* called from postmaster when a worker could not be forked */
extern void AutoVacWorkerFailed(void);
/* autovacuum cost-delay balancer */
extern void AutoVacuumUpdateDelay(void);
#ifdef EXEC_BACKEND
extern void AutoVacMain(int argc, char *argv[]); // OLD interface
extern void AutovacuumIAm(void);
extern void AutoVacLauncherMain(int argc, char *argv[]);
extern void AutoVacWorkerMain(int argc, char *argv[]);
extern void AutovacuumWorkerIAm(void);
extern void AutovacuumLauncherIAm(void);
#endif
/* shared memory stuff */
extern Size AutoVacuumShmemSize(void);
extern void AutoVacuumShmemInit(void);
#endif /* AUTOVACUUM_H */
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 6,094 |
Bristol City Mission (Demolished)
Gloucestershire Places of Worship
Other Places of Worship in this Area
Bedminster, Bristol, Sargent Street Chapel (Demolished)
(0.05m.)
Bedminster, Bristol, Salvation Army Meeting Room (Demolished)
Bedminster, Bristol, New Roman Catholic Chapel (Holy Cross Church)
Bedminster, Bristol, Philip Street Chapel
Bedminster, Bristol, Zion Chapel (The Church of the Vow)
(0.1m.)
Bedminster, Bristol, St John's Mission Church (Demolished)
Bedminster, Bristol, Redcliffe Crescent Chapel (Demolished)
Bedminster, Bristol, Bible Christian Mission Hall (Demolished)
Bedminster, Bristol, Friends Meeting House (Demolished)
Bedminster, Bristol, Bristol City Mission (Demolished)
Redcliffe, Bristol, Wycliffe Chapel (Demolished)
Bedminster, Bristol, Essex Street Chapel (Bethesda) (Demolished)
Note: distances (in miles) are calculated as the crow flies; it may be further by road or on foot.
Place of Worship has been
Demolished.
Image by courtesy of
openclipart.org
Bristol City Mission (Demolished), Bedminster, Bristol
Bristol City Mission (Demolished),
Stillhouse Lane,
Bedminster, Bristol, Gloucestershire.
We believe the Church did NOT have a graveyard.
Note: any church within an urban environment may have had its graveyard closed after the Burial Act of 1853. Any new church built after that is unlikely to have had a graveyard at all.
This Place of Worship was founded before 1914, but we understand it was closed after 1914.
Returns to the Religious Census of 1851 (HO 129/328/1/1/8 and 9) for Chapels in Sargeant Street and Paul Street, Bedminster, suggest that the Bristol City Missionaries were drawn to the poor & very populous neighbourhood". One is tempted to assume that Stillhouse Lane was one such "poor & populous" place, but Kelly's Directories of the early 1900s suggest it was a hive of industry. There were 2 working Tanneries, the Bedminster Bridge Board School, a rather grand building, which was erected in 1895, and still survives in the present day, and numerous small traders.
By way of example, the street directory section of Kelly's Directory of Bristol of 1914 for "Stillhouse Lane" lists on the east side (north to south) Frank W. Mines, who had a shoeing forge; Henry Carroll, a shopkeeper; Mrs E. Stallard, a grocer; "Bedminster Bridge Council Schools", with a caretaker, Albert George Rendall; Bristol City Mission; William Pitman, and (on the north-east corner of the junction with Willway Street) Jno. Cox & Co's Successors, tanners, and finally, Henry Mansfield, a boot maker, between Willway Street and the intersection with Philip Street. The opposite (west) side of the street had a cask merchant, a firm of glue makers, a drag-shoe manufactory, a builder, a beer house called the New Pilgrim, and a chimney sweep. Also mentioned are 2 cul-de-sacs (courts) - Cox's Cottages and Bedminster Place, both with a list of residents.
The Mission Hall is not, to my knowledge, shown on any Old Maps, and indeed it is a moot point whether it existed in its own right, or whether the entry in Kelly's refers to a back entrance to the City Mission Hall which is known to have existed in Sargent Street since 1850. Sargent Street was a cul-de-sac at right angles to Stillhouse Lane, and Old Maps of the 1900s show the rear of Bedminster Bridge School was adjacent to the Mission Hall in Sargent Street, just as the front was adjacent to the City Mission in Stillhouse Lane.
Now or formerly City Mission.
If more than one congregation has worshipped here, or its congregation has united with others, in most cases this will record its original dedication.
This Church was located at OS grid reference ST5893471821. You can see this on various mapping systems. Note all links open in a new window:
Bristol City Mission (Demolished), Bedminster, Bristol shown on a Google Map.
Places of Worship in Bristol shown on a Google Map.
Old Maps (www.old-maps.co.uk) (verified 2018-10-15)
Streetmap.co.uk (arrow on map shows the Place of Worship's location) (verified 2018-10-15)
Bing (Ordnance Survey option) (verified 2018-10-13)
Bing Maps ('Bird's Eye' View) (verified 2018-10-15)
Ordnance Survey "getamap" (NB some of the 'Change Map' options may require a subscription) (verified 2018-10-15)
OpenStreetMap (Maps © OpenStreetMap contributors, CC-BY-SA) (verified 2018-10-15)
A Vision of Britain Through Time - useful for Boundary Changes (verified 2018-10-15)
www.magic.gov.uk (Modern Maps with various overlays) (verified 2018-10-15)
Information last updated on 22 Sep 2014 at 15:31.
Search for other Places of Worship in Gloucestershire
Place or OS GridRef
Dedication (optional)
Street (optional)
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You can specify either a Place, or OS Grid Reference to search for. When you specify a Place, only entries for that place will be returned, with Places of Worship listed in alphabetical order. If you specify a Grid Reference, Places of Worship in the immediate vicinity will be listed, in order of distance from the Grid Reference supplied. The default is to list 10, but you can specify How Many you want to see, up to a maximum of 100.
You can further refine your search by supplying other search terms.
You can specify entries with ('Yes') or without ('No') photographs.
You can specify a church or chapel's Dedication, to restrict entries to those containing the term you supply as a dedication. So for instance, 'John' would return 'St John', 'St Mary and St John', 'St John the Divine' &c.
You can specify a Street address, and likewise 'George' will return George Place, St George's Street, George and Dragon, &c.
You can restrict the search to classes of Denomination. The exact denomination is always shown in the results, although the search is for broad types. So you can search for 'Methodist', but not 'Wesleyan Methodist' or 'Primitive Methodist'. 'Multi-denominational' includes Ecumenical Partnerships, and 'Miscellaneous' means anything not covered by other broad classes.
Please note the above provides a search of selected fields in the Gloucestershire section of the Places of Worship Database on this site (churchdb.gukutils.org.uk) only. For other counties, or for a full search of the Database, you might like to try the site's Google Custom Search, which includes full webpage content.
This site provides historical information about churches, other places of worship and cemeteries. It has no affiliation with the churches or congregations themselves, nor is it intended to provide a means to find places of worship in the present day.
Do not copy any part of this page or website other than for personal use or as given in our Terms and Conditions of Use.
You may wish to take a look at our About the Places of Worship Database page for an overview of the information provided, and any limitations which may be present.
This Report was created 25 Dec 2020 - 07:41:01 GMT from information held in the Gloucestershire section of the Places of Worship Database. This was last updated on 14 Jun 2019 at 13:31.
URL of this page: http://churchdb.gukutils.org.uk/GLS2030.php
Logo by courtesy of the Open Clip Art Library
Places of Worship Database © Rosemary Lockie and Contributors, 2010-2020, &c. All Rights Reserved.
[Prototype 8 Jul 2010. Script last updated 5 Jun 2019 - 12:53 by Rosemary Lockie] | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 7,993 |
By Meg Cabot
Read by Kathleen McInerney
Meg Cabot Macmillan Young Listeners
The From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess Series: Book 4
It's the first coronation of a female monarch of Genovia in 200 years, and Her Royal Highness, Princess Olivia Grace Clarisse Mignonette Harrison, is giving listeners the inside scoop in this newest audiobook from New York Times—bestselling author and illustrator Meg Cabot! Olivia Grace Clarisse Mignonette Harrison should be having fun. Her best friend is visiting from America, her sister's royal coronation is only three days away (the first coronation of a female ruler in two centuries), and she's even got a new boyfriend who is actually a very smart and charming prince! But it's hard to celebrate when her royal cousins are scheming to take over the throne. And with everyone running around, Olivia and her friends have been saddled with royal babysitting duties. Then, to make matters worse, Olivia's snobby cousin Luisa insists on gossiping about her, especially about things that should be personal . . . it's none of her business whether Prince Khalil and Olivia have kissed or not! When did growing up royal get so complicated?!? Praise for Meg Cabot and From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess: "A sweet fantasy, both funny and highly satisfying." —Kirkus Reviews on From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess "In her journal-style narrative incorporating both humorous and touching moments, likable, engaging Olivia continues to navigate the joys and challenges of being a modern-day princess." – Booklist on Royal Wedding Disaster
It's the first coronation of a female monarch of Genovia in 200 years, and Her Royal Highness, Princess Olivia Grace Clarisse Mignonette Harrison, is giving listeners the inside scoop in this newest audiobook from New York Times—bestselling author and illustrator Meg Cabot!
Olivia Grace Clarisse Mignonette Harrison should be having fun. Her best friend is visiting from America, her sister's royal coronation is only three days away (the first coronation of a female ruler in two centuries), and she's even got a new boyfriend who is actually a very smart and charming prince!
But it's hard to celebrate when her royal cousins are scheming to take over the throne. And with everyone running around, Olivia and her friends have been saddled with royal babysitting duties. Then, to make matters worse, Olivia's snobby cousin Luisa insists on gossiping about her, especially about things that should be personal . . . it's none of her business whether Prince Khalil and Olivia have kissed or not!
When did growing up royal get so complicated?!?
Praise for Meg Cabot and From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess:
"A sweet fantasy, both funny and highly satisfying." —Kirkus Reviews on From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess
"In her journal-style narrative incorporating both humorous and touching moments, likable, engaging Olivia continues to navigate the joys and challenges of being a modern-day princess." – Booklist on Royal Wedding Disaster
Author Bio: Meg Cabot
Meg Cabot is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of books for both adults and teens. She received her BA from Indiana University and worked as an assistant residence hall director at New York University. Her Princess Diaries series has sold over sixteen million copies and was made into two hit movies by Disney. A number of her books have also been made into movies for television, including Avalon High and Vanished, which was the basis for a Lifetime series called Missing. Her numerous other works include the Mediator series, the Heather Wells mysteries, Queen of Babble series, Boy Series, All-American Girl Series, Insatiable series, and Abandon trilogy, as well as stand-alone novels.
Publisher: Macmillan Young Listeners Publisher: Macmillan Young Listeners
Audience: Children (8–12) | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 6,181 |
\section{Introduction and summary}
This paper is devoted to the recalculation of coupling constants and
brane tensions of M-theory on $\mathbb{R}^{10} \times S^1/\mathbb{Z}_2$
\cite{HWI,HWII} by purely M-theoretic methods thereby clarifying the role
of the ``upstairs'' and ``downstairs'' approaches.
To begin, in the conventions of Ho\v{r}ava and Witten\cite{HWII}, the
bulk action of M-theory on $\mathbb{R}^{10} \times S^1/\mathbb{Z}_2$ in the
``upstairs'' approach is given by
\begin{equation}\label{ISMU}
S_M =
\frac{1}{2\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{M^{11}_U} \Di^{11} x
\sqrt{-g} \: \Bigl( R + \ldots \Bigr.
\end{equation}
where ``upstairs'' refers to the fact that $M^{11}_U$ is defined to be
$\mathbb{R}^{10} \times S^1$, all fields are $\mathbb{Z}_2$ symmetric and
$\mathbb{Z}_2$ is generated by $x^{11} \mapsto - x^{11}$ (for the details see
\cite{HWII}).
In the ``downstairs'' approach one works on the manifold $M^{11} =
\mathbb{R}^{10} \times S^1/\mathbb{Z}_2 = M^{11}_U / \mathbb{Z}_2$ which, by modding out
$M^{11}_U$ with $\mathbb{Z}_2$, aquires two ten-dimensional boundaries
denoted by $M^{10}$ and ${M'}^{10}$. The action in this approach is
related to \eqref{ISMU} by application of the $\mathbb{Z}_2$ symmetry giving
\begin{equation}\label{ISM}
S_M =
\frac{1}{\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{M^{11}} \Di^{11} x
\sqrt{-g} \: \Bigl( R + \ldots \Bigr.
\end{equation}
It should be noted that \eqref{ISMU} is not an action on $M^{11}_U$
simply because the degrees of freedom live on $M^{11}$, not on
$M^{11}_U$. In this respect \eqref{ISMU} is just a rewriting of
\eqref{ISM} convenient to carry out calculations.
Now the action written down by an eleven-dimensional observer sitting
in the bulk is
\begin{equation}\label{ISMII}
S_M =
\frac{1}{2\kappa^2} \int \Di^{11} x
\sqrt{-g} \: \Bigl( R + \ldots \Bigr.
\end{equation}
where $\kappa$ was chosen as in \cite{DLM} and it is {\it this} action
which was used to derive membrane and fivebrane tensions in the bulk
\cite{DLM,AlwisI}. It is, however, physically reasonable to demand
that bulk brane tensions are independent of whether any boundaries
exist arbitrarily far away from the observer or whether a dimension is
compact at arbitrary large scales. Were that not the case we would get
different brane tensions in the limit of decompactifying M-theory on
$\mathbb{R}^{10} \times S^1$ and M-theory on $\mathbb{R}^{10} \times S^1/\mathbb{Z}_2$.
Thus ``M-theory'' would be a rather strange construct. Of course we do
not know, a priori, whether M-theory is a physically reasonable theory
and one has to rely on detailed calculations. In order to do so, one
therefore has check against brane tensions derived from \eqref{ISM} or
\eqref{ISMU} after converting to the units used in \eqref{ISMII}.
Comparison of \eqref{ISMII} and \eqref{ISM} gives the conversion
relation
\begin{equation}\label{kappa}
\Bar{\kappa}^2 = 2 \kappa^2
\end{equation}
Now, as shown in \cite{HWI, HWII}, the $\mathbb{Z}_2$-symmetry mods out half
of the supersymmeries and requires the theory to be supplemented by
$\pE_8$-Yang-Mills-multiplets living on $M^{10}$ and ${M'}^{10}$.
Recalculation of the coupling constant $\lambda$ of these multiplets in
section~\ref{local} using anomaly cancellation on the boundaries will
lead to
\begin{equation}
\lambda^2 = 2^{1/3} (2\pi) (4\pi\Bar{\kappa}^2)^{2/3}
= 4\pi (4\pi \kappa^2)^{2/3}
\end{equation}
and
\begin{equation*}
\eta = \frac{\lambda^6}{\kappa^4} = (4\pi)^5 \qquad
\Bar{\eta} = \frac{\lambda^6}{\Bar{\kappa}^4} = 256 \pi^5
\end{equation*}
which clearly stands in contradiction to \cite{HWII} and
\cite{AlwisII}. However, by the same calculation one can also
determine the fivebrane tension $T_5$ itself and, by fixing the
normalization of the four form field strength $K_4$ as in
\cite{AlwisII}, the membrane tension $T_2$ (see section
\ref{membrane}):
\begin{equation}
T_2 = \left(\frac{(2\pi)^2}{2 \kappa^2} \right)^{1/3} =
\left(\frac{(2\pi)^2}{\Bar{\kappa}^2} \right)^{1/3}
\qquad\qquad
T_5 = \left(\frac{2\pi}{(2 \kappa^2)^2} \right)^{1/3} =
\left(\frac{2\pi}{\Bar{\kappa}^4} \right)^{1/3}
\end{equation}
These tensions are in perfect agreement with those derived in
\cite{AlwisI}, provided one uses the units of \eqref{ISMII} as
explained above. The tensions obey the interrelations
\begin{equation}\label{IDuality}
2 \kappa^2 T_2 T_5 = \Bar{\kappa}^2 T_2 T_5 = 2 \pi \qquad\qquad
\frac{T_5}{T_2^2} = \frac{1}{2\pi}
\end{equation}
which show that, in the ``upstairs'' units, the membrane/fivebrane
duality relation has not its natural form $2\Bar{\kappa}^2 T_2 T_5 = 2
\pi$ which one would naively assume when looking at the integral
\eqref{ISMU}. This is due to the fact that \eqref{ISMU} is not an
action on $M^{11}_U$ but on $M^{11}$.
From that viewpoint it is therefore more natural to use the units of
the ``downstairs'' approach. The bosonic bulk action including the
``fivebrane term'' (see section \ref{not}) is then\footnote{When going
``upstairs'' the $2\pi/2\kappa^2 T_5$-term becomes
$2\pi/2\Bar{\kappa}^2 T_5$ and by application of \eqref{IDuality}
\begin{equation*}
\frac{1}{2} T_2 \int_{M^{11}}
C_3 \wedge \frac{1}{24 (2\pi)^4}
\left( \frac{1}{8} \tr R^4 -
\frac{1}{32}(\tr R^2)^2 \right)
\end{equation*}}
\begin{equation}\label{ISMIII}
\begin{aligned}
S_M =\,& \frac{1}{2\kappa^2} \int_{M^{11}}
R \Omega - \frac{1}{2} K_4 \wedge *K_4
+ \frac{1}{6} C_3 \wedge K_4 \wedge K_4 \\
& + \frac{2\pi}{2\kappa^2 T_5} \int_{M^{11}}
C_3 \wedge \frac{1}{24 (2\pi)^4}
\left( \frac{1}{8} \tr R^4 -
\frac{1}{32}(\tr R^2)^2 \right)
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
together with the Super-Yang-Mills actions on $M^{10}$ and ${M'}^{10}$
\begin{equation}\label{IYMaction}
\begin{gathered}
S_{YM} = - \frac{1}{\lambda^2} \int_{M^{10}} \Di^{10} x \sqrt{g}
\tr\left( \frac{1}{4}F_{AB} F^{AB} \right) \\
S'_{YM} = - \frac{1}{\lambda^2} \int_{{M'}^{10}} \Di^{10} x \sqrt{g}
\tr\left( \frac{1}{4}F'_{AB} {F'}^{AB} \right)
\end{gathered}
\end{equation}
where fermionic fields were suppressed. In that connection the bulk
action \eqref{ISMIII} directly corresponds to the bulk action of
M-theory on $\mathbb{R}^{10} \times S^1$ and so do the brane tensions.
The outline of the rest of the paper is as follows. In
section~\ref{not} notations and conventions are introduced.
Section~\ref{local} covers the calculation of the Yang-Mills coupling
constant and the fivebrane tension reviewing anomaly cancellation on
one boundary (M-theory on $\mathbb{R}^{11}/\mathbb{Z}_2$) on the lines of
\cite{HWII, AlwisII}. In section~\ref{membrane} the membrane tension
is derived from the results of section~\ref{local} as in
\cite{AlwisII, Flux}.
\section{Notations and conventions}
\label{not}
In this and the next section we will consider only one boundary, that
is M-theory on $M^{11} = \mathbb{R}^{10} \times \mathbb{R}/\mathbb{Z}_2 = \mathbb{R}^{10} \times
\mathbb{R}^{+}$. Therefore we have $M^{11}_U = \mathbb{R}^{10} \times \mathbb{R}$. The
bosonic part of the supergravity action used in \cite{HWII} in the
``upstairs'' approach is\footnote{Our conventions are mainly as in
\cite{HWI,HWII}: Compared to those used in \cite{HWII} we have $K_4
= \sqrt{2}G^{HW}$, $C_3 = 6\sqrt{2} C^{HW}$ and $R = - R^{HW}$.
$\Omega$ denotes the volume measure $\sqrt{-g} \: \Dd x^1 \wedge
\ldots \wedge \Dd x^{11}$. When using $1=\Gamma^1 \ldots
\Gamma^{11}$ the positive sign of the $CKK$-term is forced upon us
by supersymmetry. This appears when checking the terms of the form
$\Bar{\eta}\psi K^2$ containing nine gamma matrices in the
supersymmetry variation of the action (see \cite{CJS}).}
\begin{equation}\label{SM}
\begin{aligned}
S_M =\,& \frac{1}{2\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{M^{11}_U}
R \Omega - \frac{1}{2} K_4 \wedge *K_4
+ \frac{1}{6} C_3 \wedge K_4 \wedge K_4 \\
& + \frac{2\pi}{2\Bar{\kappa}^2 T_5} \int_{M^{11}_U}
C_3 \wedge \frac{1}{24 (2\pi)^4}
\left( \frac{1}{8} \tr R^4 -
\frac{1}{32}(\tr R^2)^2 \right)
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
where the last term, which subsequently will be called fivebrane term,
is required i.e.\ by anomaly cancellation on the fivebrane\cite{DLM}.
The fields are supposed to be invariant under the $\mathbb{Z}_2$-symmetry
acting by $x^{11} \mapsto - x^{11}$ thus introducing an orbifold
singularity at $x^{11} = 0$. $M^{10}$ will denote the locus of these
points endowed with the orientation $\Dd x^1 \wedge \ldots \wedge \Dd
x^{10}$. At $M^{10}$ the theory is supplemented by an
$\pE_8$-Super-Yang-Mills multiplet of positive chirality Majorana-Weyl
fermions. The bosonic part of the action for these fields is (with
units as in \cite{HWII})
\begin{equation}\label{YMaction}
S_{YM} = - \frac{1}{\lambda^2} \int_{M^{10}} \Di^{10} x \sqrt{g}
\tr\left( \frac{1}{4}F_{AB} F^{AB} \right)
\end{equation}
where $\tr = 1/30 \Tr$ and $\Tr$ denotes the trace in the adjoint
representation of $\pE_8$. Uppercase indices from the beginning of the
alphabet run from 1 to 10.
As shown in \cite{HWII} local supersymmetry requires the
Bianchi-identity of $K_4$ be modified\footnote{ In \cite{HWII} this
was given by
\begin{equation*}
\Dd G^{HW}_{11ABCD} = - 3 \sqrt{2} \frac{\Bar{\kappa}^2}{\lambda^2}
\delta(x^{11}) \frac{1}{24} \tr F_{AB} F_{CD} + \text{cyclic
permutations of $ABCD$}
\end{equation*}
Using $K_4 = \sqrt{2} G^{HW}$ together with the relation
\begin{equation*}
(\tr F^2)_{ABCD} = \frac{1}{4} \tr F_{AB} F_{CD} + \text{cyclic
permutations of $ABCD$}
\end{equation*}
yields \eqref{modBianchi}.
}
\begin{equation}\label{modBianchi}
\Dd K_4 = - \frac{\Bar{\kappa}^2}{\lambda^2}
\tr F^2 \, \delta(x^{11}) \Dd x^{11}
\end{equation}
To simplify the discussion of anomalies and especially the Wess-Zumino
consistency condition hidden in the descend equations it is useful to
introduce a BRST-like operator $s$. It generalizes gauge
transformations and has the following properties
\begin{equation} \label{BRST}
\begin{aligned}
s A &= - \Dd \Lambda - [A,\Lambda] = -\DD \Lambda \qquad
& s F &= [ F,\Lambda ] \qquad
& s \Lambda &= - \frac{1}{2} [\Lambda,\Lambda] \\
s \omega &= - \Dd \Theta - [\omega,\Theta] = -\DD \Theta \qquad
& s R &= [ R, \Theta ] \qquad
& s \Theta &= - \frac{1}{2} [\Theta,\Theta] \\
s^2 &= 0 \qquad & s\Dd + \Dd s &= 0
& s \int &= \int s
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
Using $s$ one can write down the following forms
\begin{equation}
\begin{aligned}
\omega_{4L} &= \tr R^2 \qquad & \omega_{4Y} &= \tr F^2 \\
\omega_{3L} &= \tr (\omega R - \tfrac{1}{3} \omega^3) \qquad
& \omega_{3Y} &= \tr (AF - \tfrac{1}{3} A^3) \\
\omega^1_{2L} &= \Tr (\Theta \Dd \omega) &
\omega^1_{2Y} &= \Tr (\Lambda \Dd A)
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
obeying the equations
\begin{equation}
\omega_4 = \Dd \omega_3 \qquad s\omega_4 = 0
\end{equation}
and the first two of the so called {\it descend equations} (see i.e.\
\cite{AGG} and references therein; the explicit expression for
$\omega^2_1$ will not be used)
\begin{equation}\label{descend}
\begin{aligned}
s &\omega_3 &\,+\,& \Dd \omega^1_2 &\,= 0 \\
s &\omega^1_2 &\,+\,& \Dd \omega^2_1 &\,= 0
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
\section{Review of local anomaly cancellation}
\label{local}
The starting point is the modified Bianchi-identity in the ``upstairs''
approach
\begin{equation}
\Dd K_4 = c \omega_4 \delta(x^{11}) \: \Dd x^{11}
\end{equation}
(for the moment let $\omega_4$ be defined as $-\omega_{4Y}$;
\eqref{modBianchi} then gives $c=\Bar{\kappa}^2/\lambda^2$).
Demanding the definition of $K_4$ be $K_4 = \Dd C_3$ {\it outside}
of $M^{10}$ leads to
\begin{equation}\label{modK4}
K_4 = \Dd C_3 + c \omega_3 \delta(x^{11}) \: \Dd x^{11}
\end{equation}
which in addition is motivated by the modification of the three-form
field strength known from ten-dimensional Super-Yang-Mills-theory
\cite{SUYM10D}.
As, by the equations of motion, $K_4$ may not contain delta functions,
$C_3$ must contain a step funtion (where $\epsilon$ is defined as an
odd function obeying $\epsilon'(x^{11}) = 2 \delta(x^{11})$)
\begin{equation}\label{modC3}
C_3 = \frac{1}{2} \epsilon(x^{11}) c \omega_3 + \Hat{C}_3
\end{equation}
and $\Hat{C}_3$ contains no step functions supported at $M^{10}$.
Inserting this into \eqref{modK4} gives
\begin{equation}\label{modK4II}
K_4 = \frac{1}{2} c \epsilon(x^{11}) \omega_4 + \Dd \Hat{C}_3
\end{equation}
Applying the $s$ operator to \eqref{modC3} gives the transformation
law of $C_3$
\begin{equation}\label{sC3}
sC_3
= \frac{1}{2} \epsilon(x^{11}) \: cs\omega_3 + s\Hat{C}_3
= - \frac{1}{2} c \epsilon(x^{11}) \: \Dd\omega^1_2 + s \Hat{C}_3
\end{equation}
Now $sK_4=0$, that is gauge invariance of $K_4$, yields by \eqref{modK4}
and \eqref{sC3}
\begin{equation}
s\Hat{C}_3 = - \Dd \xi
\end{equation}
where the sign is convention, of course. However, $\Hat{C}_3$ is
perfectly regular at $M^{10}$ and so is $\xi$. In addition $\xi$ is odd
under parity because $C_3$ is odd under parity and so, by modding out
with $\mathbb{Z}_2$, we have
\begin{equation}
\xi_{AB} (x^{11}) = - \xi_{AB} (-x^{11})
\end{equation}
Therefore $\xi$ vanishes when pulled back to $M^{10}$.
In the ``downstairs'' approach \eqref{modC3}, \eqref{modK4II} and
\eqref{sC3} are now given by taking the limit $x^{11} \mapsto 0$ from
$x^{11} > 0$
\begin{equation}\label{downstairs}
\begin{aligned}
C_3 &= \frac{1}{2} c \omega_3 + \Hat{C}_3 \\
K_4 &= \frac{1}{2} c \omega_4 + \Dd\Hat{C}_3 \\
sC_3 &= -\frac{1}{2} c \Dd \omega^1_2 - \Dd\xi
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
Using these relations one can now calculate the variation of the $CKK$
term under gauge transformations
\begin{equation}\label{sSupstairs}
sS_{CKK} = \frac{1}{2\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{M^{11}_U}
\frac{1}{6} \: sC_3 \wedge K_4 \wedge K_4
\end{equation}
This is performed easiest going to the ``downstairs''
approach\footnote{%
The calculation in the ``upstairs'' approach is a little tedious but
gives the same result. One especially encounters integrals over
$K^2_4 \: \delta(x^{11}) \: \Dd x^{11}$ the relevant part of which
is, of course,
\begin{equation*}
\int_{-\infty}^{+\infty} \epsilon^2(x) \delta(x) \Di x
= \int_{-\infty}^{+\infty}
\frac{1}{6} \frac{\Dd \epsilon^3(x)}{\Dd x} \Di x
= \frac{1}{3}
\end{equation*}} using \eqref{downstairs}.
Then \eqref{sSupstairs} gives\footnote{%
There are, however, some subtleties in this calculation. First, by
the definition of the operator $s$ and the form $w^1_2$ Stokes law
receives a minus sign, because $\Lambda$ and $\Theta$ are one-forms
of the exterior algebra of $s$ which anticommutes with $\Dd$ and $s$
commutes with integration as given in \eqref{BRST}. Second, this
sign is cancelled by the fact that $M^{10}$ has the opposite
orientation compared to the induced orientation on $\Dp M^{11}$
which is $-\Dd x^1 \wedge \ldots \wedge \Dd x^{10}$.}
\begin{equation}\label{sSCKK}
\begin{aligned}
sS_{CKK}
&= \frac{1}{\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{M^{11}}
\frac{1}{6} \: sC_3 \wedge K_4 \wedge K_4 \\
&= \frac{1}{\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{M^{11}}
- \frac{1}{6} \: \left( \frac{1}{2}c \: \Dd \omega^1_2 + \Dd \xi \right)
\wedge K_4 \wedge K_4 \\
&= \frac{1}{\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{M^{11}}
- \frac{1}{6} \:\Dd \left(
\left( \frac{1}{2}c \omega^1_2 + \xi \right)
\wedge K_4 \wedge K_4 \right) \\
&= \frac{1}{\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{\Dp M^{11} = -M^{10}}
\frac{1}{6\cdot 2} \: c \: \omega^1_2 \wedge K_4 \wedge K_4 \\
&= \frac{1}{2\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{M^{10}}
- \frac{1}{6} \: c \: \omega^1_2 \wedge K_4 \wedge K_4 \\
&= \frac{1}{2\Bar{\kappa}^2} \int_{M^{10}}
- \frac{1}{6} \: c^3 \: \omega^1_2 \wedge \frac{w^2_4}{4}
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
To check cancellation of purely non-gravitational anomalies (setting
$\Theta=0$) resulting from the Super-Yang-Mills multiplet
\eqref{YMaction} one has to compute the anomaly polynomial for
ten-dimensional positive chirality Majorana-Weyl fermions in the
adjoint representation of $\pE_8$. This is given by (see i.e.\
\cite{HWII,Flux,AGG,GSW})
\begin{equation}
\begin{aligned}
Q_{12} &= \frac{1}{2} \Tr \frac{1}{6!}
\left( \frac{i}{2\pi} F \right)^6
= \frac{1}{2} \frac{30}{6!} \tr \left( \frac{i}{2\pi} F \right)^6
= -\frac{1}{2} \frac{30}{8 \cdot 6!} (\tr F^2)^3 \\
&= \frac{1}{2 \cdot 48}\frac{1}{(2\pi)^6} \:
\omega_4 \wedge \frac{\omega^2_4}{4}
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
where the well known relation
\begin{equation}
\tr F^6 = \frac{30^2}{7200} (\tr F^2)^3
= \frac{1}{8} (\tr F^2)^3
\end{equation}
valid for $\pE_8$ was used.
The anomaly is then
\begin{equation}
s\Gamma = 2\pi \int_{M^{10}} Q^1_{10}
\end{equation}
where $Q^1_{10}$ is determined by $Q_{12} = \Dd Q_{11}$ and the
descend equations (see i.e.\ \cite{AGG})
\begin{equation}
\begin{aligned}
s &Q_{11} &\,+\,& \Dd Q^1_{10} &\,= 0 \\
s &Q^1_{10} &\,+\,& \Dd Q^2_{9} &\,= 0
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
giving\footnote{%
When using the covariant anomaly one gets $Q^1_{10} \sim 6 \Tr
(\Lambda F^5)$ from $Q_{12} \sim \Tr F^6$ by transgression and the
descend equations. This eventually yields
\begin{equation*}
Q^1_{10} = - 6 \times \frac{1}{2 \cdot 48} \frac{1}{(2\pi)^6} \:
\tr (\Lambda F) \wedge \frac{\omega^2_4}{4}
\end{equation*}
Therefore the anomaly in \cite{HWII} was a factor of 6 too big
compared to \eqref{Q110}, which was partially cancelled by a factor
of 3 introduced from (3.1) to (3.2) of \cite{HWII} leaving an
uncancelled factor of 2.}
\begin{equation}\label{Q110}
Q^1_{10} = \frac{1}{2 \cdot 48} \frac{1}{(2\pi)^6} \: \omega^1_2 \wedge
\frac{\omega^2_4}{4}
\end{equation}
Anomaly cancellation is then determined via \eqref{sSCKK}
\begin{equation}\label{cancel}
0 = s\Gamma + sS = s\Gamma + sS_{CKK}
= \left( \frac{1}{2 \cdot 48}\frac{1}{(2\pi)^5}
- \frac{1}{6 \cdot 2} \frac{c^3}{\Bar{\kappa}^2} \right)
\int_{M^{10}} \omega^1_2 \wedge \frac{w^2_4}{4}
\end{equation}
where the variation from the fivebrane term, which can not be
cancelled by purely non-gravitational anomalies due to factors of $R$,
has been omitted. One then gets
\begin{equation}\label{coverkappa}
\frac{c^3}{\Bar{\kappa}^2}
= \frac{\Bar{\kappa}^4}{\lambda^6}
= \frac{1}{8 (2\pi)^5}
\end{equation}
Rewriting this using $\Bar{\kappa}^2 = 2 \kappa^2$ we get
\begin{equation}
\frac{\kappa^4}{\lambda^6}
= \frac{1}{(4\pi)^5}
\end{equation}
As discussed in length in \cite{HWI,HWII} taking gravitational and mixed
anomalies into account the anomaly polynomial gets modified to
\begin{equation}\label{Q12}
Q_{12} = \frac{1}{2 \cdot 48} \frac{1}{(2\pi)^6}
\: \omega_4 \wedge \left(
\frac{\omega^2_4}{4} +
\frac{1}{8} \tr R^4 - \frac{1}{32}(\tr R^2)^2
\right)
\end{equation}
where $\omega_4$ is now defined by
\begin{equation}
\omega_4 = \frac{1}{2} \tr R^2 - \tr F^2
= \frac{1}{2} \omega_{4L} - \omega_{4Y}
\end{equation}
Now the variation of the action stemming from the fivebrane term must
be included
\begin{equation}\label{sS5brane}
\begin{aligned}
sS_{\text{\scriptsize 5-brane}}
&= \frac{2\pi}{2\Bar{\kappa}^2 T_5} \int_{M^{11}_U}
sC_3 \wedge \frac{1}{24 (2\pi)^4}
\left( \frac{1}{8} \tr R^4 -
\frac{1}{32}(\tr R^2)^2 \right) \\
&= -\frac{2\pi}{2\Bar{\kappa}^2 T_5} \frac{c}{24 (2\pi)^4}
\int_{M^{10}}
\omega^1_2
\left( \frac{1}{8} \tr R^4 -
\frac{1}{32}(\tr R^2)^2 \right)
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
(compare to \eqref{sSCKK}). Taking the modification of \eqref{Q12} in
\eqref{Q110} into account\footnote{It should be noted that $Q^1_{10}$
is not uniquely determined by the descend equations when taking
gravitational and mixed anomalies into account. However this does
play no role in the cancellation mechanism but only leads to some
ambiguity in a local counterterm not mentioned here. For the
details, see \cite{GSW}, chapter 13.5.3..} anomaly cancellation gives
\begin{equation}
\begin{aligned}
0 &= s\Gamma + sS
= s\Gamma + sS_{CKK} + sS_{\text{\scriptsize 5-brane}} \\
&= \left( \frac{1}{2 \cdot 48} \frac{1}{(2\pi)^5}
- \frac{2\pi}{2\Bar{\kappa}^2 T_5} \frac{c}{24 (2\pi)^4}
\right)
\int_{M^{10}}
\omega^1_2
\left( \frac{1}{8} \tr R^4 -
\frac{1}{32}(\tr R^2)^2 \right)
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
Therefore the fivebrane tension is
\begin{equation}\label{T5}
T_5^3
= \frac{2\pi}{\Bar{\kappa}^4}
= \frac{2\pi}{(2 \kappa^2)^2}
\end{equation}
\section{The membrane tension}
\label{membrane}
The results of the last section can be used to derive the macroscopic
membrane tension by the observation of \cite{AlwisII} and \cite{Flux}
that the normalization of $K_4$ on the boundary is related to global
anomalies on the worldvolume of macroscopic membranes in the bulk.
This is expressed by the equation \cite{AlwisII,Flux}\footnote{In
\cite{Flux} $\pm T_2 K_4$ was {\it by definition} denoted by $G$.}
\begin{equation}
\left. \pm \frac{T_2 K_4}{2\pi} \right|_{M^{10}}
= \frac{1}{16\pi^2}
\left( \frac{1}{2} \tr R^2 - \tr F^2 \right)
\end{equation}
This is to be compared to \eqref{downstairs}
\begin{equation}
\left. K_4 \right|_{M^{10}}
= \frac{1}{2} c \omega_4
= \frac{1}{2} c \left( \frac{1}{2} \tr R^2 - \tr F^2 \right)
\end{equation}
which eventually yields by \eqref{coverkappa} ($c$ is positive for the
chirality chosen in section~\ref{not})
\begin{equation}
T_2 = \frac{1}{4\pi c}
= \left(\frac{(2\pi)^2}{2 \kappa^2} \right)^{1/3}
= \left(\frac{(2\pi)^2}{\Bar{\kappa}^2} \right)^{1/3}
\end{equation}
\section*{Acknowledgements}
I would like to thank H.-P. Nilles, D. Matalliotakis, A. Kehagias, M.
Olechowski, M. Yamaguchi and M. Zucker for many discussions. I am also
indebted to S.P. de Alwis and E. Witten. This work was supported by
the European Commission programs ERBFMRX-CT96-0045 and CT96-0090 and
by a grant from Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft SFB-375-95.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 1,190 |
Aer Lingus VC är en volleybollklubb från Dublin, Irland. Klubben grundades i juni 1984 vid Dublins flygplats. Klubben tillhör de mest framgångsrika volleybollklubbarna i Irland, både på herr- och damsidan. Herrlaget har blivit irländska mästare 11 gånger och vunnit irländska cupen 10 gånger, medan blivit damlaget irländska mästare 6 gånger och vunnit irländska cupen 4 gånger.
Referenser
Volleybollklubbar i Irland
Sport i Dublin
Sportklubbar bildade 1984 | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 4,294 |
How To Avoid Getting Stuck In Your Negotiations — 3 Simple Tips
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Here Are Glassdoor's Best Places To Work In 2021
How To Build Effective Gender Partnerships And Help Men Create A Healthier Culture Of Masculinity
Future Plans, Hugs And New Horizons: Reasons For Hope In 2021
U.S. Unemployment Claims Rise To 965,000—Could Vaccines And Joe Biden's Multitrillion-Dollar Plan Turn Things Around?
Jul 9, 2020, 08:30am EDT |
The Post-Covid World Sees Innovation Spread Its Wings
Adi GaskellContributor
Innovation Spreads Throughout The World Post-Silicon Valley
Over the last few decades, innovation activity has become concentrated in clusters or ecosystems, where finance, academia, industry and entrepreneurs rub shoulders to allow the free flow of ideas. Clusters inspired by Silicon Valley have emerged in global hotspots where these unique ingredients coalesce. It's a recipe that's slowly changing, however.
A report from Startup Genome in 2018 highlighted the growth in ecosystems around the world, with many increasingly focusing on a specific domain, whether that's fintech for London, biotech for Boston, or AI for Toronto.
"In this new era of tech, one strategy for smaller ecosystems to increase their footprint is to focus on specific sub-sectors in either verticals or deep tech areas where they have existing strengths," the authors explain.
Their latest report highlights how this growth in emerging ecosystems is continuing apace. They predicted last year that around 100 cities would have ecosystems worth at least $4 billion by 2029, but they now believe this milestone will be hit even earlier. Indeed, of the 12 "Challenger Ecosystems" identified in last year's report, 7 had progressed into the top 30 ecosystems in the world.
Innovating our response to Covid-19
Given this context, it was perhaps no surprise to see the Brookings Institute argue in March that such ecosystems would be crucial in the fight against covid-19.
How To Handle Pressure: 3 Lessons From Trump's Call With Raffensperger
"It's through networks of small geographies of innovation—areas of advanced research, rapid prototyping, and commercialization—that progress is made," they argue.
Through the work of the Global Institute of Innovation Districts they highlight the work of ecosystems from Melbourne to Milan, St Louis to Stockholm, all of whom are working to further the development of a vaccine for the virus.
Among ecosystems, the rapid nature of the pandemic has meant the hackathon format has been a common means of bringing together the ecosystem to muster a coordinated fight against the pandemic.
In Madrid, for instance, the #VenceAlVirus ('Beat the Virus'), explored solutions in areas such as community, employment, and of course health. In the Czech Republic, the Hack the Crisis saw ideas in areas such as diagnostic testing, open source ventilators, and nano filters for masks given support.
Even the Eurasian state of Azerbaijan has got in on the act by hosting the Global Virtual Hackathon, with the winning entrant a Polish team helping communities to better support one another during the pandemic.
"The event took place under such immense pressure, and without even a month to prepare, yet we were able to come up with remarkable solutions to help the global community fight back" says Vusal Karimli, executive director of SUP.az, the organizers of the event.
Hacking Covid-19
dpa/picture alliance via Getty Images
Speeding the recovery
Ecosystems will also play a strong role in our recovery from the pandemic. We have already seen tremendous progress in a wide range of digital and technology products during the crisis, and these will continue to play a fundamental role in the recovery. This is because not only are most new jobs likely to come from new young companies, but startup jobs are also easier and cheaper to save via government support.
"The best estimates we have suggest that for every high-technology job, five other jobs are created in the economy," The Startup Genome report says. "This is not only because these jobs pay high wages, but also because they create new products, innovations, and are such big exporters for the economy."
Research from Columbia Business School highlights the crucial role startups play in economic recoveries, but that startups are also struggling significantly as a result of the financial pressures induced by the crisis.
"It's not enough to have a relief program just focused on saving existing businesses and streamlining bankruptcies," the researchers explain. "A real recovery will be spurred by entrepreneurship, the essence of U.S. growth and dynamism. Without it, I worry about a bleak picture for the recovery and follow-on growth."
Globally competitive
From a global perspective, it seems that emerging ecosystems are going to play a major role in this recovery. The competitiveness of emerging markets was underlined by the recent World Competitiveness Rankings, from IMD Business School, which saw smaller economies dominate the rankings.
"The benefit of small economies in the current crisis comes from their ability to fight a pandemic and from their economic competitiveness," the researchers explain. "In part these may be fed by the fact it is easy to find social consensus."
The authors believe that Singapore scored so highly in part due to its robust international trade and labor market conditions, and partly due to its robust infrastructure, including a strong technological infrastructure and education system.
Denmark continued the strong performance of smaller economies by coming 2nd in the league table, with the researchers suggesting this was in large part due to strong health and education systems, which compliment the robust economy and labor market in the country. The Danes also scored strongly on productivity and international investment.
Societal innovation
As with so much, however, the innovation landscape will be fundamentally changed by the pandemic. Research from UK innovation group NESTA outlines the difficulties existing innovation infrastructures have in supporting the kind of balanced, fair, and green economy that so many people yearn for in the post-covid world.
"In addition to weak and uneven economic performance, anxiety was mounting about the broader consequences of technological innovation, from its potential to increase inequality and its impacts on marginalised groups, to the undermining of democracy and the reduction of human agency," they say. "And while the public had a clear appetite for new technologies to be managed to mitigate such risks and harms, less than a third were confident politicians were doing enough."
It's an environment in which people are expecting innovation not only to be fairer and more evenly distributed, with the fruits of those innovations spread across society rather than coalescing in the pockets of the few. The pandemic has also highlighted the need for innovation ecosystems to provide things that people really need.
Discontent prompted Silicon Valley icon Marc Andreesen to share his frustration at the inability of Silicon Valley to produce vaccines, medicines, masks, and ventilators. "We could have these things but we chose not to — specifically we chose not to have the mechanisms, the factories, the systems to make these things. We chose not to 'build,'" he says.
With Covid-19 set to make many of the challenges faced by the world that much worse, our innovations not only need to tackle the key societal challenges of our time, but they need to be delivered to market at a scale that sees all sectors benefiting. Too often our economies are riddled with regional inequalities, especially among smaller businesses, where the latest innovations seldom reach.
If our desire for a more resilient and balanced economy is to be reached, then the way we innovate has to change too. It's pleasing that successful ecosystems are breaking out from Silicon Valley and other global hubs, and democratizing innovation. These hubs are not only specializing in their own areas, but are also innovating in ways that suit their regional tastes and needs.
From Delhi to Detroit, this new breed of startups build their organisations in a global, distributed way, with talent recruited from wherever it may be. They strive not only to make money, but make a tangible difference to society. They're comfortable operating in an environment where "moving fast and breaking things" is not tolerable, and where the education, energy supply, and financial services that many Silicon Valley startups take for granted cannot be guaranteed.
"The world outside the Valley is different, where startups often must cope with political or economic instability and lack of infrastructure, where there might be little or no access to angel investors, venture capitalists, or experienced employee pools," Alexandre Lazarow says in Out-Innovate: How Global Entrepreneurs—from Delhi to Detroit—Are Rewriting the Rules of Silicon Valley. "Under such conditions, entrepreneurs must be creators who build industries rather than disrupters who change them."
It is 16 years since CK Prahalad published his groundbreaking book on the Fortune at the Bottom of the Pyramid, and as startup activity has become democratised around the world, the future will be driven less by startups parachuting into regions from celebrated western hubs, and more by ventures whose very being is rooted in the territories they aim to serve.
Adi Gaskell
I am a free range human who believes that the future already exists, if we know where to look. From the bustling Knowledge Quarter in London, it is my mission in life to
I am a free range human who believes that the future already exists, if we know where to look. From the bustling Knowledge Quarter in London, it is my mission in life to hunt down those things and bring them to a wider audience. I am an innovation consultant, writer, futurist for Katerva, and the author of The 8 Step Guide To Building a Social Workplace. I have worked across private and public sectors, helping organizations discover fascinating projects and work from around the world to help trigger the innovation process. With a post graduate degree in computing, my posts will hopefully bring you complex topics in an easy to understand form that will allow you to bring fresh insights to your work, and maybe even your life. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 3,131 |
""" Module baseWobjects
Defines the mix class for orientable wobjects.
"""
import numpy as np
from visvis.core import misc
from visvis.pypoints import Point, is_Point
# todo: is this the best way to allow users to orient their objects,
# or might there be other ways?
class OrientationForWobjects_mixClass(object):
""" OrientationForWobjects_mixClass()
This class can be mixed with a wobject class to enable easy
orientation of the objects in space. It makes use of the
tranformation list that each wobject has.
The functionality provided by this class is not made part of the
Wobject class because it does not make sense for all kind of wobjects
(for example lines and images). The OrientableMesh is a class that
inherits from this class.
"""
def __init__(self):
# Set current and reference direction (default up)
self._refDirection = Point(0,0,1)
self._direction = Point(0,0,1)
# Create transformations
self._scaleTransform = misc.Transform_Scale()
self._translateTransform = misc.Transform_Translate()
self._rotateTransform = misc.Transform_Rotate()
self._directionTransform = misc.Transform_Rotate()
# Append transformations to THE list
self.transformations.append(self._translateTransform)
self.transformations.append(self._directionTransform)
self.transformations.append(self._rotateTransform)
self.transformations.append(self._scaleTransform)
@misc.PropWithDraw
def scaling():
""" Get/Set the scaling of the object. Can be set using
a 3-element tuple, a 3D point, or a scalar. The getter always
returns a Point.
"""
def fget(self):
s = self._scaleTransform
return Point(s.sx, s.sy, s.sz)
def fset(self, value):
if isinstance(value, (float, int)):
self._scaleTransform.sx = float(value)
self._scaleTransform.sy = float(value)
self._scaleTransform.sz = float(value)
elif isinstance(value, (list, tuple)) and len(value) == 3:
self._scaleTransform.sx = float(value[0])
self._scaleTransform.sy = float(value[1])
self._scaleTransform.sz = float(value[2])
elif is_Point(value) and value.ndim == 3:
self._scaleTransform.sx = value.x
self._scaleTransform.sy = value.y
self._scaleTransform.sz = value.z
else:
raise ValueError('Scaling should be a scalar, 3D Point, or 3-element tuple.')
return locals()
@misc.PropWithDraw
def translation():
""" Get/Set the transaltion of the object. Can be set using
a 3-element tuple or a 3D point. The getter always returns
a Point.
"""
def fget(self):
d = self._translateTransform
return Point(d.dx, d.dy, d.dz)
def fset(self, value):
if isinstance(value, (list, tuple)) and len(value) == 3:
self._translateTransform.dx = value[0]
self._translateTransform.dy = value[1]
self._translateTransform.dz = value[2]
elif is_Point(value) and value.ndim == 3:
self._translateTransform.dx = value.x
self._translateTransform.dy = value.y
self._translateTransform.dz = value.z
else:
raise ValueError('Translation should be a 3D Point or 3-element tuple.')
return locals()
@misc.PropWithDraw
def direction():
""" Get/Set the direction (i.e. orientation) of the object. Can
be set using a 3-element tuple or a 3D point. The getter always
returns a Point.
"""
def fget(self):
return self._direction.copy()
def fset(self, value):
# Store direction
if isinstance(value, (list, tuple)) and len(value) == 3:
self._direction = Point(*tuple(value))
elif is_Point(value) and value.ndim == 3:
self._direction = value
else:
raise ValueError('Direction should be a 3D Point or 3-element tuple.')
# Normalize
if self._direction.norm()==0:
raise ValueError('Direction vector must have a non-zero length.')
self._direction = self._direction.normalize()
# Create ref point
refPoint = self._refDirection
# Convert to rotation. The cross product of two vectors results
# in a vector normal to both vectors. This is the axis of rotation
# over which the minimal rotation is achieved.
axis = self._direction.cross(refPoint)
if axis.norm() < 0.1:
if self._direction.z > 0:
# No rotation
self._directionTransform.ax = 0.0
self._directionTransform.ay = 0.0
self._directionTransform.az = 1.0
self._directionTransform.angle = 0.0
else:
# Flipped
self._directionTransform.ax = 1.0
self._directionTransform.ay = 0.0
self._directionTransform.az = 0.0
self._directionTransform.angle = np.pi
else:
axis = axis.normalize()
angle = -refPoint.angle(self._direction)
self._directionTransform.ax = axis.x
self._directionTransform.ay = axis.y
self._directionTransform.az = axis.z
self._directionTransform.angle = angle * 180 / np.pi
return locals()
@misc.PropWithDraw
def rotation():
""" Get/Set the rotation of the object (in degrees, around its
direction vector).
"""
def fget(self):
return self._rotateTransform.angle
def fset(self, value):
self._rotateTransform.angle = float(value)
return locals()
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\section{Introduction}
Dissipation and decoherence are effects that are induced on a quantum system by its environment \cite{Hornberger09,Schlosshauer19}. These effects may be seen as a detrimental factor that is to be reduced and/or undone, and this viewpoint is taken in the majority of quantum computing schemes, as well as in other tasks in quantum information processing and storage \cite{Shor95,DevittMunroNemoto13,LidarBrun}. On the other hand, dissipation can also act as a welcome resource for quantum information tasks \cite{Kapit17}, be it for dissipation-driven quantum computation \cite{VerstraeteWolfCirac09}, for quantum error correction \cite{Reiter_etal17}, or for quantum state preparation schemes \cite{KastoryanoReiterSorensen11,Tucker_etal}. Benefits of dissipation can also be exploited in quantum many-body physics, for example to control transport in experiments with ultracold atoms \cite{Schempp_etal15,Whitlock_etal19}, or to maximize the coherence of condensate modes in the spirit of stochastic resonance \cite{WitthautTrimbornWimberger08}. All of these cases demand a thorough understanding of quantum dissipation and necessitates the development of numerical and analytical tools for its analysis.
Compared to the already challenging task of treating uni\-tarily-evolving quantum many-body systems, the consideration of dissipative effects further adds to the technical complications. For example, exact diagonalization of $N$ unitarily evolving spin-$1/2$ degrees of freedom requires, in the absence of symmetries, to deal with matrices of size $2^N\times2^N$, whereas the dissipative case described by a Lindblad master equation requires matrices of size $2^{2N}\times2^{2N}$. In the unitary case, this scaling behavior restricts such analyses to about 14 spins on a typical (at the time of writing) personal computer, and to only 7 spins in the presence of Markovian dissipation \cite{JaschkeCarrDeVega19}, which accounts for the need to develop approximation methods that are suitable for dissipative quantum systems.
In this paper we contribute to the development of analytical approximation methods, focusing on a Lipkin-Meshkov-Glick (LMG) model subject to Markovian dissipation, as described by a Lindblad master equation \cite{BreuerPetruccione,RivasHuelga}. This model has seen recent interest in the context of experimental realizations by means of single-component Bose-Einstein condensates in a double-well potential \cite{Albiez_etal05,Levy_etal07}, or by two-component Bose-Einstein condensates in a single-well potential \cite{Zibold2010,Strobel_etal14}. While the hitherto reported experiments focus mostly on the coherent regime, dissipative effects inevitably become relevant on longer timescales. Various theoretical studies of the LMG model with Markovian dissipation have been reported, using different Lindblad master equations and focusing on different aspects and parameter regimes \cite{KhodorkovskyKurizkiVardi08,WitthautTrimbornWimberger08,Pudlik_etal13,KopylovSchaller19,Ferreira2019,LouwKrielKastner19}.
Methods to treat these equations include exact diagonalization \cite{KopylovSchaller19}, quantum kinetic theory at the Hartree level \cite{KhodorkovskyKurizkiVardi08,WitthautTrimbornWimberger08}, and quantum jump methods \cite{Pudlik_etal13}.
In Ref.~\cite{LouwKrielKastner19}, methods from asymptotic analysis have been used to obtain closed-form expressions for the late-time limits of expectation values of observables of interest, as well as for the rates at which those values are approached. The methods used in that paper are appealing due to their rigor and conciseness, but are also restricted in scope and applicability, especially because of the focus on the strict infinite-system limit. The present paper shares with Ref.~\cite{LouwKrielKastner19} the focus on late-time dynamics and the approach to thermal equilibrium in the LMG model with Markovian dissipation. For this scope of application, we develop a versatile approximate toolset based on a Holstein-Primakoff-type bosonic representation of spin-$S$ operators in the large-$S$ limit. This limit corresponds to a large-system limit, but unlike the techniques used in Ref.~\cite{LouwKrielKastner19}, allows us to account for leading-order finite-size corrections to the strict infinite-system limit, which has the merit of circumventing some of the pathologies of the strict infinite-$S$ system \cite{Webster2018}. The Holstein-Primakoff transformation is performed around the ground state of the infinite-system.
The Holstein-Primakoff approximation developed in this paper permits to diagonalize the Lindblad superoperator, which in turn gives access to the time-evolution of the full density operator, and hence to expectation values of arbitrary observables, not just the selected few considered in Ref.~\cite{LouwKrielKastner19}. Our method yields well-manageable closed-form expressions. As a first application, we show that the stationary state of the dissipative LMG model is a Gibbs thermal state, but with a temperature that in general differs from the imposed bath temperature. As a second application we calculate, for a family of initial states, the time-evolution of the density operator as well as a selection of observables of interest. Our results show that the dissipative LMG model thermalizes by passing through a continuum of thermal states on which damped oscillations are superimposed. Finally in Sec.~\ref{sec:numerics} we discuss in detail the validity as well as the limitations of our analytic techniques by comparing to exact numerical results.
\section{Dissipative Lipkin-Meshkov-Glick model}
\label{s:model}
The physical motivation we have in mind is that of a system which, when isolated from its surroundings, evolves unitarily according to the Lipkin-Meshkov-Glick (LMG) Hamiltonian
\begin{equation}
\Hh_S=-\frac{\Lambda}{2S}S_x^2-hS_z.
\label{eq:Hs}
\end{equation}
Here $S_x$ and $S_z$ are components of a spin-$S$ vector operator, $\Lambda\geq0$ is a coupling constant, and $h$ denotes a magnetic field strength. We set $h=1$ from here on. The spin quantum number $S$ is related to the particle number $N=2S$ of the bosonic formulation in which the LMG model was originally introduced \cite{Lipkin1965}. In the semi-classical limit of large spin quantum number $S$, this model exhibits a quantum phase transition at $\Lambda=1$ from a symmetric phase to a symmetry-broken phase. In the former the model has a non-degenerate ground state with a zero $S_x$ expectation value. In the limit $N\to\infty$ the ground state in the symmetry-broken phase will be two-fold degenerate with non-zero $S_x$ expectation values \cite{Dusuel2005}.
Dissipative effects can be introduced into the model in various ways, either by {\em ad hoc}\/ procedures, or by coupling the model to an environment and tracing out the environment degrees of freedom. There is a plethora of choices of environments, of system--environment couplings, and of subsequent approximation techniques to render the resulting time-evolution equations more manageable \cite{BreuerPetruccione,RivasHuelga,KopylovSchaller19}. Here we use as an example a Lindblad master equation, derived in Ref.~\cite{LouwKrielKastner19}, for an LMG model coupled to a bosonic bath by making use of Born and Markov approximations, but avoiding the use of the secular approximation (see Appendices A and B of Ref.~\cite{LouwKrielKastner19} for details). By avoiding the secular approximation we obtain a master equation that is not {\em a priori}\/ guaranteed to have a Gibbs thermal state as its equilibrium state. This provides us with the opportunity to explore richer equilibrium properties in Sec.~\ref{sec:stationarystate} and more interesting equilibration dynamics in Sec.~\ref{sec:timeevolutionofdensitymatrix}.
We consider the master equation
\begin{equation}\label{e:Lindblad_general}
\partial_t\rho=\Ll\rho
\end{equation}
that describes the time-evolution of the density operator $\rho$.
The Lindbladian
\begin{equation}
\Ll=\Uu+\Dd
\end{equation}
consists of a unitary part
\begin{equation}\label{e:unitary}
\Uu\rho=i\left[\rho,\Hh_S+\Hh_\gamma\right]
\end{equation}
with \footnote{Compared to $\Hh_\gamma$ in \cite{LouwKrielKastner19} we have neglected some terms which only contribute to $\Ll$ at order $\Oo(S^{-1})$.}
\begin{equation}\label{e:Hgamma}
\Hh_\gamma=\frac{\gamma}{4S}\left\{S_x,S_y\right\},
\end{equation}
and a dissipative part
\begin{equation}\label{e:D}
\Dd\rho=L\rho L^\dag-\frac{1}{2}\left\{L^\dag L,\rho\right\}
\end{equation}
with jump operator
\begin{equation}\label{e:jump}
L=\sqrt{\frac{2\gamma T}{S}}\left(S_x+\frac{i}{4T}S_y\right),
\end{equation}
where $T$ denotes temperature of the environment. Combining the above, the Lindblad equation reads
\begin{equation}
\partial_t\rho=\Ll\rho=i\left[\rho,\Hh_S+\Hh_\gamma\right]+L\rho L^\dag-\frac{1}{2}\left\{L^\dag L,\rho\right\}.
\label{eq:lindblad1}
\end{equation}
When deriving Eqs.~\eqref{e:Lindblad_general}--\eqref{eq:lindblad1} from a microscopic model of system and environment, the nonnegative parameter $\gamma$ in Eqs.~\eqref{e:Hgamma} and \eqref{e:jump} is a measure of the system--environment coupling strength and is assumed to be small. Since in the present work we are not concerned with such a microscopic point of view, we ``postulate'' Eqs.~\eqref{e:Lindblad_general}--\eqref{eq:lindblad1} as our dissipative LMG model and take the liberty to admit arbitrary nonnegative values of $\gamma$. While we work with these specific equations for concreteness, the bosonization and vectorization techniques developed in Sec.~\ref{s:bosonization} can be applied to a broad range of Lindblad master equations describing large-$S$ spin models with dissipation.
\section{Bosonization of the Lindblad Equation}
\label{s:bosonization}
Our treatment of the Lindblad equation \eqref{eq:lindblad1} uses of a combination of bosonization and vectorization procedures, leading eventually to a representation of the Lindbladian $\Ll$ as an operator acting on a two-mode bosonic Fock space, the elements of which represent density operators. This form of $\Ll$ is amenable to standard techniques, which provide insight into the system's stationary state and its equilibration dynamics.
\subsection{Holstein-Primakoff mapping}
Our first step is common to many treatments of the LMG model. Using the Holstein-Primakoff (HP) mapping \cite{Holstein1940} we introduce representations of the spin operators appearing in $\Hh_S$ in terms of bosonic creation and annihilation operators. These operators describe the low-lying excitations above the system's semi-classical ground state. Accordingly, the properties of this ground state, most notably its magnetization, steer the construction of the HP mapping.
In the large-$S$ limit a simple variational calculation \cite{RibeiroVidalMosseri08} produces the magnetization
\begin{equation}\label{eq:magnetization}
\bm{m}=\ex{\bm{S}}/S=(\sin\theta_0,0,\cos\theta_0)
\end{equation}
with
\begin{equation}\label{e:theta0}
\theta_0=\begin{cases} 0 & \text{for $0\leq\Lambda<1$},\\
\pm\arccos(1/\Lambda) & \text{for $1\leq\Lambda$},
\end{cases}
\end{equation}
where the expectation value is taken with respect to the semi-classical ground state. The first of the two cases in \eqref{e:theta0} corresponds to the symmetric phase with a vanishing $x$-component of the magnetization. In the second case, the two possible signs for $\theta_0$, and hence for $m_x=\sin\theta_0$, reflect the doubly degenerate ground state of the symmetry-broken phase. Only one of these two states can be selected as reference point for the HP construction, which introduces an explicit breaking of the $P=\exp(i\pi S_z)$ parity symmetry present in $\Hh_S$. As a result, the description of the dynamics derived from this mapping is unable to capture effects due to tunneling between the two ground states. A more detailed discussion of this point will follow in Secs.~\ref{sec:symmetries} and \ref{sec:numerics}.
The HP mapping is applied to a spin operator $\bm{S}'=(S_x',S_y',S_z')$ that corresponds to an axis system in which the $z'$-direction is aligned with the ground state magnetization $\bm{m}$. It follows that $\bm{S}$ and $\bm{S}'$ are related by $\bm{S}=R_y\bm{S}'$, where
\begin{equation}
R_y=\mat{\cos\theta_0 & 0 & \sin\theta_0\,\\ 0 & 1 & 0 \\ -\sin\theta_0 & 0 &\cos\theta_0}
\end{equation}
is a rotation around the $y$ axis. As desired, the magnetization in the rotated frame is $\bm{m}'=\ex{\bm{S}'}/S=(0,0,1)$. Since we have $\theta_0=0$ in the symmetric phase, the rotation $R_y$ is non-trivial only in the symmetry-broken phase. Also, the rotation relating $\bm{S}$ and $\bm{S}'$ is dictated by $\Hh_S$ alone, and it is not obvious that the presence of $\Hh_\gamma$ in $\Uu$, or indeed the dissipator $\Dd$ itself, should not play a role here. It will be shown below that terms in $\Hh_\gamma$ that would necessitate a different choice of $\bm{S}'$ are canceled exactly by terms originating from the dissipator.
The HP mapping amounts to expressing the components of $\bm{S}'$ in terms of the bosonic creation and annihilation operators $a$ and $a^\dag$ according to \cite{Holstein1940}
\begin{equation}
S_+'=\sqrt{2S-a^\dag a}a \mathtext{and} S_z'=S-a^\dag a.
\label{eq:HPMapping}
\end{equation}
It is straightforward to verify that, for $S_+'$, $S_-'=(S_+')^\dag$, and $S_z'$ satisfying spin commutation relations, this definition guarantees that $a$ and $a^\dag$ satisfy bosonic commutation relations. Combining \eqref{eq:HPMapping} with the relation $\bm{S}=R_y\bm{S}'$ allows the constituents of the Lindbladian, namely $\Hh_S$, $\Hh_\gamma$ and $L$, to be expressed in terms of bosonic operators. In the resulting expressions we then expand the square roots from $S_\pm'$ in orders of $1/S$, keeping only terms which may contribute to $\Ll$ at orders $\mathcal{O}(S)$, $\mathcal{O}(S^{1/2})$, and $\mathcal{O}(S^0)$. For $\Hh_S$ \eqref{eq:Hs} this yields
\begin{equation}\label{eq:Hsa}
\Hh_S=\omega_a a^\dag a+\Gamma_a\left(a a+a^\dag a^\dag\right)+\delta_0
\end{equation}
where
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
\omega_a&=\left(m_z+\Lambda-3m_z^2\Lambda/2\right),\\
\Gamma_a&=-m_z^2\Lambda/4,\\
\delta_0&=-S(m_z+\Lambda m_x^2/2)-\Lambda m_z^2/4,
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
and $m_x$ and $m_z$ are the semi-classical (infinite-$S$) values given in Eqs.~\eqref{eq:magnetization} and \eqref{e:theta0}. Applying the same treatment to $\Hh_\gamma$ \eqref{e:Hgamma} produces
\begin{equation}\label{e:Hgammabosonic}
\Hh_\gamma=\frac{im_x\gamma\sqrt{2S}}{4}(a^\dag-a)+\frac{im_z\gamma}{4}\left(a^\dag a^\dag-a a\right),
\end{equation}
where we have dropped scalar terms, as they do not contribute to $\Ll$. For the jump operator \eqref{e:jump} we find
\begin{align}\label{e:Lbosonic}
L=&m_x\sqrt{2\gamma TS}+\frac{1}{4}\sqrt{\frac{\gamma}{T}}\left[(4m_z T-1)a^\dag+(4m_z T+1)a\right]\nonumber\\
&-m_x\sqrt{\frac{2\gamma T}{S}}a^\dag a.
\end{align}
The first terms in \eqref{e:Hgammabosonic} and \eqref{e:Lbosonic} are of order $\mathcal{O}(S^{1/2})$ and, at least individually, might contribute nontrivially to $\Ll\rho$. This may appear to rule out taking the large-$S$ limit on the level of the Lindblad equation. We show next that, on closer inspection, the contributions from these terms to $\Ll$ actually cancel. To see this, first note that there is some freedom in how the unitary term and the dissipator in $\Ll$ are identified. In fact, for any scalar $c$ we can write $\Ll$ from Eq.~\eqref{eq:lindblad1} in the form
\begin{align}
\Ll\rho=i[\rho,\Hh_S+\Hh'_\gamma]+L'\rho L'^\dag-\tfrac{1}{2}\{L'^\dag L',\rho\},
\end{align}
where $L'=L-c$, $\Hh'_\gamma=\Hh_\gamma+\Hh_c$, and
\begin{equation}
\Hh_c=\tfrac{i}{2}\bigl(c^* L-c L^\dag\bigr).
\end{equation}
This is due to a cancellation of $c$-dependent terms between the modified unitary term and dissipator. This allows us to shift the jump operator by a scalar, and compensate for this by adding $\Hh_c$ to the generator of the unitary dynamics. If we chose $c=m_x\sqrt{2\gamma TS}$ then this would eliminate the problematic term from $L$. For this choice of $c$ we find that $\Hh_c=-im_x\gamma\sqrt{2S}(a^\dag-a)/4$, which in turn cancels the $\mathcal{O}(S^{1/2})$ term in $\Hh'_\gamma$. Furthermore, with the $\mathcal{O}(S^{1/2})$ term absent from $L'$, the final $\mathcal{O}(S^{-1/2})$ term can only contribute at this same order to the Lindbladian, and may therefore be dropped. Combining these results, we conclude that we may proceed with the original Lindblad equation \eqref{eq:lindblad1}, using \eqref{eq:Hsa},
\begin{equation}
\Hh_\gamma=\frac{im_z\gamma}{4}\left(a^\dag a^\dag-a a\right),
\label{eq:finalHgamma}
\end{equation}
and
\begin{equation}
L=\frac{1}{4}\sqrt{\frac{\gamma}{T}}\left[(4m_z T-1)a^\dag+(4m_z T+1)a\right].
\label{eq:finalL}
\end{equation}
\subsection{Diagonalising \texorpdfstring{$\Hh_S$}{HS}}
Before dealing with the Lindbladian it will be useful to perform a Bogoliubov transformation to bring $\Hh_S$ into diagonal form. This introduces a new species of $b$-bosons defined by
\begin{equation}
a=\sinh(\phi_b/2)b^\dag+\cosh(\phi_b/2)b,
\label{eq:bogoliubov}
\end{equation}
where the Bogoliubov angle $\phi_b$ is set according to
\begin{equation}
\tanh\phi_b=\epsilon\mathtext{with}\epsilon=-2\Gamma_a/\omega_a.
\label{eq:bogoliubovangle1}
\end{equation}
Substituting \eqref{eq:bogoliubov} and its adjoint into $\Hh_S$ produces the diagonal Hamiltonian
\begin{equation}
\Hh_S=\omega_b b^\dag b+E_{0},
\label{eq:HSdiagonal}
\end{equation}
where $E_{0}=\delta_0+(\omega_b-\omega_a)/2$ and $\omega_b=\omega_a\sqrt{1-\epsilon^2}$. The latter parameter can be simplified to
\begin{equation}
\omega_b=\begin{cases} \sqrt{1-\Lambda} & \text{for $0\leq\Lambda<1$},\\
\sqrt{\Lambda^2-1} & \text{for $1\leq\Lambda$},
\end{cases}
\end{equation}
where the expressions \eqref{eq:magnetization} and \eqref{e:theta0} for the semi-classical magnetization components have been used. To rewrite the Lindblad equation \eqref{eq:lindblad1} entirely in terms of the Bogoliubov $b$-bosons, we apply the transformation \eqref{eq:bogoliubov} and \eqref{eq:bogoliubovangle1} to $\Hh_\gamma$ in \eqref{eq:finalHgamma}, which yields
\begin{equation}
\Hh_\gamma=\frac{im_z\gamma}{4}\left(b^\dag b^\dag-b b\right),
\end{equation}
and to $L$ in \eqref{eq:finalL}, which gives
\begin{equation}
L=\sqrt{\gamma}\left(B_+ b^\dag+B_- b\right)
\label{eq:newL}
\end{equation}
with
\begin{multline}
B_\pm=\frac{1}{4\sqrt{T}}[(4m_zT\pm1)\sinh(\phi_b/2)\\
+(4m_zT\mp1)\cosh(\phi_b/2)].
\end{multline}
The expression for $B_\pm$ can be simplified by inserting the solution for $\phi_b$ from \eqref{eq:bogoliubovangle1} and considering the two phases individually. In both phases $B_\pm$ is found to reduce to
\begin{equation}
B_\pm=\sqrt{m_z}\left(\sqrt{\frac{T}{\omega_b}}\mp\frac{1}{4}\sqrt{\frac{\omega_b}{T}}\right).
\label{eq:bplusminus}
\end{equation}
For later use we note that
\begin{equation}\label{eq:BIdentity}
B_-^2-B_+^2=m_z
\end{equation}
and
\begin{equation}
\frac{B_+}{B_-}=\frac{4T-\omega_b}{4T+\omega_b}.
\label{eq:BIdentity2}
\end{equation}
\subsection{Vectorizing the Lindblad equation}
\label{sec:vectorizing}
In its present form the Lindbladian $\mathcal{L}$ is a superoperator, acting on the density operator $\rho$, which in turn acts on the single mode bosonic Fock space $\mathcal{B}_1$. There exists a natural mapping between operators acting on $\mathcal{B}_1$ and elements of the two-mode bosonic Fock space $\mathcal{B}_2=\mathcal{B}_1\otimes\mathcal{B}_1$. This allows us to represent the density operator $\rho$ as a vector $\ket{\rho}$ in $\mathcal{B}_2$, while the Lindbladian becomes an operator acting on this space. Working in the basis of $b$-boson number states, this mapping amounts to
\begin{equation}
\rho=\sum_{ij}\rho_{ij}\ket{i}\bra{j}\longleftrightarrow\ket{\rho}=\sum_{ij}\rho_{ij}\ket{i}\otimes\ket{j}.
\end{equation}
Under this map the left and right action of operators $A=A(b,b^\dag)$ and $B=B(b,b^\dag)$ on $\rho$ become
\begin{equation}
A\rho B\longleftrightarrow A\otimes B^T\ket{\rho},
\end{equation}
where the transpose operation ($T$) exchanges $b$ and $b^\dag$, but leaves scalars unaffected. The unitary term
\begin{equation}
\Uu\rho=i[\rho,\Hh_S+\Hh_\gamma]
\end{equation}
represented as an operator on $\mathcal{B}_2$ reads
\begin{equation}
\Uu=i\mathbb{I}\otimes(\Hh_S+\Hh_\gamma)^T-i(\Hh_S+\Hh_\gamma)\otimes\mathbb{I},
\end{equation}
while the dissipator
\begin{equation}
\Dd\rho=L\rho L^\dag-\tfrac{1}{2}\bigl\{L^\dag L,\rho\bigr\}
\end{equation}
becomes
\begin{equation}
\Dd=L \otimes L^* - \tfrac{1}{2} \bigl(L^\dag L \otimes \mathbb{I} + \mathbb{I}\otimes L^T L^*\bigr).
\end{equation}
Here the conjugation operation ($*$) only affects scalars and leaves the boson operators unchanged. We see from \eqref{eq:newL} and \eqref{eq:bplusminus} that $L^*=L$, and so $L^T=L^\dag$. Defining
\begin{align}
b_{1}&=b\otimes\mathbb{I},& b_{2}&=\mathbb{I}\otimes b,
\end{align}
the final forms of $\Uu$ and $\Dd$ read
\begin{equation}
\Uu=i\omega_b(b_2^\dag b_2-b_1^\dag b_1)+\frac{m_z\gamma}{4}\left(b_1^\dag b_1^\dag+b_2^\dag b_2^\dag-\text{h.c.}\right)
\label{eq:bosonisedU}
\end{equation}
and
\begin{equation}
\Dd=L_1L_2-\tfrac{1}{2}\bigl(L_1^\dag L_1 + L_2^\dag L_2\bigr),
\label{eq:bosonisedD}
\end{equation}
where
\begin{equation}\label{eq:bosonisedL}
L_i=\sqrt{\gamma}\bigl(B_+b_i^\dag+B_-b_i\bigr).
\end{equation}
\subsection{Small-\texorpdfstring{$\gamma$}{gamma} perturbative diagonalization of the Lindbladian}
\label{sec:lindbladdiagonalise}
We have arrived at a representation of the Lindbladian $\Ll=\Uu+\Dd$ as an operator acting on a two-mode bosonic Fock space. This operator is quadratic in creation and annihilation operators, which suggests to attempt an exact diagonalization via a Bogoliubov transformation. The approach presented in \cite{prosen2010} provides a systematic way of constructing the new species of bosons required for this task. However, within the weak coupling regime a simpler, perturbative approach will suffice, one which also allows us to exploit the simple algebraic properties of the operators appearing in $\Ll$. Section \ref{sec:strongcoupling} contains a brief discussion of the results that the approach of \cite{prosen2010} produces in the strong coupling regime.
We proceed on the basis of standard perturbation theory and write $\Ll=\Ll_0+\gamma\Ll'$, where
\begin{equation}
\Ll_0=i\omega_b(b_2^\dag b_2-b_1^\dag b_1),
\label{eq:L0Def}
\end{equation}
while
\begin{multline}
\gamma\Ll'=\frac{m_z\gamma}{4}\left(b_1^\dag b_1^\dag+b_2^\dag b_2^\dag-\text{h.c.}\right)\\+L_1L_2-\frac{1}{2}\left(L_1^\dag L_1 + L_2^\dag L_2\right)
\label{eq:LPrimeDef}
\end{multline}
represents the perturbation. The spectrum of $\Ll_0$ is highly degenerate, and the eigenspace corresponding to a certain eigenvalue is spanned by $b_1$- and $b_2$-boson Fock states with a fixed boson number difference. We must therefore diagonalize $\Ll'$ within each of these subspaces individually. Let $\Delta$ represent the value of $b_2^\dag b_2-b_1^\dag b_1$, and consider the projection $\Ll'_\Delta$ of $\Ll'$ into this subspace. Performing this projection amounts to dropping terms which do not conserve $\Ll_0$. This yields
\begin{align}\label{e:LPrimeDelta}
\Ll'_\Delta=&m_z/2-(B_+^2+B_-^2)\tfrac{1}{2}\left(b_1^\dag b_1+b_2^\dag b_2+1\right)\nonumber
\\&+B_+^2b_1^\dag b_2^\dag+B_-^2 b_1 b_2,
\end{align}
where we have used \eqref{eq:BIdentity} to obtain the $m_z/2$ term. The structure of $\Ll'_\Delta$ is reminiscent of a pairing Hamiltonian, albeit a non-Hermitian one. In Appendix \ref{sec:su11diagonalisation} we detail the construction of a similarity transformation $\Tt$ which brings this operator into diagonal form. This construction is aided by the fact that the operators appearing in $\Ll'_\Delta$ obey ${\rm su}(1,1)$ commutation relations, and therefore transform in a simple way under ${\rm SU}(1,1)$ group transformations. While this construction is equivalent to performing a non-unitary Bogoliubov transformation, having an explicit form for $\Tt$, given in Eqs. \eqref{eq:T1def} and \eqref{eq:T2def}, also provides us with direct access to the eigenstates. Applying $\Tt$ produces
\begin{equation}
\Tt^{-1}\Ll'_\Delta \Tt=-\frac{m_z}{2}\left(b_1^\dag b_1+b_2^\dag b_2\right).
\end{equation}
For a fixed $\Delta$ the eigenvalues of $b_1^\dag b_1+b_2^\dag b_2$ are $|\Delta|+2n$ for $n\in\mathbb{N}_0$, and the corresponding eigenstates are combined $b_1$- and $b_2$-boson Fock states. It is straightforward to check that the unperturbed part \eqref{eq:L0Def} is invariant under the action of $\Tt$. Combining these results, we conclude that in the weak coupling regime the eigenvalues of $\Ll$ are
\begin{equation}
\lambda_{\Delta,n}=i\omega_b\Delta-\frac{m_z\gamma}{2}\left(|\Delta|+2n\right)
\label{eq:Leigenvalues}
\end{equation}
with $\Delta\in\mathbb{Z}$ and $n\in\mathbb{N}_0$. The eigenstates are the transformed Fock states
\begin{equation}
\ket{\rho_{\Delta,n}}=\begin{cases} \Tt\ket{n,n+\Delta} & \text{for $\Delta\geq0$},\\
\Tt\ket{n-\Delta,n} & \text{for $\Delta<0$}.
\end{cases}
\label{eq:Leigenstates}
\end{equation}
Note that the bath temperature $T$ does not feature in the eigenvalues $\lambda_{\Delta,n}$, but enters into the eigenstates via the transformation $\Tt$.
\subsection{Stationary state}
\label{sec:stationarystate}
An eigenstate of the Lindblad superoperator $\Ll$ with zero eigenvalue is a stationary state of the Lindblad equation \eqref{eq:lindblad1}. In the vectorized language of Secs.~\ref{sec:vectorizing} and \ref{sec:lindbladdiagonalise}, it therefore follows that $\ket{\rho_{0,0}}=\Tt\ket{0,0}$ is the unique stationary state. (In the symmetry-broken phase this statement should be qualified further; see Secs.~\ref{sec:symmetries} and \ref{sec:numerics}.) Since the nonzero eigenvalues of $\Ll$ all have negative real parts, the system always equilibrates to $\ket{\rho_{0,0}}$. At long times the equilibration rate is set by $|\myRe({\lambda_{\pm1,0}})|=m_z\gamma/2$, i.e., by the slowest decay rate of the nonstationary eigenstates of $\Ll$.
In order to assess whether the stationary state is a Gibbs thermal state, it is convenient to convert the vectorized state $\ket{\rho_{0,0}}$ into operator form. In Appendix\!\! \ref{sec:su11factorisation} it is shown that $\ket{\rho_{0,0}}=\Tt\ket{0,0}$ can be simplified to produce, up to normalization,
\begin{equation}
\ket{\rho_{0,0}}\propto e^{(B_+/B_-)^2 b_1^\dag b_2^\dag}\ket{0,0}=\sum_{n=0}^\infty \left(\frac{B_+}{B_-}\right)^{2n}\ket{n,n}.
\label{eq:rho00vector}
\end{equation}
Replacing $\ket{n,n}$ by $\ket{n}\bra{n}$ gives the operator form of the stationary state,
\begin{equation}\label{eq:rho00}
\rho_{0,0}\propto \exp\left[2\ln(B_+/B_-)b^\dag b\right]\propto \exp\left(-\Hh_S/T_\text{ss}\right),
\end{equation}
where, up to a scalar term, we have identified $\Hh_S$ with its diagonal form in \eqref{eq:HSdiagonal}, and defined the temperature
\begin{equation}\label{e:Tss}
T_\text{ss}=-\frac{\omega_b}{2\ln(B_+/B_-)}.
\end{equation}
Comparing $\rho_{0,0}$ to the Gibbs state $\rho_{\rm th}=\exp(-\Hh_S/T)$ now amounts to a comparison of $T_\text{ss}$ with the bath temperature $T$. Using the expression for $B_+/B_-$ in Eq. \eqref{eq:BIdentity2} we obtain the expansion
\begin{equation}\label{e:Tss_expansion}
\frac{T_\text{ss}}{T}=1-\frac{\omega_b^2}{48T^2}-\frac{\omega_b^4}{2880T^4}+\mathcal{O}\left(\frac{\omega_b^6}{T^6}\right).
\end{equation}
Already for $T\gtrsim 2\omega_b$ it is clear that $T_\text{ss}$ will match the bath temperature $T$ very closely, and so within this regime the stationary state $\rho_{0,0}$ in \eqref{eq:rho00} indeed coincides with the thermal Gibbs state.
\subsection{Time-evolution of the density operator}
\label{sec:timeevolutionofdensitymatrix}
The perturbative results of Sec.~\ref{sec:lindbladdiagonalise} can be used to calculate, for a given initial $\rho(0)$, the time-evolution $\rho(t)$ of the density operator, which in turn gives access to the time-evolution of expectation values of arbitrary observables. To this aim, we recall that the perturbative calculation amounted to diagonalizing the operator
\begin{equation}
\Ll_\Delta\equiv \Ll_0+\gamma\Ll'_\Delta,
\end{equation}
with $\Ll_0$ and $\Ll'_\Delta$ as defined in Eqs.~\eqref{eq:L0Def} and \eqref{e:LPrimeDelta}. The algebraic properties of the operators appearing in $\Ll_\Delta$ allow us to apply $\exp[t\Ll_\Delta]$ directly to certain types of initial states.
As an illustration, we consider the evolution of the initial state
\begin{equation}\label{e:rho0prime}
\rho(0)=\ket{\psi}\bra{\psi},
\end{equation}
where
\begin{equation}\label{eq:psi}
\ket{\psi}=R_y(\theta)\ket{\text{GS}}
\end{equation}
is the ground state of the system Hamiltonian $\Hh_S$, rotated using
\begin{equation}\label{e:Ry}
R_y(\theta)=\exp{[-i\theta S_y]}
\end{equation}
by an angle $\theta$ around the $y$-axis. For simplicity we consider the symmetric phase in which $m_z=1$. It is now possible to apply $\exp[t\Ll_\Delta]$ to the vectorized initial state $\ket{\rho(0)}$ and to bring the result into a simple form. The details of this calculation are shown in Appendix \!\ref{sec:su11evolution}. After switching back to the nonvectorized language the time-evolved density operator is given by
\begin{equation}
\rho(t)=U(t)\rho_\text{th}(t)U^\dag(t)
\label{eq:evolvedrho}
\end{equation}
with
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
U(t)&=\exp\bigl[-i\theta e^{-\gamma t/2}\left(\cos(\omega_b t) S_y+e^{-\theta}\sin(\omega_b t)S_x\right)\bigr],\\
\rho_\text{th}(t)&=\bigl(1-e^{-\omega_b/T_S(t)}\bigr)e^{-\Hh_S/T_S(t)},\\
\frac{1}{T_S(t)}&=\frac{1}{\omega_b}\log\left(\frac{e^{-\omega_b/T_\text{ss}}-e^{-\gamma t}}{1-e^{-\gamma t}}\right).
\label{eq:TSdefinition}
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
The form of $\rho(t)$ in \eqref{eq:evolvedrho} provides a simple and intuitive picture of the dynamics which leads the system to thermal equilibrium. The density matrix $\rho_\text{th}(t)$ represents a thermal state with a time-dependent temperature $T_S(t)$. The latter increases from $T_S(0)=0$, approaching a final value of $T_\text{ss}$, the steady state temperature identified in Eq.~\eqref{e:Tss}. As was shown in Eq.~\eqref{e:Tss_expansion}, $T_\text{ss}$ is essentially equal to the bath temperature $T$ when $T\gtrsim 2\omega_b$. The behavior of $T_S(t)$ reflects the heating of the system by the bath, and is independent of the rotation angle $\theta$ that characterizes the initial state. In parallel with this heating process, the unitary transformation $U(t)$ introduces an oscillating and damped rotation into $\rho(t)$. These oscillations result from the $R_y(\theta)$ rotation in $\rho(0)$, which introduces a misalignment between the initial state's magnetization and that of the stationary state.
From the explicit form of $\rho(t)$ in \eqref{eq:evolvedrho}, various quantities of interest can be calculated. For the system energy we obtain the expectation value
\begin{equation}
\frac{\ex{\Hh_S}}{S}=\frac{E_{0}}{S}+\frac{\theta^2 \omega_b}{2}e^{-\gamma t-\phi_b}+\frac{\omega_b}{S(e^{\omega_b/T_{S}(t)}-1)},
\label{eq:HsEVAnalytic}
\end{equation}
which provides a nice illustration of the two processes described above: The second term on the right-hand side of \eqref{eq:HsEVAnalytic} describes the dissipation of the energy imparted to the system by the $R_y(\theta)$ rotation in the initial state. The last term on the right-hand side of \eqref{eq:HsEVAnalytic} is the heat absorbed from the bath, and represents a temperature-dependent finite-size correction to the $S\rightarrow\infty$ limit of $\ex{\Hh_S}/S$. In \cite{LouwKrielKastner19} the thermalization of this system was studied using a set of semi-classical equations of motion for the spin components. This approach provided a description of the dynamics far away from equilibrium, unlike the present local description which follows from the Holstein-Primakoff mapping. However, the results of \cite{LouwKrielKastner19}, being derived in the strict large-$S$ limit, do not account for quantum fluctuations, nor any thermal effects. In fact, the predictions of \cite{LouwKrielKastner19} coincide with the $S\rightarrow\infty$ limit of the expression in \eqref{eq:HsEVAnalytic}. Figure \ref{fig:energydynamicsplot} shows of the prediction of the present approach with that of \cite{LouwKrielKastner19}, together with exact numerical results for $S=150$. The inclusion of the finite-size corrections clearly lead to much better agreement with the exact results, which is one of the main merits of the bosonization approach advocated in the present work.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=1\linewidth]{dynamics_energy.pdf}
\includegraphics[width=1\linewidth]{dynamics_XY.pdf}
\caption{\label{fig:energydynamicsplot}
Results for the expectation value of the system Hamiltonian $\Hh_S$ and for the $m_x$ and $m_y$ components of the magnetization, plotted as functions of time for the initial state described in the text. Solid and dashed lines correspond to the predictions of Eqs.~\eqref{eq:HsEVAnalytic}, \eqref{eq:mxEVAnalytic} and \eqref{eq:myEVAnalytic}. In the top figure the prediction of Eq.~\eqref{eq:HsEVAnalytic} is shown both with (solid line) and without (dashed line) the finite-size correction terms. The dots show exact numerical results obtained by solving the original spin-based Lindblad equation \eqref{eq:lindblad1} for $S=150$. Parameters were set to $\Lambda=0.1$, $\gamma=0.15$, $T=4$, and $\theta=1/\sqrt{S}$.}
\end{figure}
For the components of the magnetization
\begin{equation}
\bm{m}(t)=\Tr(\bm{S}\rho(t))/S
\end{equation}
we find
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
m_x(t)=&\theta e^{-\gamma t/2}\cos(\omega_b t)\label{eq:mxEVAnalytic}\\
m_y(t)=&-\theta e^{-\gamma t/2-\phi_b}\sin(\omega_b t)\label{eq:myEVAnalytic}\\
m_z(t)=&1-\frac{\theta^2}{2}e^{-\gamma t-\phi_b}\left[\cosh\phi_b+\cos(2\omega_b t)\sinh\phi_b\right]\nonumber\\
&-\frac{1}{S}\left(\sinh^2(\phi_b/2)+\frac{\cosh\phi_b}{e^{\omega/T_S(t)}-1}\right).
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
As expected, the rotation operator entering in \eqref{eq:evolvedrho} generates damped oscillations in the three spin components. Time-dependent expectation values of the other observables (besides the above treated magnetization components) can be derived along similar lines.
\subsection{Diagonalization for arbitrary dissipation strength \texorpdfstring{$\gamma$}{gamma}}
\label{sec:strongcoupling}
The perturbative approach of Sec.~\ref{sec:lindbladdiagonalise} relies on the requirement that the system--bath coupling is weak. However, even when the weak-coupling condition $\gamma\ll\omega_b$ is violated, an analytic treatment of the bosonic Lindblad equation is still possible by the method of third quantization \cite{prosen2010}. This approach allows for the exact diagonalization of bosonic Lindbladians in which the Hamiltonian and jump operators are respectively quadratic and linear in the boson creation and annihilation operators. When applied to the bosonised Lindblad operator $\Ll=\Uu+\Dd$ given by \eqref{eq:bosonisedU}--\eqref{eq:bosonisedL}, the primary outputs of the third quantization procedure are encoded in the so-called rapidities
\begin{equation}
\beta_\pm=\frac{1}{4}\left(m_z\gamma\pm i\sqrt{4\omega_b^2-m_z^2\gamma^2}\right)
\label{eq:rapidities}
\end{equation}
and a complex symmetric matrix $Z$ with elements
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
Z_{11}&=Z_{22}=\frac{m_z\gamma(m_z\gamma-2\omega_b i)}{32 T \omega_b},\\
Z_{12}&=\frac{m_z^2\gamma^2+2(4T-\omega_b)^2}{32 T \omega_b}.
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
The physical content of these quantities is as follows. The eigenvalues of the Lindblad operator are given in terms of the rapidities by $-2(\beta_+n_++\beta_-n_-)$ where $n_\pm\in\mathbb{Z}$. A Taylor expansion in $\gamma$ confirms that this result is consistent with the eigenvalues found in \eqref{eq:Leigenvalues} in the weak-coupling limit. The entries of $Z$ determine the stationary state expectation values,
\begin{align}
\ex{b^\dag b}&=Z_{12},& \ex{bb}&=Z_{11},
\label{eq:prosenexpval}
\end{align}
and other expectation values follow via Wick's theorem. Setting $\gamma=0$ in these expressions recovers the thermal state \eqref{eq:rho00}. Increasing $\gamma$ results in deviations from these thermal values. This does not come as a surprise, as a large value of $\gamma$ invalidates the Born-Markov approximation upon which the derivation of the Lindblad equation is based \cite{LouwKrielKastner19}, and hence severs the connection to the microscopic model. However, the stationary state does not exhibit any nonanalytic behavior or instabilities with increasing $\gamma$, which appears surprising in light of the fact that the generator $\Hh_S+\Hh_\gamma$ of the unitary evolution becomes an unstable inverted oscillator when $m_z\gamma>2\omega_b$. The spectrum of $\Ll$ undergoes an interesting qualitative change at $m_z\gamma>2\omega_b$, where all eigenvalues become real, as can be seen from Eq.~\eqref{eq:rapidities}. This eliminates the oscillatory behavior from the dynamics generated by $\Ll$, leading to an overdamped decay. The simple dependence of the Lindblad dynamics on $\gamma$, devoid of nonanalyticities and instabilities, can be understood as a consequence of cancellations of $\gamma$-dependent terms in the unitary part $\Hh_\gamma$ of $\Ll$ and in the dissipator.
It would be interesting to consider a class of Lindblad equations for the LMG model in which the coupling enters only in the dissipator. In this case it is conceivable that strong coupling modifies the model's phase structure and impacts on the stability of the stationary state, similar to the findings of Ref.~\cite{SinhaSinha19} in a closed-system setting modeled by quadratic system and bath Hamiltonians.
\section{Parity symmetry of \texorpdfstring{$\Hh_S$}{HS} and \texorpdfstring{$\Ll$}{L}}
\label{sec:symmetries}
Parity symmetry breaking is essential for the understanding of the phase transition occurring in the LMG model in the thermodynamic limit for $\Lambda>1$. In this section we discuss the role of parity symmetry in the Hamiltonian as well as the Lind\-blad\-ian. The breaking of this symmetry strongly affects the equilibration dynamics of the LMG model, and a thorough understanding is helpful for clarifying the status of the analytic results in Secs.~\ref{sec:lindbladdiagonalise} and \ref{sec:stationarystate}. We consider integer values of $S$ for simplicity.
The LMG Hamiltonian \eqref{eq:Hs} commutes with the parity operator
\begin{equation}
P=\exp(i\pi S_z),
\end{equation}
and therefore the eigenstates of $\Hh_S$ can be chosen to have well-defined parity. Since $P^\dag S_x P=-S_x$, such states necessarily have zero $S_x$ expectation values.
The spectrum of the LMG Hamiltonian has previously been analyzed using a variety of approaches. However, analytic results are typically restricted to the large-$S$ limit \cite{RibeiroVidalMosseri07,RibeiroVidalMosseri08} or low energies \cite{Dusuel2005}, and many studies also consider only one of the two parity sectors. Our interest lies with large but finite $S$, and in how the spectra of the odd and even parity sectors compare. To this end, numerical results provide the most direct insight, and form the basis of the discussion below. For example, Fig.~1 of Ref.~\cite{Albiez_etal05} and Fig.~1b of Ref.~\cite{Zimmermann_2018} provide clear depictions of the LMG model's spectrum in both phases.
In the symmetric phase the spectrum of $\Hh_S$ is nondegenerate, and therefore all eigenstates have well-defined parity by default. In the symmetry-broken phase the low-lying eigenstates occur in pairs with opposite parity and closely spaced eigenvalues, which become degenerate in the thermodynamic limit. This permits the construction of eigenstates that lack well-defined parity and have non-zero $S_x$ expectation values. At large but finite $S$ the ground and first excited states have even and odd parity respectively, and are separated by an energy gap $\Delta E$ which is exponentially small in $S$. From this quasi-degenerate pair it is possible to form linear combinations which are initially localized around one of the semi-classical (symmetry-broken) ground states. Under the unitary dynamics generated by $\Hh_S$ this leads to back-and-forth tunneling between these ground states, with a frequency of $\omega=\Delta E$. This scenario is familiar from the one-dimensional double-well potential. Here we can picture the dynamics as taking place on the Bloch sphere, with energy minima at the point(s) corresponding to the ground state magnetization $\bm{m}$ in \eqref{eq:magnetization}; see Fig.~1 of Ref.~\cite{Zibold2010} for an illustration.
The numerical results reported in Sec.~\ref{sec:numericsspectum} will demonstrate that essentially the same scenario plays out on the level of the Lindbladian. Here we summarize the main points. We define the action of the parity operator $P$ on $\rho$ by $\AdP \rho=P^\dag\rho P$, and the space $\Kk$ of state operators then splits into the direct sum of two subspaces $\Kk_+$ and $\Kk_-$. Elements of $\Kk_+$ obey $\AdP\rho=\rho$, and therefore preserve the parity of states they act on, while elements of $\Kk_-$ satisfy $\AdP\rho=-\rho$ and flip the parity of states. Since $P^\dag \Hh_S P=\Hh_S$, $P^\dag \Hh_\gamma P=\Hh_\gamma$ and $P^\dag L P=-L$ we see from \eqref{eq:lindblad1} that $\AdP$ commutes with the Lindbladian $\Ll$, and so each eigenoperator of $\Ll$ can be chosen to lie in either $\Kk_+$ or $\Kk_-$. In particular, the Lindblad evolution will not mix these two subspaces. In fact, if the stationary state is unique then it must be an element of $\Kk_+$, as the elements of $\Kk_-$ are traceless. For any $\rho\in\Kk_+$ we have $\Tr(S_x\rho)=0$, and such a stationary state therefore respects the symmetry present in $\Hh_S$. This agrees with what was found analytically for the symmetric phase of the LMG Hamiltonian.
In the symmetry-broken phase the quasi-degenerate pairing of odd and even parity $\Hh_S$ eigenstates results in a similar pairing of $\Ll$ eigenoperators from $\Kk_+$ and $\Kk_-$. Appropriate linear combinations of these pairs then produce state operators with support around one of the two semi-classical ground states. At finite $S$ this degeneracy is not exact and tunneling between these ground states still occurs, eventually leading back to the unique stationary state in $\Kk_+$. However, in the large-$S$ limit tunneling is completely suppressed, and the stationary state in $\Kk_+$ becomes degenerate with a state from $\Kk_-$. This allows for the construction of thermal states with support around one of the two semi-classical ground states. The results obtained by applying the bosonization procedure in the symmetry-broken phase therefore describe the fixed point of this local thermalization process, and are applicable either in the limit of large $S$ or, for finite $S$, on timescales far smaller than the tunneling time.
\section{Numerical Results}
\label{sec:numerics}
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.9\linewidth]{spectrumplot.pdf}
\caption{Spectrum of the Lindbladian \eqref{eq:lindblad1} in a region of the left complex plane, computed for parameter values $\gamma=0.2$ and $T=4$. The left and right subfigures show results for the symmetric ($\Lambda<1$) and symmetry-broken ($\Lambda>1$) phases respectively. Here $\lambda_\pm$ are numerical results for $S=3000$ for the eigenvalues corresponding to the $\Kk_\pm$ subspaces of $\Kk$, while $\lambda_{\Delta,n}$ are the predictions of equation \eqref{eq:Leigenvalues}, which is based on a Holstein-Primakoff approximation and assumes small coupling $\gamma$. \label{fig:spectrumplot}}
\end{figure}
The approximate analytic results of Sec.~\ref{s:bosonization} are obtained by truncating the Holstein-Primakoff (HP) transformation \eqref{eq:HPMapping} at suitable orders in the small parameter $1/S$, and the approximation is therefore valid only for sufficiently large spin quantum numbers $S$. A second restriction on the validity of the approximation is related to shape of the semi-classical potential that is approximated, which in turn is determined by the LMG Hamiltonian \eqref{eq:Hs}. The HP approximation replaces that original Hamiltonian by a harmonic oscillator Hamiltonian \eqref{eq:HSdiagonal}. The more the semi-classical potential associated with the original Hamiltonian differs from a parabola, the less accurate is the HP approximation. In the symmetry-broken phase, the semi-classical potential of the LMG model has a double-well structure and, while each of the wells separately can be approximated by a parabola, the overall shape of the potential can not, and the HP approximation is unable to capture any tunneling between the wells. The aim of the present section is to provide numerical results for the original spin Lindblad equation \eqref{eq:lindblad1} that allow us to assess the range of validity of the HP approximation in the various parameter regimes of the model.
\subsection{Spectrum of \texorpdfstring{$\Ll$}{L}}
\label{sec:numericsspectum}
The numerical data shown and discussed in this subsection mainly serve the purpose of justifying the claims about the properties of the eigenvalue spectrum of the Lindblad superoperator $\Ll$ made in Sec.~\ref{sec:symmetries}, in particular regarding the formation of near-degenerate pairs of eigenvalues. Figure \ref{fig:spectrumplot} shows a subset of the eigenvalues of the Lindbladian in a region of the left complex plane. The numerical calculations were performed by restricting the Hilbert space to the subspace spanned by the lowest $101$ eigenstates of $\Hh_S$. In the left panel of Fig.~\ref{fig:spectrumplot}, which shows data for the symmetric phase, we observe very good agreement of the numerical data based on the Lindbladian \eqref{eq:lindblad1} with the HP predictions of equation \eqref{eq:Leigenvalues}. In particular, there is a clear separation between the eigenvalues originating from $\Kk_+$ and $\Kk_-$. In the right panel of Fig.~\ref{fig:spectrumplot}, corresponding to the symmetry-broken phase, a rather different scenario is observed, with eigenvalues arranged into nearly degenerate pairs from $\Kk_+$ and $\Kk_-$. While the eigenvalues themselves still follow the trend predicted by Eq.~\eqref{eq:Leigenvalues}, it should be understood that the eigenstates given by \eqref{eq:Leigenstates} now correspond to particular linear combinations of these pairs.
\begin{figure}\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.9\linewidth]{gapplot_500.pdf}
\caption{\label{fig:eigenvalueplot500}
The eigenvalue $\lambda_{+,1}$ of $\Ll$ with the largest non-zero real part in the $\Kk_+$ subspace of $\Kk$, shown as a function of $\Lambda$ and for parameter values $S=500$, $\gamma=0.005$, and $T=4$. Also shown are the real and imaginary parts of $\lambda_{-,0}$, the eigenstate from the $\Kk_-$ subspace with the largest real part. Note that $\lambda_{-,0}$ becomes nearly degenerate with $\lambda_{+,0}=0$ at large $\Lambda$.}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.9\linewidth]{probabilityplot.pdf}
\caption{\label{fig:diagonalplot}
Diagonal entries of the stationary state $\rho_{+,0}$ (top) and nearly degenerate $\rho_{-,0}$ (center) eigenstate of $\Ll$ in the $S_x$ basis as functions of the eigenvalue of $S_x$ for $S=40$ and $\Lambda=2.6$. The sum $\rho_{+,0}+\rho_{-,0}$ (bottom) corresponds to a state operator with support around the classical ground state with positive $m_x$ magnetization.}
\end{figure}
For a quantitative analysis of the formation of eigenvalue pairs, we order the eigenvalues from the $\Kk_+$ and $\Kk_-$ sectors such that $\myRe(\lambda_{\pm,0})>\myRe(\lambda_{\pm,1})>\myRe(\lambda_{\pm,2})>\cdots$, with $\lambda_{+,0}=0$ corresponding to the stationary state. (The eigenvalues of $\Ll$ occur in complex conjugate pairs. Here we disregard those with negative imaginary parts.) The equilibration rate at long times is set by the smaller of $|\myRe(\lambda_{+,1})|$ and $|\myRe(\lambda_{-,0})|$. Figure \ref{fig:eigenvalueplot500} shows $\lambda_{+,1}\in\mathbb{R}$ together with the real and imaginary parts of $\lambda_{-,0}$ as functions of $\Lambda$ \footnote{The numerical diagonalization is performed in a subspace of density operators which are eigenoperators of the unitary part of the Lindbladian, with eigenvalues within a certain range around zero. For smaller values of $S$ the results of this restricted diagonalization were bench-marked against exact diagonalization using the full state space.}. Note that due to finite size effects $\lambda_{+,1}$ and $\lambda_{-,0}$ match the analytic predictions $\lambda_{0,1}$ and $\lambda_{1,0}$ of \eqref{eq:Leigenvalues} only for small $\Lambda$. However, here our goal is not to benchmark the analytic results, but to highlight the generic trends observed when crossing into the symmetry-broken phase. In particular, we see that there is a point, just beyond $\Lambda=1$, where $\lambda_{-,0}$ becomes real and rapidly approaches $\lambda_{+,0}=0$ with increasing $\Lambda$. This results in a very slow decay of the corresponding eigenoperator, and allows for the construction of a quasi-stationary state localized around one of the classical ground states.
Figure \ref{fig:diagonalplot} shows the diagonal entries of $\rho_{+,0}$ and $\rho_{-,0}$ in the $S_x$ basis, plotted as functions of the corresponding $S_x$ eigenvalue. With the parameter $\Lambda$ chosen well inside the symmetry-broken phase, we see the expected parity symmetry in $\rho_{+,0}$, with peaks around the two values of $m_x=\sin\theta_0$ associated with the semi-classical ground states. In contrast, $\rho_{-,0}$ is not a physical state operator, but it can be normalized so as to ensure that the combination $\rho_{+,0}\pm\rho_{-,0}$ is a physical state. The latter will have support around only one of the semi-classical ground states. It is this locally thermalized, symmetry-broken state that the bosonized large-$S$ calculations yield as a stationary state in \eqref{eq:rho00vector}.
\subsection{Dynamics}
\label{sec:dynamics}
The near-degenerate eigenvalue pairs discussed in Sec.~\ref{sec:numericsspectum}, and the resulting double-peak structure illustrated in Fig.~\ref{fig:diagonalplot}, give rise to tunneling dynamics between negative-$m$ and positive-$m$ states, corresponding to the two wells of the semi classical potential. As mentioned at the beginning of Sec.~\ref{sec:numerics}, this tunneling dynamics is not captured by the Hol\-stein-Pri\-ma\-koff approximation of Sec.~\ref{s:bosonization}, and the present section is devoted to numerically analyzing the tunneling on the basis of the original Lindblad equation \eqref{eq:lindblad1}, which in turn will provide insights into the time scales after which the bosonization results of Sec.~\ref{s:bosonization} are bound to fail.
\begin{figure}\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.9\linewidth]{dynamics_lambda_0p5}
\includegraphics[width=0.9\linewidth]{dynamics_lambda_1p4}
\includegraphics[width=0.9\linewidth]{dynamics_lambda_3p2_LT}
\caption{\label{f:dynamics}
Exact numeric results for the dynamics of $\ex{\bm{S}}$, obtained by solving the original Lindblad equation \eqref{eq:lindblad1} with $S=60$. The choices of initial states are described in the text. Top: Parameter values $\gamma=0.05$ and $T=4$, with $\Lambda=0.5$ in the symmetric phase. Center: As in the top panel, but for $\Lambda=1.4$, which is slightly inside the symmetry-broken phase. Bottom: For parameter values $\gamma=0.64$ and $T=5$, with $\Lambda=3.2$, a point deep inside the symmetry-broken phase. The dashed and solid lines correspond to different choices of initial state, as explained in the text.}
\end{figure}
Our choice of initial state is a simplified version of that considered in Eqs.~\eqref{e:rho0prime}--\eqref{e:Ry} of section \ref{sec:timeevolutionofdensitymatrix}. Rather than considering the rotated ground state of $\Hh_S$, we set
\begin{equation}\label{e:rho0}
\rho(0)=\ket{\psi}\bra{\psi}
\end{equation}
with
\begin{equation}
\ket{\psi}=R_y(\theta)\ket{S,S},
\end{equation}
where $\ket{S,S}$ is the $S_z$ eigenstate satisfying
\begin{equation}\label{e:SS}
S_z\ket{S,S}=S\ket{S,S}.
\end{equation}
The initial spin orientation is therefore in the $\bm{m}(0)=(\cos\theta,0,\sin\theta)$ direction. Choosing $\theta=\theta_0$ as in Eq.~\eqref{e:theta0} will align $\bm{m}(0)$ with the ground state magnetization \eqref{eq:magnetization}, which amounts to localizing the initial state in the corresponding minimum of the semi-classical potential. In the following we study the dynamics and the pertinent timescales for three exemplary cases, corresponding to the symmetric phase, the weakly symmetry-broken phase, and the strongly symmetry-broken phase.
Figure \ref{f:dynamics} (top) shows the dynamics for a parameter value $\Lambda=0.5$ in the symmetric phase and for an initial state \eqref{e:rho0}--\eqref{e:SS} rotated out of the $z$-direction by $\theta=\pi/5$. The time dependence of the components of $\ex{\bm{S}}=\Tr(\rho\bm{S})$ shows evolution on two distinct timescales, namely a slow relaxation to the corresponding equilibrium values, superimposed by fast oscillatory behavior. The initial misalignment between $\bm{m}_0$ and the equilibrium magnetization $\bm{m}=(0,0,1)$ results in oscillations with a frequency close to $\omega_b\approx 0.7$, decaying at a rate set by $\myRe(\lambda_{-,0})\approx -0.042$.
Dynamics in the symmetry-broken phase is shown in Fig.~\ref{f:dynamics} (center), for which we chose $\Lambda=1.4$ and an initial spin orientation rotated by an angle $\theta-\theta_0=\pi/20$ away from the positive $m_x$ semi-classical ground state magnetization. Qualitatively $\ex{S_y}$ and $\ex{S_z}$ behave similar to the top panel of Fig.~\ref{f:dynamics}, with the difference that $\ex{S_x}$ approaches its equilibrium value $0$ on a much longer timescale. The reason for this slow decay is that tunneling between the two classical ground states is required for the system to equilibrate, and the timescale associated with this tunneling is set by the inverse gap of the Lindbladian spectrum, $1/\myRe(\lambda_{-,0})\approx 33$. For the parameter values used in here, the {\em Hamiltonian}\/ energy gap $\Delta E$ between the ground state and the first excited state of $\Hh_S$ is several orders of magnitude smaller than the Lindbladian gap $\myRe(\lambda_{-,0})$. This implies that tunneling due to the unitary dynamics generated by $\Hh_S$ occurs on a significantly longer timescale than what is observed here, and that the decay of $\ex{S_x}$ is therefore dominated by the dissipative part $\Dd$ \eqref{e:D} in the Lindbladian.
Dynamics further inside the symmetry-broken phase at $\Lambda=3.2$ is shown in Fig.~\ref{f:dynamics} (bottom). The solid lines correspond to data for an initial spin orientation aligned with $\bm{m}$, the dashed lines are for an initial deviation from $\bm{m}$ by an angle $\theta-\theta_0=\pi/10$. As expected, the former case leads to less pronounced oscillations than the latter. In both cases, all three spin components appear to approach constant values which are independent of the specific initial state. This is an illustration of the local thermalization process occurring around one of the symmetry-broken semi-classical ground states, and this local thermalization is well described by the results of Secs.~\ref{sec:lindbladdiagonalise} and \ref{sec:stationarystate}. While the $S_y$ and $S_z$ components have indeed reached their equilibrium values, the $S_x$ component is still undergoing a very slow exponential decay to zero, which is only apparent over long time scales. Note the non-linear scale on the horizontal axis. The inset on the bottom plot in Fig.~\ref{f:dynamics} shows $\ex{S_x}$ over a shorter time interval. The change in slope seen at around $t\approx 50$ indicate the cross-over from fast local thermalization to the slow approach to the true thermal stationary state, a process that cannot be captured by the bosonization methods of Sec.~\ref{s:bosonization}.
\section{Conclusions}
On the methodological side, the main result of the present paper is an approximate analytical method, based on bo\-son\-i\-za\-tion and vectorization techniques. The method is presented for the case of a Markovian dissipative Lipkin-Meshkov-Glick model, but is more generally applicable to Lindbladians of large-S spin models.
This method approximately maps the spin Lindblad master equation \eqref{e:unitary}--\eqref{eq:lindblad1} onto a bosonic Lindblad master equation defined by \eqref{eq:lindblad1} with \eqref{eq:Hsa}, \eqref{eq:finalHgamma}, and \eqref{eq:finalL}. This equation, which is quadratic in the bo\-son\-ic operators, can then be tackled either by exact or by approximate asymptotic methods. An exact solution of the quadratic Lind\-blad\-ian is reported in Sec.~\ref{sec:strongcoupling} for arbitrary dissipation strength $\gamma$ by employing the method of third quantization. A simpler, more manageable closed-form solution obtained by perturbation theory in the weak-dissipation limit is reported in Sec.~\ref{sec:lindbladdiagonalise}.
The simplicity of these results relies on the approximation made when truncating the Taylor series expansion of the bosonization (Holstein-Primakoff) mapping \eqref{eq:HPMapping} at leading order in $1/S$. The validity and accuracy of the method therefore depends firstly on the spin quantum number $S$ being large, but also, more subtly, on the range of validity of the Taylor expansion, which is crucially affected by whether or not the underlying semi-classical potential of the system Hamiltonian $\Hh_S$ is well approximated by a parabola. In a dynamical context, it furthermore becomes relevant whether the system's initial state lies within the range of validity of the quadratic approximation, and whether the state evolves within that range at later times. While this is in general a difficult question to answer, the numerical results of Sec.~\ref{sec:numerics} provide at least guidelines for assessing that region of validity. Compared to other large-$S$ analytic techniques for the dissipative LMG model, like those put forward in Ref.~\cite{LouwKrielKastner19}, the methods developed in the present paper have the desirable feature of including leading-order finite-size corrections. This not only leads to a more accurate results for large, finite systems as they are potentially relevant for experimental realizations of the LMG model, but also circumvents some of the pathologies of the strict infinite-$S$ system that were discussed in Ref.~\cite{Webster2018}.
Beyond method development, our work provides insights into the physics of thermalization in open quantum systems. A quantum system coupled to a bath of temperature $T$ is in general not guaranteed to evolve towards a Gibbs canonical equilibrium state \cite{PopescuShortWinter06,Subasi_etal12}. When deriving a Markovian master equation describing such a system, in many cases a secular approximation is performed, which has the merit of guaranteeing complete positivity of the quantum dynamical semigroup, but also essentially enforces a Gibbs canonical equilibrium state as the stationary state of the master equation. To retain the possibility of more diverse equilibrium properties, we investigated the master equation specified in Eqs.~\eqref{e:Lindblad_general}--\eqref{eq:lindblad1} that has been derived without a secular approximation, but on which complete positivity has been enforced by an alternative method (see Appendices A and B of Ref.~\cite{LouwKrielKastner19} for details). The study of the equilibrium state and the equilibration dynamics of that master equation is therefore a nontrivial problem that may contribute to the understanding of equilibration in open quantum systems. By applying the bosonization and vectorization techniques developed in Sec.~\ref{s:bosonization}, we found that the equilibrium state \eqref{eq:rho00} of the dissipative LMG model has the functional form of a Gibbs thermal state proportional to $\exp(-\Hh_S/T_\text{ss})$, but with a stationary temperature $T_\text{ss}$ \eqref{e:Tss} that in general differs from the ``imposed'' bath temperature $T$. When studying the dynamical approach of the equilibrium state we observed that the time-evolved density operator $\rho(t)$ \eqref{eq:evolvedrho}--\eqref{eq:TSdefinition} equilibrates by passing through a continuum of thermal states on which damped oscillations are superimposed. This is reminiscent of quasi-adiabatic evolution, but differs from conventional adiabatic dynamics in that the time evolution is not driven by a slowly varying parameter.
Extensions of the present work should aim to address the restrictive nature of the initial Holstein-Primakoff mapping from the spin to bosonic degrees of freedom. The essentially local nature of this approximation rules out any description of the tunneling effects which are integral to the equilibration process in the symmetry broken phase. It would be interesting to seek generalizations of this mapping, possibly involving more than one species of boson, which could capture the non-local dynamics resulting from the double-well shape of the classical potential energy. If such a mapping resulted in a quadratic bosonised Lindblad equation then the methods presented here, and that of the third quantization approach \cite{prosen2010}, would provide a versatile toolkit for further analysis.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 6,118 |
Q: Dependency analysis from C# code through to database tables/columns I'm looking for a tool to do system wide dependency analysis in C# code and SQL Server databases. It's looking like the only tool available that does this might be CAST (CAST software), which is expensive and it does lots more besides that I don't really need.
C# code through to database column dependency would be hugely useful for many reasons, including:
- determining effects of database changes throughout the system
- seeing hot spots in the database schema
- finding dead stored procedures, tables, etc.
- understanding the existing code base
Do such tools exist?
A: Maybe you can hack it yourself with the database's system information tables, and e.g. ReSharper's PSI-module for analyzing C# code; given that you call SProcs and SQL in a fairly common manner, you could then join the call sites with the sproc's meta-data to see what would affect what.
(; In general though, it seems to be a good idea to start moving away from sprocs as much as possible. I remember there was a heated debate won by the code-not-sprocs crowd in 2006. ;)
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 6,689 |
Q: random result from db I have this php script in an external file trying to get random question from a db:
<?php
//connect to db
require_once('db.php');
$id=rand(0,13); //2nd number = highest ID
if ($resQ = $mysqli->query("SELECT Quest FROM qa WHERE ID='$id'")){
echo "" . $resQ['Quest'] . ""; //This is Line 9
$resQ->close();
}
$mysqli->close();
?>
and I call it in my page like this
<body>
code...
<?php require_once('script/m_q.php'); ?>
...code
</body>
But i get error:
Fatal error: Cannot use object of type mysqli_result as array in .../m_q.php on line 9
Any help?
Thank you
Thank you all... Unfortunatelly I can accept just one answer, si I choose the one that answered first.
A: You have to call the fetch_assoc() method of the mysqli_result object to access the data:
<?php
//connect to db
require_once('db.php');
$id=rand(0,13); //2nd number = highest ID
if ($resQ = $mysqli->query("SELECT Quest FROM qa WHERE ID='$id'")){
$data = $resQ->fetch_assoc();
echo "" . $data['Quest'] . ""; //This is Line 9
$resQ->close();
}
$mysqli->close();
?>
A: mysqli::query does return a result set, you have to fetch rows in order to access the columns.
A: You need to fetch the data first.
$rs = $resQ->fetch_assoc();
echo $rs['Quest'];
A: $resQ cannot get in an if statement... assign data to it 1st using mysql_fetch_assoc or mysql_fetch_array.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 4,802 |
A Thousand Splendid Suns (book review)
A Thousand Splendid Suns was written by Khaled Hosseini.
What a way to end a year of reading! I would say this is absolutely an amazing book. Historical fiction is absolutely not on my normal list of genres. I'm so glad I went with the recommendation though.
The story is heartbreaking while somehow being uplifting. The story of 2 girls from 2 different generations and 2 different backgrounds being forced to come together to survive. I have trouble believing the book is a work of fiction because the characters are just SO real.
Description from amazon, Publisher's Weekly:
Afghan-American novelist Hosseini follows up his bestselling The Kite Runner with another searing epic of Afghanistan in turmoil. The story covers three decades of anti-Soviet jihad, civil war and Taliban tyranny through the lives of two women. Mariam is the scorned illegitimate daughter of a wealthy businessman, forced at age 15 into marrying the 40-year-old Rasheed, who grows increasingly brutal as she fails to produce a child. Eighteen later, Rasheed takes another wife, 14-year-old Laila, a smart and spirited girl whose only other options, after her parents are killed by rocket fire, are prostitution or starvation. Against a backdrop of unending war, Mariam and Laila become allies in an asymmetrical battle with Rasheed, whose violent misogyny—"There was no cursing, no screaming, no pleading, no surprised yelps, only the systematic business of beating and being beaten"—is endorsed by custom and law. Hosseini gives a forceful but nuanced portrait of a patriarchal despotism where women are agonizingly dependent on fathers, husbands and especially sons, the bearing of male children being their sole path to social status. His tale is a powerful, harrowing depiction of Afghanistan, but also a lyrical evocation of the lives and enduring hopes of its resilient characters.
EntertainmentColleen Bohensky December 31, 2010 book, book review, historical fiction, Khaled HosseiniComment
Family & LifeColleen Bohensky January 1, 2011 Ana, holiday, video, Zoe
Mercy (book review)
EntertainmentColleen Bohensky December 31, 2010 book, book review, Eleri Stone, fantasy, paranormal romance, Paranormal, Sci Fi & Fantasy, romance | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 5,284 |
Suche nach "[Kölbl] [Josef]" hat 5 Publikationen gefunden
Elektrotechnik und MedientechnikHochschulleitung und -einrichtungen
A. Seedsman, Josef Kölbl, Peter Sperber, M. Fröschl
Near-Infrared Laser Range Finder, using kHz Repetition Rate
SPIE Proceedings Vol. 7115
DOI: 10.1117/12.800132
The paper deals with laser range finding (LRF) technology for tracking fast-moving objects with kHz laser repetition rates. The LRF is based on time-of-flight measurement, where a short emitting laser pulse is transmitted and its time-of-flight is accurately measured by the electronics with respect to the received impulse from a non-cooperative target. The emitted laser energy is in the near infrared wavelength region. The detector is based on a single-photon detection principle of a silicon Avalanche photodiode, operated in so-called Geiger mode. A solution was devised to utilise single photon detection even at strong daylight conditions. The LRF has been integrated in a robust and compact technology demonstrator, and has successfully ranged to rapidly-moving and accelerating small targets. A detailed mathematical model was developed to predict the ranging performance of the LRF for evolution of application-specific designs. The current technology allows ranging up to a maximum range of 1.5 km with ± 0.5 m accuracy against large stationary targets, as well as tracking of small targets of 75 mm diameter moving up to a range of 300 m with a speed resolution of ± 5 m/s. The LRF device uses a standard serial protocol for device communication and control, and operates at a temperature range from 0 °C - 55 °C.
T. Stautmeister, Andreas Baumgartner, H. Tauscher, Josef Kölbl, Peter Sperber, J. Kellner
High accuracy short range laser meter for system calibration and installation
13th International Workshop on Laser Ranging, Washington, DC, USA
Andreas Baumgartner, H. Tauscher, Josef Kölbl, Peter Sperber, J. Kellner
Hochgenaues optisches Entfernungsmesssystem für industrielle Anwendungen
Bericht über angewandte Forschung und Entwicklung sowie wissenschaftlichen Technologietransfer der Fachhochschule Deggendorf, 2000-2002
Proceedings of the 13th International Workshop on Laser Ranging, Washington, DC, USA
Josef Kölbl, Peter Sperber
Clock Distribution in SLR Stations
Proceedings of the 11th International Workshop on Laser Ranging, Volume 1 + 2
Mitteilungen des Bundesamtes für Kartographie und Geodäsie, Frankfurt/Main, vol. 10/11 | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 9,788 |
namespace crashpad {
MinidumpByteArrayWriter::MinidumpByteArrayWriter()
: minidump_array_(new MinidumpByteArray()) {}
MinidumpByteArrayWriter::~MinidumpByteArrayWriter() = default;
void MinidumpByteArrayWriter::set_data(const uint8_t* data, size_t size) {
data_.clear();
data_.insert(data_.begin(), data, data + size);
}
bool MinidumpByteArrayWriter::Freeze() {
DCHECK_EQ(state(), kStateMutable);
if (!MinidumpWritable::Freeze()) {
return false;
}
size_t size = data_.size();
if (!AssignIfInRange(&minidump_array_->length, size)) {
LOG(ERROR) << "data size " << size << " is out of range";
return false;
}
return true;
}
size_t MinidumpByteArrayWriter::SizeOfObject() {
DCHECK_EQ(state(), kStateFrozen);
return sizeof(*minidump_array_) + data_.size();
}
bool MinidumpByteArrayWriter::WriteObject(FileWriterInterface* file_writer) {
DCHECK_EQ(state(), kStateWritable);
WritableIoVec iov;
iov.iov_base = minidump_array_.get();
iov.iov_len = sizeof(*minidump_array_);
std::vector<WritableIoVec> iovecs(1, iov);
if (!data_.empty()) {
iov.iov_base = data_.data();
iov.iov_len = data_.size();
iovecs.push_back(iov);
}
return file_writer->WriteIoVec(&iovecs);
}
} // namespace crashpad
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 6,711 |
myApp.controller('badgeController', ['$scope', 'badgeModel',
function($scope, badgeModel){
var getBadges = function(){
badgeModel.getBadges()
.success(function(response){
console.log(response);
$scope.badges = response;
});
}
getBadges();
}]); | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 7,981 |
Amblypneustes pallidus is een zee-egel uit de familie Temnopleuridae.
De wetenschappelijke naam van de soort werd in 1816 gepubliceerd door Jean-Baptiste de Lamarck.
Carinacea | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 303 |
Оде д'Эди (Odet d'Aydie) (ок. 1425 — август 1490) — граф Комменжа в 1473—1487, сеньор де Лекен.
Сын беарнского дворянина Бертрана д'Эди от его первой жены Мари Домен.
В 1454 г. назначен бальи Котантена (занимал этот пост до 1461). Пользовался покровительством Карла Французского, герцога Беррийского (ум. 1472) — брата Людовика XI. При его поддержке в 1469 г. стал адмиралом.
После смерти Карла Французского перешёл на сторону Людовика XI. Был назначен великим сенешалем Гиени с выплатой пенсии.
В 1473 г. получил во владение графство Комменж, виконтство Фронзак, сеньорию Кутра и сенешальство Базаде.
Женился на Марии де Лекен, даме де Лекен, баронессе д'Эспаррос, дочери Матьё де Лекена и Дианы Беарнской (внебрачной дочери Жана I де Грайли, графа де Фуа).
С 1479 г. губернатор Руана и Кана, с 1484 губернатор Гиени (оставаясь одновременно её сенешалем).
Лишился всех постов и полученных от короля владений после участия в Безумной войне в 1487 г. В следующем году амнистирован частично (без возвращения владений и должностей).
Дочери:
Жанна д'Эди, с 1480 жена Жана де Фуа, виконта де Лотрека, мать Оде де Фуа.
Мадлен д'Эди, жена Луи де Грамона, виконта де Кастильона.
Не следует путать Оде д'Эди, графа Комменжа, с его одноименным единоутробным братом Оде д'Эди Младшим (р. ок. 1455, ум. 1534) — сыном отца от второй жены, который с 1483 г. после женитьбы называл себя «Оде д'Эди де Риберак».
Источники
http://www.histoireeurope.fr/RechercheLocution.php?Locutions=Odet+d%27Aydie+le+Vieux
https://fmg.ac/Projects/MedLands/toulcofo.htm#OdetAydiedied1531
Графы Комменжа | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 7,108 |
Les eleccions al Landtag de Baviera de 1974 van ser guanyades per la Unió Social Cristiana de Baviera (CSU) amb majoria absoluta. La SPD perd més escons i la FPD esdevé la tercera força política, però força lluny de la CSU.
1974
Eleccions del 1974 | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 8,224 |
At Away Games, we know that the hours spent in the pub with other fans before the game is a big part of the day, so it's important to make sure you end up somewhere decent.
We've worked with hundreds of fans to build a comprehensive list of the best away friendly pubs in the Championship.
Simply select the stadium you're visiting below and use our interactive map to find the best pubs for your away day!
If you know of any other away pubs that we don't have listed then get in touch and let us know. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 7,044 |
\section{Introduction}
\label{intro}
There has been a resurgence of interest in super Riemann surfaces (SRS) and their supermoduli \cite{Witten:2012ga,Donagi:2013dua,Donagi:2014hza,Jost:2014wfa,Witten:2015hwa,D'Hoker:2015kwa}. SRS are the natural objects on which to define superconformal field theories in two dimensions \cite{Friedan:1986rx}, and thus they play a fundamental role in perturbative superstring theory in the Ramond-Neveu-Schwarz framework, where quantum amplitudes are computed as integrals of certain measures over supermoduli space \cite{Friedan:1985ge}. For a classical review of how these measures arise, see, for example, section III of \cite{D'Hoker:1988ta}, or \cite{Witten:2012bh,Witten:2013cia,Witten:2013tpa} for a more recent exposition. An understanding of these objects is thus important in theoretical physics as well as for the considerable pure-mathematical appeal they hold.
There are several ways to compute with super Riemann surfaces used in the physics literature. The most common is to work with the underlying Riemann surface along with a spinor-valued differential form called a gravitino (a recent work demonstrating the validity of this description is \cite{Jost:2014wfa}). This is the approach taken, for example, by D'Hoker and Phong to compute the period matrix of a non-split SRS \cite{D'Hoker:1989ai}, which was used to fibre supermoduli space over moduli space for genus $g=2$ and to thus evaluate the two-loop superstring vacuum energy (see, for example, \cite{D'Hoker:2014nna} and references therein).
A different approach is that of super Schottky groups \cite{Martinec:1986bq,Manin1986,DiVecchia:1989id}, with which compact SRS are given as quotients of a covering space by certain groups $\boldsymbol G \subseteq \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}$ of `super-projective' maps. The construction is directly analogous to the classical construction of compact Riemann surfaces as quotients by Schottky groups \cite{Ford1929}. Super Schottky groups have some drawbacks: they treat $A^i$ and $B_j$ homology cycles on a different footing (in the conventional basis), it is not known how to explicitly characterize all boundaries of super-Schottky space, and they describe only those SRS with even spin structures.
But super Schottky groups have a number of attractive features: automorphic forms can be used to give explicit formulae for many objects (such as the period matrix $\boldsymbol\tau_{ij}$, the abelian differentials, the Szeg\H o kernel, the prime form, and so on). The supermoduli are realized fairly explicitly as even and odd parameters of a set of super-projective transformations which generate the group. Super Schottky space has a natural complex structure compatible with supermoduli space (in contrast to the uniformization by super-Fuchsian subgroups of \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}~\cite{Crane:1986uf,Manin1986}). It is appealing to think of super Schottky groups as arising from the repeated gluing of pairs of marked points (\emph{i.e.}~Neveu-Schwarz punctures) on SRS, giving the supermoduli an intuitive interpretation, and making them well-suited to the description of certain types of degeneration.
Because of their relationship to gluing, (bosonic) Schottky groups emerged automatically in the earliest attempts at computing multiloop string theory amplitudes with operator methods \cite{Lovelace:1970sj,Kaku:1970ym,Alessandrini:1971cz,Alessandrini:1971dd}, with super Schottky groups emerging from analogous superstring computations in the 1980s \cite{DiVecchia:1989id}. The fact that Schottky moduli can be easily related to gluing parameters near corners of moduli space means that Schottky groups are particularly well-suited to describing the low-energy behaviour of string theory amplitudes. For example, in \cite{Magnea:2013lna}, complicated two-loop Feynman integrands for Yang-Mills gauge theory amplitudes have been reproduced starting from the bosonic string measure described by Schottky groups, as expected. That result has been reproduced successfully also starting from the Neveu-Schwarz sector of Type IIB superstring theory using super Schottky groups in \cite{Magnea:2013lna,Magnea:2015fsa}, with the benefit that there is no longer a tachyon contribution as in the bosonic theory.
This paper is concerned with the relationship between the super Schottky uniformization and the description of non-split SRS by gravitinos (and metric deformations) on split surfaces. In particular, we want to translate results expressed using gravitinos into a form which is useful for super Schottky group computations. The main idea is to take statements involving the deformation of split SRS by gravitinos and Beltrami differentials and recast them in terms of the Eichler cohomology of the super Schottky group. Our primary goal is to check that the formula for the period matrix of a non-split SRS given in \cite{D'Hoker:1989ai} and section 8 of \cite{Witten:2012ga} gives the same result as the super Schottky group series formula given in \cite{DiVecchia:1989id}.
Our calculation uses first-order deformations which can be described with quasisuperconformal vector fields \cite{Martinec:1986bq}. By taking the deformation to be a nilpotent function of two odd parameters we can ensure that it is identical to its linear approximation. Restricting to two odd supermoduli is completely general in genus two (with no punctures) when this matches the odd dimension of supermoduli space. We check equalities by computing the first few terms in power series expansions in the (super) Schottky (semi)multipliers. Since these moduli can be thought of as gluing parameters describing the pinching of the $A^i$ homology cycles, this expansion captures the leading behaviour near the corresponding corner of the Deligne-Mumford compactification of (super) moduli space.
The motivation of this work is to develop techniques suitable for adapting super Schottky groups to the Ramond sector of superstring theory.
Super Schottky groups are useful for describing string worldsheets near corners of moduli space only when the string states propagating through the nodes are in the Neveu-Schwarz sector, because super Schottky moduli are related to gluing parameters for pairs of Neveu-Schwarz punctures. Super Schottky groups are not suitable for describing string worldsheets near corners of moduli space with Ramond nodes. This precludes, in particular, the use of super Schottky groups to compute integrands for Feynman graphs with fermion edges by generalizing the results of \cite{Magnea:2015fsa}. A generalization of super Schottky groups allowing both spin structures for the $A^i$ cycles would thus be considerably useful (some progress in this direction was made by Petersen in \cite{Petersen:1989hi}).
The outline of this paper is as follows. In section \ref{sgsect}, we review necessary facts about the (super) Schottky group construction of compact (super) Riemann surfaces, also recalling some points about super Riemann surfaces. Section \ref{defschot} contains the main results of this paper: in subsection \ref{bosdef} we collect results about deformations of Riemann surfaces via Beltrami differentials and how they can be related to shifts in the Schottky moduli, then in subsection \ref{ssgdef} we see how the analysis is adapted for deformations of super Riemann surfaces, using our results to compute the period matrix of a non-split super Riemann surface in genus $g=2$.
In Appendix \ref{schotapp} we include some (super) Schottky group formulae for geometric objects defined on (super) Riemann surfaces and (super) moduli space. In Appendix \ref{SewingApp} we discuss the relationship between (super) Schottky groups and the construction of higher-genus compact (super) Riemann surfaces by gluing plumbing fixtures between pairs of marked points, with the Schottky (super) moduli arising in a simple way.
\subsubsection*{Notation} We write `bosonic' to refer specifically to objects in non-super geometry. When we use `odd constants' \emph{e.g.}~odd super Schottky parameters $\theta_i$, $\phi_i$, we are implicitly working over a Grassmann algebra generated by these constants. A bold italic letter \emph{e.g.}~$\boldsymbol w, \boldsymbol z$ denotes a function valued in $\mb{CP}^{1|1}$ or $\mb{C}^{1|1}$ (possibly depending on odd constants), such as a superconformal coordinate or an element of \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}. To avoid clutter we do not distinguish notationally between linear and (super-)conformal realizations of \ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)}~and \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}. We use Greek indices for generic (super) Schottky group elements: $\gamma_\alpha$; $\boldsymbol \gamma_\beta$, with Roman indices specifically for the generators: $\gamma_i$; $\boldsymbol \gamma_j$.
\subsubsection*{\emph{Mathematica} notebook} A \emph{Mathematica} notebook, `\verb=GravitinoSchottky.nb=', and a package, `\verb=schottky.m=', are included as ancillary files on arXiv. In the notebook we check the results of sections \ref{permatsubs} and \ref{schoformgtwo}, in which the period matrix of a non-split SRS in genus $g=2$ is computed to first order in the semimultipliers $\varepsilon_i$, both directly from the formula \eq{schopm} and via deformations of a split surface, \eq{taufromdef}.
\section{Schottky Groups}
\label{sgsect}
\subsection{Schottky groups for Riemann surfaces}
\label{schot}
In this section we review a classical construction of families of compact Riemann surfaces as quotients of a certain covering space by the action of a \emph{Schottky group} of M\"obius maps. Here we simply state the construction; in Appendix \ref{SewingApp} we explain how it can be arrived at by gluing pairs of marked points.
\subsubsection{Hyperbolic M\"obius maps}
Schottky groups are subgroups of \ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)}, the group of matrices of the form
\begin{align}
\gamma & \equiv \left(\begin{array}{cc} a & b \\ c & d \end{array}\right) \, , & ad - bd & = 1 \, ,
\end{align}
subject to the equivalence relation $(\begin{smallmatrix}a & b \\ c & d \end{smallmatrix})\sim (\begin{smallmatrix}-a &- b \\ -c & -d \end{smallmatrix})$.
\ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)}~acts on the Riemann sphere $\ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1} = \mb{C} \cup \{ \infty \}$ by M\"obius maps:
\begin{align}
z \mapsto \gamma(z) & = \frac{az+b}{cz + d} \, . \label{moebius}
\end{align}
A M\"obius map with two distinct fixed points, one attractive and one repulsive, is called \emph{hyperbolic} (or loxodromic). Any hyperbolic M\"obius map $\gamma$ with attractive and repulsive fixed points $u$ and $v$, respectively, can be defined implicitly by \cite{Ford1929}
\begin{align}
\frac{\gamma(z) - u}{\gamma(z) - v} & = k\, \frac{z - u}{z - v} \, , \label{gamuvk}
\end{align}
where $k$ is called the \emph{multiplier} of $\gamma$, with $0<|k|<1$. Hyperbolic M\"obius maps are therefore parametrized by $u$, $v$ and $k$.
Explicitly, we can write
\begin{align}
\gamma & = \Gamma_{uv}^{-1} \circ P_k \circ \Gamma_{uv} \label{SgenGam}
\end{align}
where $\Gamma_{uv}$ is a \ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)}~map taking the attractive and repulsive fixed points $u$ and $v$ to $0$ and $\infty$, respectively, for example:
\begin{align}
\Gamma_{uv} & \equiv \frac{1}{\sqrt{u-v}} \left( \begin{array}{cc} 1 & - u \\ 1 & - v \end{array}\right) \, ,
& z \mapsto \Gamma_{uv}(z) & = \frac{z-u}{z-v} \, , \label{Gamuvdef}
\end{align}
and $P_k$ is a dilatation:
\begin{align}
P_k & \equiv \left( \begin{array}{cc} \sqrt{k} & 0 \\ 0 & 1 / \sqrt{k} \end{array}\right) \, ,
&
z \mapsto P_k (z) & = k z \, . \label{Pkdef}
\end{align}
The matrix $\gamma$ has eigenvectors $(u,1)^{\text{t}}$ and $(v,1)^{\text{t}}$ and the ratio of the corresponding eigenvalues is $k$.
\subsubsection{Schottky groups}
\label{schothigherg}
\begin{figure}
\centering
\def4cm{6cm}
\subfloat[]{ \input{schottkysewinga.pdf_tex} \label{fig:ssa} }
\def4cm{6cm}
\subfloat[]{ \input{schottkysewingb.pdf_tex} \label{fig:ssb} }
\caption{Quotienting $\ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1} - \Lambda(G)$ (\Fig{fig:ssa}) by a rank-2 Schottky group $G$ freely generated by $\{ \gamma_1, \gamma_2\}$ adds two handles to the sphere, giving a compact surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}$ of genus $g=2$ (\Fig{fig:ssb}) conformally equivalent to the fundamental region $\overline{\cal F}(G)$ with its boundary circles identified in pairs. The standard basis of $A^i$ and $B_j$ homology 1-cycles is shown.}\label{schothandlesb}
\end{figure}
Suppose we have $2g$ circles on the Riemann sphere, say ${\cal C}_i$, ${\cal C}_i'$ for $i=1,\ldots,g$, which together bound a connected region ${\cal F}$ such that
\begin{align}
\partial {\cal F} & = \sum_{i=1}^g({\cal C}_i'-{\cal C}_i) \label{Fbound}
\end{align}
where the sign denotes orientation. Furthermore, suppose we can find a set of $g$ hyperbolic M\"obius maps $\gamma_i \in \ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)}$ such that $\gamma_i({\cal C}_i) = {\cal C}_i'$.
Then the group $G$ freely generated by the $\gamma_i$ is a \emph{Schottky group} of genus $g$.
Every element $\gamma$ of a Schottky group $G$ is hyperbolic (and in fact every freely-generated subgroub of \ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)}~with this property is a Schottky group \cite{Maskit1967}).
$\cal F$ is a \emph{fundamental region} for $G$; we can write $\overline{\cal F}$ for its closure which includes the $2g$ `Schottky circles' ${\cal C}_i$, ${\cal C}_i'$. The group has a \emph{limit set} $\Lambda(G) \subseteq \ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1}$, which is the set of points which are not equivalent by the Schottky group $G$ to some point in $\overline{\cal F}$ (this does not depend on the choice of ${\cal F}$: we may alternatively define $\Lambda(G)$ as the set of accumulation points of the orbits of $G$). Then if we subtract the limit set from the Riemann sphere and quotient by $G$, the coset space is a compact Riemann surface of genus $g$:
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g & = \big( \ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1} - \Lambda(G)) / G \, .
\end{align}
We could define the same surface perhaps more intuitively by taking the fundamental region $\overline{\cal F}$ and identifying the boundary circles in pairs with $z \sim \gamma_i(z)$ for $z \in {\cal C}_i$ and $\gamma_i(z) \in {\cal C}_i'$, making sure to note that the resulting surface depends, of course, {only} on the Schottky group $G$ and not on the choice of ${\cal F}$. See \Fig{schothandlesb} for an illustration of the genus $g=2$ case.
A \emph{marked} Schottky group is a Schottky group $G$ with a choice of $g$ generators $\gamma_i$. Since fixing the generators fixes the whole group, of course, we can parametrize marked Schottky groups by giving the $3g$ parameters $u_i, v_i, k_i$, $i=1,\ldots,g$. Two Schottky groups conjugate by a \ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)}~transformation will describe the same Riemann surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$; to get rid of this redundancy we can always fix coordinates on \ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1}~with
\begin{align}
u_1 & = 0 \, , & v_1 & = \infty \, , & v_2 & = 1 \, . \label{normeq}
\end{align}
A marked Schottky group satisfying \eq{normeq} is \emph{normalized}. The $(3g-3)$-dimensional space of marked, normalized Schottky groups of genus $g$ is called \emph{Schottky space} $\mathfrak{S}_g$.
A compact Riemann surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ is \emph{marked} if it has a basis $\{A^i,B_j; \, i,j = 1,\ldots g\}$ of 1-cycles whose oriented intersection number is given by $(A^i, A^j) = (B_i, B_j) = 0$ and $(A^i , B_j ) = - (B_j , A^i ) = \delta^i_j$. Conventionally, the $A^i$ cycles on a Riemann surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ given by a Schottky group $G$ may be taken as the Schottky circles ${\cal C}_i$ for some choice of ${\cal F}$, while the ${ B}_i$ cycles are given by a choice of curve connecting a point on ${\cal C}_i$ to the $G$-equivalent point on ${\cal C}_i'$.
It is a classical theorem that any compact Riemann surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ can be constructed with a Schottky group $G$. It is not always possible to find ${\cal F}$ such that the boundary components are geometric circles; it is only necessary that they are closed curves with the right topology.
\subsection{Schottky groups for super Riemann surfaces}
There is an analogous construction to the one in the previous section which can be used to describe super Riemann surfaces (SRS). In section \ref{srs} we recall some basic definitions and facts about SRS, in sections \ref{osp} and \ref{hyp21} we review super-projective transformations, and in section \ref{ssg} we describe how these can be used to build families of compact SRS.
\subsubsection{Super Riemann surfaces}
\label{srs}
Let us recall that an SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}$ is a $1|1$-dimensional complex supermanifold with some additional structure, namely that its tangent bundle comes with a rank-$0|1$ sub-bundle ${\cal D} \subseteq T\ensuremath{\Sigma}$ such that any local non-zero section $D$ of ${\cal D}$ has the property that $D^2 \equiv \frac{1}{2} \{ D , D \}$ is nowhere proportional to $D$ \cite{Witten:2012ga}. It is always possible to choose local coordinates $\boldsymbol z \equiv z|\zeta$ where sections of ${\cal D}$ are proportional to
\begin{align}
D_\zeta & \equiv \partial_\zeta + \zeta \partial_z \, , \label{superD}
\end{align}
whose square $D_\zeta^2 = \partial_z$ is clearly linearly independent of $D_\zeta$. Coordinates with this property are called \emph{superconformal}. If $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol{z}} = \ensuremath{\widehat} z | \ensuremath{\widehat} \zeta$ is a coordinate system which overlaps with the superconformal coordinate $\boldsymbol z$, then it is also superconformal if and only if
\begin{align}
D_\zeta \, \ensuremath{\widehat}{z} & = \ensuremath{\widehat}{\zeta} \, D_\zeta \, \ensuremath{\widehat}{\zeta} \, \label{superconf}
\end{align}
holds \cite{Friedan:1986rx}.
The superderivative transforms under the superconformal change of coordinates as
\begin{align}
D_\zeta & = F_{\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol{z}}} ( \boldsymbol z) D_{\ensuremath{\widehat} \zeta} \, , &
F_{\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol{z}}}(\boldsymbol z) & \equiv D_\zeta\, \ensuremath{\widehat}{\zeta}(\boldsymbol z) \, , \label{superjac}
\end{align}
where the `semijacobian' $F_{\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol{z}}}(\boldsymbol z)$ satisfies a chain rule
\begin{align}
F_{\boldsymbol w \circ \boldsymbol v}({\boldsymbol u}) & = F_{\boldsymbol w}({\boldsymbol v}(\boldsymbol u)) \cdot F_{{{\boldsymbol v}}}({\boldsymbol u}) \, .
\end{align}
Any supermanifold has a Berezinian bundle, and an SRS in particular has a Berezinian bundle generated by the symbol $[\d z | \d \zeta ] \equiv [ \d \boldsymbol z]$ which transforms oppositely to $D_\zeta$ under superconformal changes of coordinates \cite{Giddings:1987wn}:
\begin{align}
[\d z | \d \zeta ] & = F_{\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol z}}( \boldsymbol z)^{-1} [ \d \ensuremath{\widehat}{z} | \d \ensuremath{\widehat}{\zeta}]
\end{align}
so that $[\d \boldsymbol z] D_\zeta$ is coordinate-independent. In general, if $\phi(\boldsymbol z) [\d \boldsymbol z]^{h}$ is superconformally covariant, \emph{i.e.}~if $\phi(\boldsymbol z) = F_{\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol z}}(\boldsymbol z)^h \ensuremath{\widehat}{\phi}(\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol z})$, then $\phi(\boldsymbol z)$ is a section of ${\cal D}^{h}$ called an $h/2$-superdifferential, or a superconformal primary of weight $h/2$.
Of particular interest are ${1}/{2}$-superdifferentials which can be identified with sections of the Berezinian bundle and inserted in contour integrals covariantly. On a compact SRS of genus $g$, there is a $(g|0)$-dimensional space of holomorphic $1/2$-superdifferentials (called abelian superdifferentials). We can write them in terms of local superconformal coordinates as $\ensuremath{\widehat}\sigma(z|\zeta) = \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi(z|\zeta) [ \d z | \d \zeta]$. Given a homology basis of $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ we can fix a normalized basis $\{ \ensuremath{\widehat}\sigma_i\}$ of abelian superdifferentials by
\begin{align}
\frac{1}{2\pi {\rm i}} \oint_{A^i} \ensuremath{\widehat}\phi_j(z|\zeta) [ \d z | \d \zeta] & = \delta^i_j \, , \label{supabnorm}
\end{align}
where the Berezinian integration is understood in the usual way (see, for example, \cite{Witten:2012bg}).
Then the period matrix of $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$, $\boldsymbol \tau_{ij}$, is a symmetric $g \times g$ matrix defined by \cite{Voronov:1987xf}
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol\tau_{ij} & = \frac{1}{2\pi{\rm i}} \oint_{B_j} \ensuremath{\widehat}\phi_i(z|\zeta) [ \d z | \d \zeta] \, . \label{srspermatdef}
\end{align}
As with any supermanifold, an SRS \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}~has an associated \emph{reduced} surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}$ which is an ordinary Riemann surface: if \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}~has transition functions $\boldsymbol z_i(\boldsymbol z_j) = f_{ij} ( z_j | \zeta_j) \big| \phi_{ij} (z_j |\zeta_j)$, then the surface with transition functions $z_i(z_j) = f_{ij}(z_j|0)$ is the associated reduced surface $\Sigma$ \cite{Witten:2012ga}.
A simple example of a compact SRS is a `Riemann supersphere' \cite{Manin1986} defined by giving two superconformal charts $\boldsymbol z$ and $\boldsymbol w$ related by the superconformal transformation
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol{z} & = \boldsymbol{I} (\boldsymbol{w}) \, , &
\boldsymbol{I} (\boldsymbol{w}) & \equiv -1/w \big| - \psi / w \, . \label{ztoy}
\end{align}
As a complex supermanifold this is the projective space $\mb{CP}^{1|1}$, which is defined by taking $\mb{C}^{2|1}$ minus the $0|1$-dimensional locus where both even coordinates vanish, and quotienting by the equivalence relation $(u,v|\theta) \sim (\lambda u , \lambda v | \lambda \theta)$ where $\lambda$ is any non-zero complex number \cite{Manin1991}. Taking $u,v|\theta$ as coordinates on $\mb{C}^{2|1}$, the superconformal coordinate charts $\boldsymbol z$ and $\boldsymbol w$ of \eq{ztoy} can be defined by
\begin{align}
z | \zeta & \equiv \frac{u}{v} \, \big| \frac{\theta}{v} & \text{ for }v & \neq 0 \, ; &
w | \psi & \equiv - \frac{v}{u} \, \Big| \frac{\theta}{u} & \text{ for }u & \neq 0 \, . \label{affinecharts}
\end{align}
It can be shown (see \emph{e.g.}~section 5.1.1 of \cite{Witten:2012ga}) that this is the only SRS \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}~whose reduced surface is the Riemann sphere.
\subsubsection{Super projective transformations}
\label{osp}
The superconformal structure on $\mb{CP}^{1|1}$ can also be defined by introducing a skew-symmetric bilinear form $
\langle \cdot , \cdot \rangle $ on $\mb{CP}^{2|1}$ defined by (Eq.~(5.4) of \cite{Witten:2012ga})
\begin{align}
\langle Y , Y ' \rangle & = u v' - v u ' - \theta \theta ' \, , \label{bilin}
\end{align}
where $Y =( u,v|\theta)$ and $Y' = (u',v'| \theta')$. It can be shown (see, for example, Theorem (1.12) of Chapter 2 of \cite{Manin1991}) that the set of automorphisms of $\mb{CP}^{1|1}$ as a SRS is the supergroup which preserves the bilinear form \eq{bilin}, namely \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}. \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}~acts linearly on the homogeneous coordinates by $\text{GL}(2|1)$ matrices of
the form
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol{\gamma}\, = \, \left( \begin{array}{cc|c} a & b & \alpha \\ c & d & \beta \\
\hline \gamma & \delta & e \end{array} \right) \, ,
\label{GLmatrix}
\end{align}
where the five even and four odd variables are subject to one even and two odd constraints as well as one even normalization condition:
\begin{align}
\left( \begin{array}{c} \alpha \\ \beta \end{array} \right) & =
\left( \begin{array}{cc} a & b \\ c & d \end{array} \right)
\left( \begin{array}{c} - \delta \\ \gamma \end{array} \right) \, , &
a d - b c - \alpha \beta & = 1 \, , & e & = 1 - \alpha \beta \, ,
\label{OSpConstraints}
\end{align}
so that \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}~has dimension $3|2$. The inverse of such a map $\boldsymbol \gamma$ is
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol \gamma^{-1} & =\left( \begin{array}{cc|c} d & - b & \delta \\ - c & a & - \gamma \\
\hline - \beta & \alpha & e \end{array} \right) \, .
\label{ospinv}
\end{align}
In terms of the superconformal coordinates $\boldsymbol z \equiv z|\zeta$ defined in \eq{affinecharts}, $\boldsymbol{\gamma}$ acts as
\begin{align}
z | \zeta \mapsto \boldsymbol{\gamma}(z|\zeta) & = \frac{az + b + \alpha \zeta}{c z + d + \beta \zeta} \, \Big| \, \frac{\gamma z + \delta + e \zeta}{c z + d + \beta \zeta} \, . \label{superproj}
\end{align}
The reduced form of $\boldsymbol{\gamma}$ obtained by setting $\zeta = 0$ in the even part of \eq{superproj} is just the M\"obius map $\gamma$ in \eq{moebius}.
It is useful to introduce a bra-ket notation for $\mb{C}^{2|1}$ with respect to the bilinear form in \eq{bilin}. Given $Y = u,v|\theta \in \mb{C}^{2|1}$, let us define\footnote{The definition of $\bra{Y}$ differs by a minus sign from the one used in \cite{Magnea:2013lna,Magnea:2015fsa}.}
\begin{align}
\bra{Y} & = (- v\,\, u\, | \, - \theta) \, , &
\ket{Y} & = (u\,\, v \, |\, \theta ) ^{\text{t}} \label{braket1}
\end{align}
so that
\begin{align}
\langle Y | Y' \rangle & \equiv \sum_{i=1}^3\bra{Y}_i \ket{Y ' }_i = \langle Y, Y' \rangle \, .\label{braket2}
\end{align}
There is a super-projective version of the cross-ratio of four points. Given four super-points $\boldsymbol{z}_i \in \mb{CP}^{1|1}$, $i=1, \ldots, 4$, we can define
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat}{\Psi} ( \boldsymbol{z}_1 , \boldsymbol{z}_2 , \boldsymbol{z}_3, \boldsymbol{z}_4) & = \frac{ \langle \boldsymbol{z}_1 | \boldsymbol{z}_2 \rangle \langle \boldsymbol{z}_3 | \boldsymbol{z}_4 \rangle}{\langle \boldsymbol{z}_1 | \boldsymbol{z}_4 \rangle \langle \boldsymbol{z}_2 | \boldsymbol{z}_4 \rangle} \, . \label{sucr}
\end{align}
where $\ket{\boldsymbol z_i} \in \mb{C}^{2|1}$ are homogeneous coordinates for the $\boldsymbol{z}_i$. Then $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\Psi}$ is unchanged if we transform all four of the $\boldsymbol{z}_i \equiv z_i | \zeta_i$ according to \eq{superproj}.
If we introduce the Neveu-Schwarz difference of two superpoints \cite{Fairlie:1973jw}:
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol z_1 \dotminus \boldsymbol z_2 & \equiv z_1 - z_2 - \zeta_1 \zeta_2 \, , \label{sdiff}
\end{align} then the cross-ratio may also be written
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat}{\Psi} ( \boldsymbol{z}_1 , \boldsymbol{z}_2 , \boldsymbol{z}_3, \boldsymbol{z}_4) & = \frac{ \boldsymbol{z}_1 \dotminus \boldsymbol{z}_2 }{ \boldsymbol{z}_1 \dotminus \boldsymbol{z}_4} \cdot \frac{ \boldsymbol{z}_3 \dotminus \boldsymbol{z}_4 }{ \boldsymbol{z}_2 \dotminus \boldsymbol{z}_3 } \, . \label{sucrsd}
\end{align}
A novelty in the super-projective case is that there is also an odd pseudo-invariant of three super-points (defined up to a sign) \cite{Hornfeck:1987wt}:
\begin{align}
\Theta(\boldsymbol{z}_1 , \boldsymbol{z}_2 , \boldsymbol{z}_3) & = \pm \frac{\zeta_1 (\boldsymbol z_2 \dotminus \boldsymbol z_3) + \zeta_2 (\boldsymbol z_3 \dotminus \boldsymbol z_1) + \zeta_3(\boldsymbol z_1 \dotminus \boldsymbol z_2) + \zeta_1 \zeta_2 \zeta_3 }{\sqrt{(\boldsymbol z_1 \dotminus \boldsymbol z_2)(\boldsymbol z_2 \dotminus \boldsymbol z_3)(\boldsymbol z_3 \dotminus \boldsymbol z_1)}} \label{oddinv} \, .
\end{align}
\subsubsection{Hyperbolic superprojective maps}
\label{hyp21}
All elements of a bosonic Schottky group $G$ are hyperbolic, \emph{i.e.}~each one is conjugate by some \ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)}~map to a dilatation $z \mapsto k_\alpha z$. To define super Schottky groups we need a corresponding notion of a hyperbolic superprojective map (see Chapter 2, Section 2.10 of \cite{Manin1991}).
Consider the map $\boldsymbol{P}_\varepsilon \in \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}$ given by
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol{P}_\varepsilon & = \left( \begin{array}{cc|c} \varepsilon & 0 & 0 \\ 0 & \varepsilon^{-1} & 0 \\ \hline 0 & 0 & 1 \end{array}\right) \, , \label{spdef}
\end{align}
for some even $\varepsilon$ with\footnote{Inequalities are to be understood as holding modulo odd variables.} $|\varepsilon| < 1$. In superconformal coordinates, $\boldsymbol{P}_\varepsilon$ acts as
\begin{align}
z | \zeta \equiv \boldsymbol{z} \mapsto \boldsymbol{P}_\varepsilon(\boldsymbol{z}) & = \varepsilon^2 z | \varepsilon \zeta \, . \label{zPe}
\end{align}
$\boldsymbol{P}_\varepsilon$ has two fixed superpoints corresponding to the eigenvectors $(1,0|0)^{\text{t}}$ and $(0,1|0)^{\text{t}}$; denote them symbolically by $\boldsymbol z = \boldsymbol \infty $ and $\boldsymbol z = \boldsymbol 0$, respectively (the odd third eigenvector of $\boldsymbol{P}_\varepsilon$ is excluded from $\mb{CP}^{1|1}$ by definition). The first one is repulsive and the second one is attractive.
Any map $\boldsymbol \gamma \in \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}$ that can be written in the form
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol \gamma & = \boldsymbol \Gamma^{-1} \boldsymbol P_\varepsilon \boldsymbol \Gamma \, ;
&
\boldsymbol\Gamma & \in \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)} \label{hypdef} \, ,
\end{align}
will be called \emph{hyperbolic}; we can denote the supermanifold of these maps by $\ensuremath{\text{Hyp}(2|1)} \subseteq \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}$ \cite{Manin1991}.
We will call $\varepsilon$ the \emph{semimultiplier} of $\boldsymbol{\gamma}$.
Any $\boldsymbol \gamma \in \ensuremath{\text{Hyp}(2|1)}$ has one attractive and one repulsive fixed superpoint: if $\boldsymbol \gamma$ is written in the form \eq{hypdef} then these are $\boldsymbol u = \boldsymbol \Gamma^{-1}(\boldsymbol 0)$ and $\boldsymbol v = \boldsymbol \Gamma^{-1} (\boldsymbol \infty)$ respectively. Given two super-points $\boldsymbol{u}$, $\boldsymbol{v} \in \mb{CP}^{1|1}$ whose even parts are distinct modulo odd variables, we can find a \ensuremath{\text{Hyp}(2|1)}~map $\boldsymbol{\gamma}$ which has them as its attractive and repulsive fixed points, respectively. Just let $\boldsymbol \Gamma = \boldsymbol{\Gamma_{uv}}$ be any \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}~map with
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol{\Gamma_{uv}}(\boldsymbol{u}) & = \boldsymbol 0\, , &
\boldsymbol{\Gamma_{uv}}(\boldsymbol{v}) & = \boldsymbol \infty \, ; \label{gamcon}
\end{align}
one such \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}~matrix can be written using the bra-ket notation of \eq{braket1} as \cite{Magnea:2015fsa}:
\begin{align}
{\boldsymbol \Gamma}_{\boldsymbol {uv}} & = \frac{1}{\sqrt{\langle {\boldsymbol u} | {\boldsymbol v} \rangle }}
\left( \begin{array}{cc|c}
u_2 & - u_1 & \ensuremath{\widehat} \theta \\ \phantom{\Big|} v_2 & - v_1 & \ensuremath{\widehat}\phi \\ \hline
\frac{\phantom{\big|} u_2 \ensuremath{\widehat}\phi - v_2 \ensuremath{\widehat}\theta}{\sqrt{\langle {\boldsymbol u} | {\boldsymbol v} \rangle }} &
\frac{\phantom{\big|} v_1 \ensuremath{\widehat}\theta - u_1\ensuremath{\widehat} \phi}{\sqrt{\langle {\boldsymbol u} | {\boldsymbol v} \rangle }} & \sqrt{\langle {\boldsymbol u} | {\boldsymbol v} \rangle } - \frac{3}{2} \frac{\phantom{\big|} \ensuremath{\widehat}\theta\ensuremath{\widehat} \phi}{\sqrt{\langle {\boldsymbol u} | {\boldsymbol v} \rangle }}
\end{array} \right) \, ,
\label{Gammauvdef}
\end{align}
where $\ket{\boldsymbol u} = (u_1,u_2|\ensuremath{\widehat} \theta)^{\text{t}}$ and $\ket{\boldsymbol v} = (v_1,v_2| \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi)^{\text{t}}$.
Then
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol{\gamma} & = \boldsymbol{\Gamma_{uv}}^{-1}\, \boldsymbol{P}_\varepsilon \, \boldsymbol{\Gamma_{uv}}
\end{align}
is the desired map.
$\boldsymbol \gamma$ can be written using the bra-ket notation introduced in \eq{braket1} as \cite{Magnea:2015fsa}:
\begin{align}
{\boldsymbol \gamma} & = \boldsymbol 1 \, + \, \frac{1}{ \langle \boldsymbol{v} | \boldsymbol{u} \rangle }
\Big( \left( 1 - \varepsilon \right) \ket{\boldsymbol{v}} \bra{\boldsymbol{u}}
\, - \, \left( 1 - \varepsilon^{-1} \right) \ket{\boldsymbol{u}}
\bra{\boldsymbol{v}} \, \Big) \, .
\label{eq:SuSbraket}
\end{align}
\subsubsection{Super-Schottky groups}
\label{ssg}
Essentially, the idea is to repeat the construction of section \ref{schot} but with the roles of the Riemann sphere and hyperbolic M\"obius maps being replaced, respectively, with the supersphere $\mb{CP}^{1|1}$ and the hyperbolic super-projective transformations described in section \ref{hyp21}.
So to build a SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ of genus $g$ (meaning one whose reduced surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ is a RS of genus $g$), we give a group $\boldsymbol G \subseteq \ensuremath{\text{Hyp}(2|1)}$ which is a free group on $g$ generators
\begin{align}
\{ \boldsymbol{\gamma}_i ,\,\, i = 1 , \ldots , g \} \, , & & \boldsymbol{\gamma}_i & \equiv \boldsymbol{\Gamma}_{\boldsymbol{u}_i\boldsymbol{v}_i}^{-1} \circ \boldsymbol{P}_{\varepsilon_i }\circ \boldsymbol{\Gamma}_{\boldsymbol{u}_i\boldsymbol{v}_i} \, .
\end{align}
$\boldsymbol{G}$ is a super Schottky group if the reduced group $\boldsymbol{G}_{\text{red}} \subseteq \ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)} $, obtained by setting all odd parameters of $\boldsymbol{G}$ to 0, is a Schottky group. The super Schottky covering space is $\boldsymbol{\Omega}(\boldsymbol{G}) = \pi^{-1} (\mb{CP}^1 - \Lambda(\boldsymbol{G}_{\text{red}}))$, where $\pi : \mb{CP}^{1|1} \to \mb{CP}^{1}$ is the projection onto the even part.
Each of the $g$ generators of $\boldsymbol{G}$ needs $3|2$ parameters to be specified, $\boldsymbol u_i = u_i | \theta_i$, $\boldsymbol v_i = v_i |\phi_i$, and $\varepsilon_i$. But we can always make an \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}~change of coordinates so that $3|2$ of these are fixed to, say,
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol{u}_1 & = \boldsymbol{0} \, , &
\boldsymbol{v}_1 & = \boldsymbol{\infty} \, , &
\boldsymbol{v}_2 & = 1 | \phi_2 = 1 | \Theta(\boldsymbol{u}_1,\boldsymbol{v}_1 ,\boldsymbol{v}_2) \, . \label{canonsc}
\end{align}
A marked super Schottky group whose fixed points satisfy \eq{canonsc} is said to be \emph{normalized}. Let us denote the supermanifold of marked, normalized super Schottky groups of genus $g$ by $\ensuremath{\bs{\frak{S}}_g}$; let us denote the canonical super Schottky moduli (coordinates for \ensuremath{\bs{\frak{S}}_g}) by
\begin{align}
\{\boldsymbol m^A\} & = \{ \varepsilon_1, \ldots, \varepsilon_g, u_2, \ldots , u_g ,v_3, \ldots, v_g| \theta_2 , \ldots, \theta_g, \phi_2, \ldots, \phi_g\} \, . \label{ssmod}
\end{align}
The dimension of \ensuremath{\bs{\frak{S}}_g}~is $3g-3|2g-2$.
Of course, this is also the dimension of the supermoduli space of genus $g$ SRS, and in fact all SRS with even $\vartheta$ characteristics can be obtained in this way \cite{Manin1991}.
It can be seen (Appendix \ref{SewingApp}) that the construction described here may be arrived at by starting with a supersphere and repeatedly gluing pairs of marked superpoints (\emph{i.e.}~Neveu-Schwarz punctures) which become the fixed superpoints, with the gluing parameters becoming the semimultipliers $\varepsilon_i$.
We will need the notion of a \emph{split} SRS. This means that the even coordinates $z_i$ are independent of the odd coordinates $\zeta_j$ in the transition functions between any overlapping superconformal charts $\boldsymbol z_i$, $\boldsymbol z_j$, \emph{i.e.}, that all transition functions are of the form $\boldsymbol z_i = f_{ij} ( z_j ) \big| \phi_{ij}( z_j | \zeta_j)$. In fact (see, for example, Section 2.1.2 of \cite{Witten:2012ga}), any split SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ is the total space of a line bundle $(\mathit{\Pi} K^{-1/2}) \to \ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$, where $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ is the reduced surface of $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$, $ K^{-1/2}$ is the dual to some line bundle $K^{1/2}$ whose square is the canonical bundle $K$ of $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$, and the symbol $\mathit{\Pi}$ indicates that the fibres are taken to be Grassmann-odd. The choice of the square root $K^{1/2}$ of $K$ is called a \emph{spin-structure}.
For an SRS given by a super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G$, the elements of $\boldsymbol G$ can be regarded as the transition functions of a suitably chosen atlas. If we write a generic element of $\boldsymbol G$ in the form \eq{superproj} then we see that the requirement of splitness imposes the condition $\alpha = \beta = 0 $ and hence $\gamma = \delta = 0 $ by \eq{OSpConstraints}. So for $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ split, every element of $\boldsymbol G$ must be of the form
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol \gamma & = \left(\begin{array}{cc|c} a & b & 0 \\ c & d & 0 \\ \hline 0 & 0 & 1 \end{array}\right) \, ; & ad-bc & = 1 \, . \label{sl2}
\end{align}
The group of such matrices is \ensuremath{\text{SL}(2)}, not \ensuremath{\text{PSL}(2)}~as in the bosonic case, because flipping the signs of $a,b,c,d$ in \eq{sl2} produces a distinct \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}~map. In particular, for $\boldsymbol \gamma \in \ensuremath{\text{SL}(2)} \cap \ensuremath{\text{Hyp}(2|1)}$, this sign choice is equivalent to a sign choice for the semimultiplier $\varepsilon$.
A marked super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G$ describes a split SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ if the odd components of the fixed superpoints which parametrize $\boldsymbol G$ vanish: $\boldsymbol u_i = u_i | 0$, $\boldsymbol v_i = v_i | 0 $. In this case, $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ is isomorphic to the total space of the line bundle $\mathit{\Pi}\! K^{-1/2} \to \ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$, where $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ is the RS given by the marked Schottky group $G$ parametrized by the fixed points $u_i$, $v_i$ and by the multipliers $k_i = \varepsilon_i^2$. Since the RS $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ depends only on $\varepsilon_i^2$ not $\varepsilon_i$, it is unaltered by changing any of the semimultipliers by a factor of $(-1)$. The same is not true for the line bundle $\mathit{\Pi}\! K^{-1/2}$: the sign choice for the semimultipliers $\varepsilon_i$ parametrizing $\boldsymbol G$ fixes the spin structure, \emph{i.e.}~the choice of $K^{1/2}$. Recall that the spin structure of a marked Riemann surface of genus $g$ can be expressed in terms of a $\vartheta$ characteristic $(\vec{\epsilon}_a, \vec{\epsilon}_b) \in (\frac{1}{2} \mb{Z}/\mb{Z})^{2 g}$ whose parity is said to be even or odd depending on whether $4 \vec{\epsilon}_a \cdot \vec{\epsilon}_b$ is even or odd \cite{AlvarezGaume:1986es}. The signs of the semimultipliers $\varepsilon_i$ fix $\vec{\epsilon}_B$ which describes the twisting of $K^{1/2}$ around the $B_i$ cycles of $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$. On the other hand, $\vec{\epsilon}_A$ is always zero with split super Schottky groups, so the spin structure's parity is always even.
The abelian superdifferentials $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\sigma}_i({\boldsymbol z}) = \ensuremath{\widehat}{\phi}_i({\boldsymbol z}) [ \d {\boldsymbol z}]$ of a split SRS can be written down in terms of the abelian differentials $\omega_i(z) \d z$ of its reduced surface (normalized according to \eq{abelnorm}) as:
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat}{\phi}_i(z|\zeta) & = \zeta \, \omega_i(z) \, .
\end{align}
The period matrix ${\boldsymbol \tau}_{ij}$ of a split SRS is equal to the period matrix $\tau_{ij}$ of its reduced surface (defined in \eq{permatdef}).
\section{Deformations with Schottky groups}
\label{defschot}
\subsection{Deformations with bosonic Schottky groups}
\label{bosdef}
Given a Riemann surface of genus $g$, described by a Schottky group, $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g = (\ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1} - \Lambda(G))/G$, we will consider two different ways to describe a deformation of the complex structure to get a different surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g'$ of the same genus.
The first way is simply to shift some of the Schottky moduli,
\begin{align}
m^a & \mapsto m^a + \delta m^a \, , & a & = 1 , \ldots, 3g - 3 \, , \label{moddef}
\end{align}
giving a new Schottky group $G'$ which gives $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g'$ as the quotient $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g' = (\ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1} - \Lambda(G'))/G'$, where the complex structure is inherited from the canonical one on $\mb{CP}^1$ in the usual way.
The second approach is to hold the Schottky group $G$ fixed, but to deform the complex structure away from the canonical one induced from $\ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1}$. This can be achieved by switching on a \emph{Beltrami differential} $\mu_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^{\, z} (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z) \, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \otimes \partial_z$. We will discuss the relationship between the two approaches and see how we should interpret expressions involving Beltrami differentials in terms of the Schottky moduli.
Recall that on a smooth $d$-dimensional manifold, an almost complex structure is a tensor field $J_\mu{}^\nu$ satisfying $J_\mu{}^\rho J_\rho{}^\nu = - \delta_{\mu}^{\nu}$, and in $d=2$, this is always integrable to a complex structure. A function $w$ on the manifold is said to be holomorphic with respect to the complex structure if
\begin{align}
(J_\mu{}^\rho \partial_\rho - {\rm i} \, \partial_\mu) w & = 0 \, . \label{holomdef}
\end{align}
Now focusing on the $d=2$ case, we can always get a complex structure if we are given a Riemannian metric tensor $\d s^ 2 = g_{\mu \nu}\, \d \xi^\mu \otimes \d \xi^\nu$: we set $J_{\mu}{}^\rho = \sqrt{\det g}\, \epsilon_{\mu \sigma} g^{\sigma \rho}$ where $\epsilon_{\mu \sigma}$ is the antisymmetric symbol with $\epsilon_{12} = 1$ \cite{D'Hoker:1988ta}. If we have some local complex coordinates $(z, \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}})$ (which are \emph{not} necessarily compatible with the complex structure), we can write a general metric in the form $\d s^2 = \ex{2 \rho} | \d z + \mu_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^{\, z} (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z) \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} |^2$. The almost complex structure which this metric induces can be inserted in \eq{holomdef} to give the holomorphicity condition for $w$ in the form
\begin{align}
\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} w & = \mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z} \partial_z w \, , \label{beleq}
\end{align}
which is called \emph{Beltrami's equation}. $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z}$ is called a Beltrami parameter or Beltrami differential. A complex function satisfying \eq{beleq} is called a uniformizing coordinate. Of course, if $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z} = 0$ then \eq{beleq} becomes the usual holomorphicity condition with respect to the local complex coordinates, $\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} w=0 $.
Let us define the coordinate deformation $\delta z (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} , z)$ as the difference between a uniformizing coordinate $w(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z)$ solving \eq{beleq} and the coordinate $z$:
\begin{align}
\delta z (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) & \equiv w(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z) - z \, , \label{defdef}
\end{align}
then \eq{beleq} becomes
\begin{align}
\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z} & = \frac{\partial_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}} \delta z}{1 + \partial_z \delta z} \, . \label{mudelta}
\end{align}
To apply this to a Riemann surface described by a Schottky group $G$, we consider a Beltrami differential $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z}$ defined on $\ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1}$. In order for it to make sense on $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ we require that $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ transforms under $G$ as
\begin{align}
\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z} \circ \gamma_\alpha & = \frac{\gamma_\alpha'}{(\gamma_\alpha')^*} \times \, \mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z} \, ,
\end{align}
for any $\gamma_\alpha \in G$, as well as that $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z}$ vanishes on the limit set $\Lambda(G)$. Then there is a unique function $w: \ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1} \to \ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1}$ satisfying \eq{beleq} and fixing $z=0,1,\infty$ ($w$ is then a \emph{normalized} uniformizing coordinate for $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z}$). Then the group
\begin{align}
G' & = w \, G \, w^{-1} \label{Gprime}
\end{align}
is also a Schottky group, and its limit set is $\Lambda(G') = w (\Lambda(G))$ \cite{Bers1975332}. Clearly, a choice of generators on $\{\gamma_i, \, i=1,\ldots,g\}$ for $G$ induces a set of generators $\{ \ensuremath{\widetilde} \gamma_i\}$ for $G'$, and thus we can find the associated shifts $\delta m^a$ of the Schottky moduli \eq{moddef}, since each modulus $m_a$ is defined as either a multiplier $k_i$ or a fixed point $u_i, v_i$ for one of the $g$ generators.
The converse also holds: given two sets of generators $\{\gamma_i\}$, $\{\gamma_i'\}$ defining marked Schottky groups $G_1$ and $G_2$ of the same rank, there exists a Beltrami parameter $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z}$ on $\ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1}$ for which the above statements are valid (see, for example, Proposition 1 of \cite{Bers1975332}).
Now, consider a small deformation in the moduli \eq{moddef} of a Schottky group $G$. There is an associated Beltrami differential and hence a unique normalized uniformizing coordinate $w$; let us consider the associated coordinate deformation $\delta z$ (\eq{defdef}). Let us define $\ensuremath{\check{c}}_a(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z)$ by the following expansion of $\delta z$ for small values of $\delta m^a$:
\begin{align}
\delta z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) & = \delta m^a\, \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) + {\cal O}(\delta m^a)^2 \, . \label{cadef}
\end{align}
Then it follows from \eq{mudelta} that we have (to leading order) \cite{Roland:1993pm}
\begin{align}
\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z} & = \delta m^a \, \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \, \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z + {\cal O}(\delta m^a)^2 \, , \label{capot}
\end{align}
so that $\delta m^a \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z)$ is (to leading order) a \emph{potential} for $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z}$, \emph{i.e.}~a function $F$ satisfying $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^{\, z} = \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} F$. Note that $\ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z)$ is not single-valued (as a vector field) under the Schottky group $G$ so it is not well defined on $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$.
To see this, we note that for any Schottky group element $\gamma_\alpha$ in $G$, we have from \eq{Gprime}
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widetilde} \gamma_\alpha (w(z)) & = w(\gamma_\alpha(z)) \label{TwwT} \, ,
\end{align}
where $\ensuremath{\widetilde} \gamma_\alpha $ is the matching element of $G'$. Rewriting $w$ in terms of $\ensuremath{\check{c}}_a$ using \eq{defdef} and \eq{cadef}, and using the Taylor series for $\ensuremath{\widetilde} \gamma_\alpha = \gamma_\alpha[m^a + \delta m^a]$, we can expand both sides of \eq{TwwT} to first order in $\delta m^a$ getting
\begin{align}
\gamma_\alpha + \delta m^a \Big(\frac{\partial \gamma_\alpha}{\partial m^a} + \gamma_\alpha'\,\, \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z \Big) & = \gamma_\alpha + \delta m^a \, ( \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z\circ \gamma_\alpha )+ {\cal O}(\delta m^a)^2 \nonumber
\end{align}
so
\begin{align}
\frac{1}{\gamma_\alpha' }(\ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z\circ \gamma_\alpha) - \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z & = \frac{1}{\gamma_\alpha' } \frac{\partial \gamma_\alpha}{\partial m^a} \, \equiv X_a[\gamma_\alpha] \, . \label{cocyc}
\end{align}
The function on the right-hand side $X_a[\gamma_\alpha](z)$ is always a quadratic polynomial, and the map $X_a$ is in fact a cocycle of $G$ representing an Eichler cohomology class $(X_a) \in H^1(G,\Pi[z]_{2})$.
The (first) Eichler cohomology group may be described as follows: we can define a right action of $G$ on $\Pi[z]_{2n-2}$, the vector space of polynomials $p(z)$ of degree $\leq 2n-2$, by
\begin{align}
p \mapsto p \cdot \gamma_\alpha \equiv p(\gamma_\alpha(z)) \gamma_\alpha ' (z)^{1-n} \, ,
\end{align}
for a Schottky group element $\gamma_\alpha \in G$ and a polynomial $p \in \Pi[z]_{2n-2}$. The space of polynomials $\Pi[z]_{2n-2}$ is closed under this action because of the special property of M\"obius maps $\gamma$ that $\gamma(z)^{2n} \gamma'(z)^{-m}$ is a polynomial of degree $2m$ whenever $m \geq n$. Then a map $X:G \to \Pi[z]_{2n-2}$ is a 1-cocycle if
\begin{align}
X(\gamma_\alpha \gamma_\beta) & = X(\gamma_\alpha) \cdot \gamma_\beta + X(\gamma_\alpha)
\shortintertext{and a 1-coboundary if}
X(\gamma_\alpha)& = p \cdot \gamma_\alpha - p
\end{align}
for some polynomial $p \in \Pi[z]_{2n-2}$. The first cohomology group $H^1(G, \Pi[z]_{2n-2})$ is defined as the quotient space of 1-cocycles $Z^1(G, \Pi[z]_{2n-2})$ by 1-coboundaries $B^1(G, \Pi[z]_{2n-2})$ \cite{Gardiner74}.
The left-hand side of \eq{cocyc} satisfies the 1-cocycle condition for $n=2$. Furthermore, if the left-hand side of \eq{cocyc} were a 1-coboundary then $\ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z - p$ would be single-valued as a vector field on $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ for some polynomial $p$, and thus describe an infinitesimal change of coordinates, not a deformation of the complex structure. But since $\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} p(z) = 0$, $\ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z - p$ would give the same Beltrami parameter as $\ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z$ would (using \eq{capot}), so $\ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z$ too would describe a trivial deformation. So we are really interested not in cocycles but rather elements of the cohomology group $H^1(G, \Pi[z]_{2})$. The dimension of this vector space is $3g-3$ \cite{Kra84}, so it makes sense to parametrize moduli deformations in this way.
A natural basis is given by computing the Eichler periods \eq{cocyc} of the $g$ Schottky generators $\gamma_\alpha = \gamma_i$ with respect to the $3g-3$ Schottky moduli. This gives \cite{Roland:1993pm}
\begin{align}
X_{k_i}[\gamma_j](z) & \equiv \frac{1}{\gamma_j'(z)} \frac{\partial \gamma_j}{\partial k_i} \Big|_{z} = \frac{1}{k_i} \frac{(z-u_i)(z-v_i)}{u_i - v_i} \, \delta_{ij} \, , \nonumber \\
X_{v_i}[\gamma_j](z) & \equiv \frac{1}{\gamma_j'(z)} \frac{\partial \gamma_j}{\partial v_i} \Big|_{z} = -(1- k_i) \frac{(z-u_i)^2}{(v_i-u_i)^2} \, \delta_{ij} \, , \label{bosper} \\
X_{u_i}[\gamma_j](z) & \equiv \frac{1}{\gamma_j'(z)} \frac{\partial \gamma_j}{\partial u_i} \Big|_{z} = \frac{1-k_i}{k_i} \frac{(z - v_i)^2}{(v_i - u_i)^2} \, \delta_{ij} \, ; \nonumber
\end{align}
$3g-3$ of these expressions are non-zero.
With the use of the periods \eq{bosper} we can simplify some surface integrals over $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ involving Beltrami parameters in their integrands. If $f(z)$ is meromorphic on $\ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1}$ and holomorphic on $\ensuremath{\mb{CP}^1} - \Lambda(G)$, and transforms under $G$ as $f(T_\alpha(z)) = (T_\alpha'(z))^{-2}f(z)$ (\emph{i.e.}~so that $f(z) \, \d z \otimes \d z$ is a quadratic differential on $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$), then we may compute $\int_{\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g} \d^2 z \, \mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) f(z)$ in the following way. First we choose a fundamental region ${\cal F}$ for $G$, so the integral can be written with ${\cal F}$ as its domain. Next we use Stokes' theorem to replace the area integral with a contour integral over the boundary of the fundamental region, \emph{i.e.}~the Schottky circles ${\cal C}_i$, ${\cal C}_i'$ according to \eq{Fbound}, using \eq{capot} to rewrite $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ in terms of $\delta m^a \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z$. With \eq{cocyc}, the contributions from pairs of Schottky circles ${\cal C}_i$, ${\cal C}_i'$ can be combined and expressed in terms of the periods \eq{bosper}. Lastly, since $f(z)$ and $X_a[\gamma_i](z)$ are holomorphic, the contour integral can be evaluated using Cauchy's integral formula. To leading order in $\delta m^a$, we have
\begin{align}
\int_{\Sigma_g} \d^2 z \, \mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z) f(z) & = - \,
\delta m^a \int_{\cal F} \d \big( \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z) f(z) \, \d z \big) \, \nonumber \\
& = - \,
\delta m^a \sum_{i=1}^g \Big[ \oint_{{\cal C}_i'} - \oint_{{\cal C}_i} \Big] \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z) f(z) \, \d z \nonumber \\
& = - \,
\delta m^a \sum_{i=1}^g \oint_{{\cal C}_i} \bigg( \frac{ \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z(S_i(z)^*, S_i(z))}{S_i'(z)} - \ensuremath{\check{c}}_a{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z) \bigg) f(z) \, \d z \nonumber \\
& = - \,
\delta m^a \sum_{i=1}^g \oint_{{\cal C}_i} X_a[\gamma_i](z) f(z) \, \d z \label{surfper}
\end{align}
using $\d^2 z \equiv \d z \wedge \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$.
This type of computation is useful in a number of ways: for example, Roland \cite{Roland:1993pm} computed the ghost zero mode contribution to the bosonic string integration measure on Schottky space, matching the result from sewing $N$-reggeon vertices, while McIntyre and Takhtajan used it in the construction of holomorphic functions on Schottky space from functional determinants \cite{McIntyre:2004xs} (some of which arise in string theory \cite{Martinec:1986bq}).
We will use \eq{surfper} to compute the variation of the period matrix with respect to the Schottky moduli.
If $\tau_{ij}$ is the period matrix of a marked Riemann surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ with its canonical complex structure as defined in \eq{permatdef}, then by switching on a Beltrami differential $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ on $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ we get a second RS $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g'$ whose period matrix is given by $\tau_{ij}' = \tau_{ij} + \delta \tau_{ij} $ with
\begin{align}
\delta \tau_{ij} & = \frac{1}{(2 \pi {\rm i})^2} \int_{\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g} \d^2 z\, \omega_j(z)\, \mu_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z)\, \omega_i(z) \, \, + \, \, {\cal O}(\mu_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^z)^2 \, , \label{rauch}
\end{align}
where $\omega_i(z) \d z$ are the abelian differentials \eq{abelnorm}. For a derivation of this formula, see, for example, section 2 of \cite{D'Hoker:2015fna}. Now, using \eq{surfper}, we arrive at the following expression for $\delta \tau_{ij}$:
\begin{align}
\delta \tau_{ij} & =\, - \, \delta m^a \, \frac{1}{(2 \pi {\rm i} )^2} \sum_{\ell=1}^g \oint_{{\cal C}_\ell} X_a[\gamma_\ell](z)\, \omega_j(z) \, \omega_i(z)\, \d z \, . \label{tauvarfor}
\end{align}
We can perform some checks of this formula. Let us focus on the genus $g=2$ case, and consider the variation of $\tau_{ij}$ with respect to $k_1$, the multiplier of $\gamma_1$. The associated Eichler period can be found by putting $u_1 = 0$ and $v_1 = \infty$ in the first line of \eq{bosper}, giving $X_{k_1}[\gamma_j](z) = \delta_{1j}\, z / k_1$. Inserting this in \eq{tauvarfor} and using the expressions for the abelian differentials $\omega_i(z) \, \d z$ given in \eq{omg2}, we find that the variation of $\tau_{ij}$ is given by a contour integral around ${\cal C}_1$. With the abelian differentials expanded as power series in the multipliers $k_i$, the integrand's only pole inside ${\cal C}_1$ can be at $z=v_1 \equiv \infty$. In the limit as $\delta m^a = \delta k_1 \to 0$, we get
\begin{align}
\Big( \frac{\partial \tau_{ij}}{\partial k_1 }\Big) & =\, - \, \frac{1}{2 \pi {\rm i}} \left( \frac{1}{2 \pi {\rm i}} \oint_{{\cal C}_1} \frac{z}{k_1} \, \omega_j(z) \, \omega_i(z)\, \d z \, \right) \nonumber \, ,
\\
& = \frac{1}{2\pi {\rm i}} \left( \begin{array}{cc} {1}/{k_1} & - 2 \, k_2 \,{(1-u)^2(1-u^2)}/{u^2} \, \\
- 2 \, k_2 \,{(1-u)^2(1-u^2)}/{u^2} & 2 {(1-u)^2}/{u}
\end{array}\right)\, \label{k1taudef} \\
& \hspace{250pt} + {\cal O}(k_1) + {\cal O}(k_2)^2 \, . \nonumber
\end{align}
Alternatively, \eq{k1taudef} could be computed directly by differentiating \eq{taug2}, which gives the same answer, so this is a check that our approach makes sense.
The variation of $(\tau_{ij})$ with respect to the other two moduli, $k_2$ and $u$, may be similarly checked to give the expected result (in this case the relevant contour integrals would be around ${\cal C}_2$ because these moduli enter as parameters of $\gamma_2$, and the only pole of the integrand is at $z=v_2 \equiv 1$ after expanding in the multipliers $k_i$).
\subsection{Deformations with super Schottky groups}
\label{ssgdef}
In this section we apply the methods of the previous section to results of D'Hoker and Phong \cite{D'Hoker:1989ai} and Witten \cite{Witten:2012ga} to compute period matrices of non-split SRS as deformations from the split case.
We want to be able to describe deformations similarly to the approach in section \ref{bosdef}, where we used the concept of a Beltrami differential $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} , z)$. It was crucial to be able to consider Beltrami differentials that were not holomorphic, exploiting the fact that on Riemann surfaces we could define natural anti-holomorphic coordinates $\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$ as the complex conjugates of the holomorphic coordinates $\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} = z^*$, but on SRS we need to be more careful. A useful approach, which we will adopt here, is given in for example, section 3 of \cite{Witten:2012bh} and section 3.5.1 of \cite{Donagi:2014hza}. The idea is to proceed by embedding the SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ in a cs supermanifold\footnote{See \emph{e.g.}~section 4.8 of \cite{deligne} for the definition of cs supermanifolds, or \cite{Witten:2012bg} for an expository discussion.} $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ of dimension $2|1$ whose reduced space is the same Riemann surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ as the reduced space of $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ (as a smooth surface). For practical purposes, what this means is that $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ can be described by local coordinates $(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z | \zeta)$ where, modulo any odd variables, $\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$ is the complex conjugate of $z$.
There is a notion of holomorphic functions on $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$, namely, functions annihilated by
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widetilde}\partial & \equiv \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \frac{\partial}{\partial \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}} \, , \label{srshol}
\end{align}
so any functions $f = f(z|\zeta)$ which depend only on $z$ and $\zeta$, and not on $\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$, are holomorphic. Therefore holomorphic functions on $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ can be identified with holomorphic functions on the SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$. \emph{Antiholomorphic} functions on $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ are locally functions of $\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$, \emph{i.e.}~those annihilated by $\partial_z$ and $\partial_\zeta$; these vector fields generate a sub-bundle of the tangent bundle $T\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ called the holomorphic tangent bundle, which can be naturally identified with the tangent bundle $T\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ of the SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$.
Then in this framework, deformations of SRS are conceived of as deformations of the holomorphic structure of $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ which leave fixed the underlying cs supermanifold. This is analogous to how we can describe deformations of RS by leaving the underlying smooth manifold fixed but deforming the holomorphic structure with a Beltrami parameter $\mu_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ according to \eq{beleq}.
To deform the holomorphic structure, we alter the holomorphicity condition $\ensuremath{\widetilde} \partial f = 0$ to $\ensuremath{\widetilde} \partial ' f = 0 $, where the new operator $\ensuremath{\widetilde} \partial ' $ is obtained by adding some $(0,1)$-form (\emph{i.e.}~a 1-form proportional to $\d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$) valued in $T\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ to \eq{srshol}, in such a way that the underlying surface with the sheaf of functions which are holomorphic in this new sense is still an SRS. This means we need to consider deformations which do not alter the embedding of ${\cal D} \subseteq T \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$; it is shown, for example, in section 3.5.3 of \cite{Witten:2012ga} that the general deformation with this property is
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widetilde}\partial \mapsto \ensuremath{\widetilde} \partial\, ' & = \ensuremath{\widetilde} \partial \, + \, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \, \Big( \,h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z(z, \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} ) \,\partial_z + \frac{1}{2} h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z)\zeta \partial_\zeta + \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) ( \partial_\zeta - \zeta \partial_z) \, \Big) \, , \label{ew340}
\end{align}
where the perturbation is a $(0,1)$-form valued in ${\cal S}$, the sheaf of superconformal vector fields. The fields $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ and $\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta$ are usually known as a metric perturbation and a gravitino, respectively. We can combine them into a single superfield
\begin{align}
{\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) & = h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z ) \, + \,2 \,\zeta \, \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) \, , \label{Hdef}
\end{align}
so then \eq{ew340} can be rewritten as
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widetilde}\partial \mapsto \ensuremath{\widetilde} \partial\, ' & = \ensuremath{\widetilde} \partial \, + \, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \, \Big( {\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z \, \partial_z \, + \, \frac{1}{2} \big(D_\zeta {\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z \big) D_\zeta \Big) \, , \label{sf340}
\end{align}
where $D_\zeta = \partial_\zeta + \zeta \partial_z$ as usual. When $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ is taken to be split, the superfield ${\cal H}_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^z$ can be separated into a metric perturbation and a gravitino globally, not only chart-by-chart (which would otherwise be the case).
We want to make contact between this and the super Schottky group description of deformations. From that point of view, deformations amount simply to shifting the parameters $\{ \boldsymbol m^A\}$ \eq{ssmod} of a normalized marked super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G$.
Let us consider a shift in the moduli $\boldsymbol m^A \mapsto \boldsymbol m^A + \delta \boldsymbol m^A$, defining a new normalized, marked super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G \mapsto \boldsymbol G'$. Let
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol w \equiv w|\psi: \ensuremath{\widehat}{\mb{CP}}{}^{1|1} & \to \mb{CP}^{1|1} \, ,
&
\boldsymbol G ' & = \boldsymbol w \boldsymbol G \boldsymbol w^{-1} \label{supw}
\end{align}
be a map which preserves $\cal D$, but which is \emph{not} holomorphic with respect to the canonical holomorphic structure on its domain, which we consider as a cs supermanifold. $\boldsymbol w$ is a quasisuperconformal map \cite{Martinec:1986bq}, and is the SRS analogue of the map $w$ in \eq{Gprime}.
Let us define the coordinate deformation $ \delta \boldsymbol z$ using the difference of superpoints \eq{sdiff} by
\begin{align}
\delta \boldsymbol z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) & \equiv \boldsymbol w (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) \dotminus \boldsymbol z \nonumber
\\
& =
\delta z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) + \zeta \, \delta \zeta(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) \, , \label{defone}
\end{align}
where
\begin{align}
\delta z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) & = w(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) - z \, ,
&
\delta \zeta(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) & = \psi(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) - \zeta \, . \label{deftwo}
\end{align}
Since $\boldsymbol w$ preserves ${\cal D}$, \eq{superconf} must hold (\emph{i.e.}~$D_\zeta w = \psi D_\zeta \psi$). To linear order in $\delta {\boldsymbol z}$, this is solved by \cite{verlindeHthesis}
\begin{align}
\delta \zeta & = \frac{1}{2} D_\zeta \delta \boldsymbol z \, + \, {\cal O}(\delta \boldsymbol z^2) \, ; \label{deltazsuperconf} &
\delta z & = \delta \boldsymbol z - \frac{1}{2} \zeta D_\zeta \delta {\boldsymbol z} \, + \, {\cal O}(\delta \boldsymbol z^2) \, .
\end{align}
We posit that $\boldsymbol w$ is holomorphic with respect to some perturbed holomorphic structure on $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$, so a holomorphic function $f$ on the deformed SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g'$ can be written locally as $f(\boldsymbol w) = f(w|\psi)$. Pulling $f$ back to $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$, we get
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat}{f}(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} , z; \zeta) & \equiv f(\boldsymbol w(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) )\, . \label{fhat}
\end{align}
We want to restate the holomorphicity of $f$, \emph{i.e.}~the fact that it can be written only in terms of $\boldsymbol w$, in terms of the deformations \eq{defone} and \eq{deftwo} as functions on $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$.
To first order in $\delta \boldsymbol z$, $\ensuremath{\widehat} f$ can be Taylor expanded as
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat}{f}(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} , z; \zeta) & = f(\boldsymbol z) + \delta \boldsymbol z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} , z; \zeta) \, \partial_z \,f(\boldsymbol z) + \delta \zeta(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} , z; \zeta) \, D_\zeta f (\boldsymbol z) \, + \, {\cal O}(\delta \boldsymbol z^2) \, . \label{fser}
\end{align}
This implies that at the leading order, $\partial_z \ensuremath{\widehat} f = \partial_z f \, + \, {\cal O}(\delta \boldsymbol z)$ and $\partial_\zeta \ensuremath{\widehat} f = \partial_\zeta f \, + \, {\cal O}(\delta \boldsymbol z)$. Using that fact, we act on \eq{fser} with $\ensuremath{\widetilde}\partial$ to obtain
\begin{align}
\d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \Big( \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \,+\,(- \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \delta \boldsymbol z )\, \partial_z\,+\,( - \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \delta \zeta)\, D_\zeta \Big) \ensuremath{\widehat} f & = 0 \, . \label{fhol}
\end{align}
Using \eq{deltazsuperconf}, we see that \eq{fhol} matches \eq{sf340} if the super Beltrami field ${\cal H}_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^z$ defined in \eq{Hdef} is related to $\delta {\boldsymbol z}$ by
\begin{align}
{\cal H}_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^z & = - \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \delta \boldsymbol z \, + \, {\cal O}(\delta \boldsymbol z^2) \, . \label{Hdz}
\end{align}
Thus, we can describe SRS deformations in terms of the superfield $\delta \boldsymbol z (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta)$ via \eq{Hdz}. It has been shown by Rabin that the description of deformations by $\delta \boldsymbol z$ is valid at first order when deforming a split SRS \cite{Rabin:1987pe}.
Although $ {\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \otimes \partial_z$ is well-defined on $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$, \emph{i.e.}~it is single-valued under $\boldsymbol G$ as a vector-valued 1-form, the same is not true for $\delta \boldsymbol z$: it is only single-valued on the Schottky cover. In fact, just as in the bosonic case \eq{cocyc}, it is a cocycle of $\boldsymbol G$.
To see that $\delta \boldsymbol z$ is a cocycle, consider an arbitrary super Schottky group element $\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha \in \boldsymbol G $, and let the corresponding element in the deformed group be $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha \in \boldsymbol G' $. From \eq{supw} we have
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol w ({\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta)) & = \ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha ( \boldsymbol w(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta)) \, . \label{supwT}
\end{align}
Let us write $\boldsymbol f \equiv \boldsymbol f^0 | \boldsymbol f^1 $ for the even- and odd-valued parts of a function.
Expanding both sides of \eq{supwT} to first order in $\delta \boldsymbol z$, we have
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha^0\, +\, \delta z \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha & \,=\,\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^0 \, + \,\delta\boldsymbol z \, \partial_z{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^0 \, + \,\delta\zeta \, D_\zeta {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^0 \, + \, {\cal O}(\delta \boldsymbol z^2)\, , \label{defeven} \\
\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha^1\, +\, \delta \zeta \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha & \,=\,\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1 \, + \,\delta\boldsymbol z \, \partial_z{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1 \, + \,\delta\zeta \, D_\zeta {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1 \, + \, {\cal O}(\delta \boldsymbol z^2) \, . \label{defodd}
\end{align}
We can combine these to find the behaviour of $\delta \boldsymbol z$ under the super Schottky group: by definition \eq{defone} it transforms as
\begin{align}\delta \boldsymbol z \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha & \equiv \delta z \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha +\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha^1 \, \delta \zeta \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha \, ,
\end{align}
then $\delta z \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha$ and $\delta \zeta \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha$ can be inserted from \eq{defeven} and \eq{defodd} yielding
\begin{align}
\delta \boldsymbol z \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha & = \ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^0 - {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^0 - \ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1 \, {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1
+ \,\delta\boldsymbol z\, \partial_z{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^0 \, + \,\delta\zeta \, D_\zeta {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^0 \,
+ \, \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha^1 \, \big( \delta\boldsymbol z\, \partial_z{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1 \, + \,\delta\zeta \, D_\zeta {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1 \big) \, .
\end{align}
The first three terms are just the difference of superpoints $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha \dotminus \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha$ (defined in \eq{sdiff}).
The coefficients of $\delta \zeta$ cancel because $D_\zeta {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^0 = {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1 D_\zeta {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1 $ since ${\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha$ is superconformal and thus satisfies \eq{superconf}. For the same reason, the coefficients of $\delta \boldsymbol z$ combine as the squared semijacobian of $\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha$ since (using $\partial_z = D_\zeta^2 $),
\begin{align}
\partial_z \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha^0 + \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha^1 \partial_z\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha^1 & = \big(D_\zeta {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha^1 \big)^2 \, .
\end{align}
Thus we arrive at
\begin{align}
\frac{ \delta \boldsymbol z \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha }{( F_{{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha} )^2 } - \delta \boldsymbol z & = \frac{\ensuremath{\widehat} {{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha} \dotminus \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha}{( F_{{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha} )^2 } \, + \, {\cal O}(\delta \boldsymbol z^2) \, . \label{supper}
\end{align}
Now, if $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha$ differs from $\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha$ by deforming the matrix entries by two new odd parameter $\theta$, $\phi$, then the right hand side of \eq{supper} is a quadratic polynomial. That is to say, if we take $\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha$ to be of the form of $\boldsymbol \gamma$ in \eq{GLmatrix}, then $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha$ is obtained from it by the substitutions
\begin{align}
(a,b,c,d,e) & \mapsto ( a_+, b_+ , c_+ , d_+, e_+ ) = (a,b,c,d,e) + {\cal O}(\theta \phi) \, , \\
(\alpha , \beta, \gamma, \delta) & \mapsto (\alpha_+ , \beta_+,\gamma_+, \delta_+) = (\alpha , \beta, \gamma, \delta) + {\cal O}(\theta) + {\cal O}(\phi) \, .
\end{align}
subject to \eq{OSpConstraints}.
Then the first term on the right-hand-side of \eq{supper} is a polynomial in $z$ and $\zeta$ given by
\begin{align}
\frac{\ensuremath{\widehat} {\boldsymbol \gamma} \dotminus \boldsymbol \gamma}{( F_{\boldsymbol \gamma} )^2 } & = ( c_-\, z + d_- \, + \beta_-\, \zeta )(a_+\, z + b_+ + \alpha_+ \, \zeta) - (c\, z+d+\beta\, \zeta)(a \,z + b + \alpha\, \zeta) \nonumber \\
& \hspace{150pt} - ( \gamma_- \, z + \delta_- + e \, \zeta)(\gamma \, z + \delta + e \,\zeta) \, , \label{quadrat}
\end{align}
where $x_-$ is defined by $x_- + x_+ \equiv 2x$ for $x=c,d,\beta,\gamma,\delta$.
A notion of Eichler cohomology (introduced after \eq{cocyc} above) makes sense for subgroups of \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}, in particular super Schottky groups. To define a group action, we can introduce a space of even-valued ``polynomials'' in a super-point $\boldsymbol z = z | \zeta$
\begin{align}
\Pi[\boldsymbol z]_{m} & \equiv \{ p(\boldsymbol z) = a_m z^m + \alpha_{m-1} z^{m-1} \zeta + a_{m-1} z^{m-1} + \ldots + \alpha_0 \zeta + a_0 \} \, ,
\end{align}
where $\alpha_j$ and $a_j$ are odd and even coefficients.
Then it is easy to verify that there is a right-action of $\boldsymbol G$ on $\Pi[\boldsymbol z]_{2n-2}$ which takes the form
\begin{align}
p \cdot \boldsymbol \gamma & \equiv \, F_{\boldsymbol \gamma}(\boldsymbol z)^{2-2n} \, p \circ \boldsymbol \gamma \, ,
\end{align}
where $F_{\boldsymbol \gamma}$ is the semijacobian of $\boldsymbol \gamma$ defined in \eq{superjac}.
A cocycle of $\boldsymbol G$ is a map $X: \boldsymbol G \to \Pi[\boldsymbol z]_{2n-2}$ satisfying
\begin{align}
X (\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha \boldsymbol \gamma_\beta) & = X(\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha) \cdot \boldsymbol \gamma_\beta + X(\boldsymbol \gamma_\beta) \, ,
\end{align}
and a coboundary is a map $X: \boldsymbol G \to \Pi[\boldsymbol z]_{2n-2}$ such that
for some $ p_X \in \Pi[\boldsymbol z]_{2n-2}$,
\begin{align}
X (\boldsymbol \gamma) & = p_X \cdot \boldsymbol \gamma - p_X \, ,
\end{align}
which is automatically a cocycle. Then the Eichler cohomology group $H^1( \boldsymbol G , \Pi[\boldsymbol z]_{2n-2})$ is the space of cocycles modulo the space of coboundaries.
We have seen in \eq{quadrat} that
\begin{align}
X_{\delta \boldsymbol z}(\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha) & \equiv \frac{\ensuremath{\widehat} {\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha \dotminus \boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha}{( F_{\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha} )^2 } \, \label{cocycdef}
\end{align}
is always valued in $\Pi[\boldsymbol z]_2$ when the matrix entries of $\boldsymbol \gamma_\alpha$ and $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_\alpha$ are equal modulo two odd constants $\theta$ and $ \phi$, and it is not hard to use the left-hand-side of \eq{supper} to check that the cocycle property is satisfied. Furthermore, similarly to the bosonic case, if the map were a coboundary then the associated super-Beltrami parameter would just describe a global change of coordinates, not a moduli deformation, so to describe deformations we're really interested in equivalence classes $(X_{\delta \boldsymbol z}) \in H^1( \boldsymbol G , \Pi[\boldsymbol z]_2)$.
Now, let us consider a marked normalized super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G$ for a split SRS, so all of the elements are of the form \eq{sl2}. In particular this means that the odd parts of the fixed super-points $\boldsymbol u_i = u_i | \theta_i$ and $\boldsymbol v_i = v_i | \phi_i$ must be $\theta_i = \phi_i = 0$.
We want to `switch on' two odd parameters $\theta$ and $\phi$ and compute the Eichler periods \eq{cocycdef} associated to this deformation.
First of all, we consider the case where these two odd supermoduli are switched on via the two fixed superpoints of \emph{one} super Schottky group element, so the non-split super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G ' $ is generated by $(g-1)$ of the generators of $\boldsymbol G$ along with one non-split generator $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_i$ which reduces modulo $\theta_i$, $\phi_i$ to $\boldsymbol{\gamma}_i$, the remaining split generator of $\boldsymbol G$. The non-split generator $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_i$ has fixed points $\boldsymbol u_i= u_i|\theta_i$ and $\boldsymbol v_i = v_i |\phi_i$ and supermultiplier $\varepsilon_i$, with $\boldsymbol \gamma_i$ the same except $\theta_i = \phi_i =0 $. The Eichler cocyle $X_{\theta_i \phi_i}$ of the associated deformation $\boldsymbol G \to \boldsymbol G '$ is then computed from \eq{cocycdef}; it can be defined by giving the image of the $g$ generators $\boldsymbol \gamma_j$ of $\boldsymbol G$ as:
\begin{align}
X_{\theta_i \phi_i}[\boldsymbol \gamma_j] (\boldsymbol z) & = \delta_{ij} \Big( (\varepsilon_i-\varepsilon_i^{-1}) \frac{(z-u_i)(z-v_i)}{(u_i-v_i)^2} \theta_i \phi_i \label{percomp} \\
& \hspace{140pt} + 2 (1-\varepsilon_i^{-1}) \frac{(z-v_i) \theta_i+\varepsilon(z-u_i) \phi_i}{u_i-v_i} \zeta \Big) \, . \nonumber
\end{align}
The other possibility we will consider is that the two odd moduli enter via the fixed points of two \emph{different} super Schottky group elements. That is to say, the non-split super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G'$ is generated by $(g-2)$ of the generators of the split super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G$, along with two generators $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_i$, $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\boldsymbol \gamma}_j$, say, which each have one non-zero odd parameter --- for example, we could take $\theta_i \neq 0 \neq \theta_j$. In that case, the associated Eichler period $X_{\theta_i \theta_j}$ could be read off by adding two copies of \eq{percomp} with $\phi_i \to 0$ in each, yielding:
\begin{align}
X_{\theta_i \theta_j}[\boldsymbol \gamma_k](\boldsymbol z) & = 2 \Big( \delta_{ik} (1-\varepsilon_i^{-1}) \frac{z-v_i }{u_i-v_i} \theta_i + \delta_{jk} (1-\varepsilon_j^{-1}) \frac{z-v_j }{u_j-v_j} \theta_j \Big) \zeta \, . \label{mixedint}
\end{align}
We could similarly use \eq{percomp} to write down expressions for the Eichler periods $X_{\phi_i \phi_j}$ and $X_{\theta_i \phi_j}$ where the two odd moduli are shared between two generators in different ways.
Now, just as we did in the bosonic case \eq{surfper}, we can use the Eichler periods to evaluate surface integrals involving the metric perturbation $h_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^z$ and the gravitino $\chi_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^\zeta$.
Let us first suppose we have a surface integral over $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ whose integrand is a super-Beltrami coefficient ${\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ multiplied by a holomorphic function $f$ which transforms under the Schottky group as the coefficient of a $3/2$-superdifferential, \emph{i.e.}~with $f(\boldsymbol \gamma(\boldsymbol z)) = F_{\boldsymbol \gamma}(\boldsymbol z)^{-3} f(\boldsymbol z)$. Let us pick a fundamental domain in the Schottky covering space bounded by $2g$ circles, then with \eq{Hdz}, we can use the supermanifold version of Stokes' theorem (see \emph{e.g.}~section 3.4 of \cite{Witten:2012bg}) to rewrite the integral as a contour integral over the $2g$ Schottky circles. Using the transformation properties of $f$, the contributions from pairs of Schottky circles ${\cal C}_i$, ${\cal C}_i'$ can be grouped together and rewritten in terms of the Eichler periods we computed above, leaving us finally with a sum of $g$ meromorphic contour integrals (one for each $a_i$ cycle):
\begin{align}
\int_{\ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g} [\d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} ; \d z | \d \zeta ] \, {\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z|\zeta) f(z|\zeta) & = - \, \int_{\cal F} \d \big( \delta \boldsymbol z (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z | \zeta) f(z | \zeta) \, [\d z| \d \zeta] \big) \, \nonumber \\
& = - \,
\sum_{i=1}^g \Big[ \oint_{{\cal C}_i'} - \oint_{{\cal C}_i} \Big] \delta \boldsymbol z (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z | \zeta) f(z | \zeta) \, [\d z| \d \zeta] \nonumber \\
& = - \,
\sum_{i=1}^g \oint_{{\cal C}_i} \bigg( \frac{ \delta \boldsymbol z \circ \boldsymbol \gamma_i }{(F_{\boldsymbol \gamma_i})^2} - \delta \boldsymbol z \bigg) f \, [\d z| \d \zeta] \nonumber \\
& = - \,
\sum_{i=1}^g \oint_{{\cal C}_i} X_{\delta \boldsymbol z}[\boldsymbol\gamma_i](\boldsymbol z) f(\boldsymbol z) \, [\d z | \d \zeta] \, . \label{surfper}
\end{align}
In the case that $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ is split, we can repeat the computation in \eq{surfper}, isolating the two components in the $\zeta$-expansion of ${\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$, \eq{Hdef}. Writing $f(z|\zeta) = f_0(z) + \zeta f_1(z)$, the Berezin integral can be carried out, yielding an integral on the reduced surface $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_{g,\text{red}}$ and the result is
\begin{align}
\int_{\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_{g,\text{red}}} \!\!\!\!\!\!\d^2 z \, h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z) f_1(z) & = - \,
\sum_{i=1}^g \oint_{{\cal C}_i} X_h [\boldsymbol\gamma_i]( z) f_1(z) \, \d z \, , \label{heich} \\
\int_{\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_{g,\text{red}}} \!\!\!\!\!\! \d^2 z \, \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, z)f_0(z) & = - \,
\sum_{i=1}^g \oint_{{\cal C}_i}\, X_\chi [\boldsymbol\gamma_i]( z) f_0(z) \,\d z \, , \label{chieich}
\end{align}
where the Eichler periods for the metric perturbation and the gravitino are polynomials in $z$ given by
\begin{align}
X_h & = X_{\delta \boldsymbol z}\Big|_{\zeta =0 } \, ,
&
X_\chi &= \frac{1}{2} \, \partial_\zeta \, X_{\delta \boldsymbol z} \, .
\end{align}
For example, when the non-splitness enters via a single super Schottky group generator as in \eq{percomp}, the Eichler periods are defined by their actions on the generators $\boldsymbol\gamma_j$ as:
\begin{align}
X_h[\boldsymbol \gamma_j](z) & = \delta_{ij} \, (\varepsilon_i-\varepsilon_i^{-1}) \frac{(z-u_i)(z-v_i)}{(u_i-v_i)^2} \theta_i \phi_i \, , \label{hper}
\shortintertext{and}
X_{\chi} [\boldsymbol \gamma_j] (z) & =- \, \delta_{ij} \, (1-\varepsilon_i^{-1}) \frac{(z-v_i) \theta_i+\varepsilon(z-u_i) \phi_i}{u_i-v_i} \, . \label{chiper}
\end{align}
These can be used, for example, to compute the period matrix $\boldsymbol \tau_{ij} ' $ of a non-split SRS $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g'$ as the correction to the period matrix $\boldsymbol \tau_{ij}$ of a split SRS.
\subsubsection{The period matrix}
\label{permatsubs}
A procedure for writing down the period matrix of a non-split SRS in terms of a reduced surface with a gravitino field switched on is given, for example, by D'Hoker and Phong in section 6 of \cite{D'Hoker:1989ai}. We will follow the treatment by Witten in section 8 of \cite{Witten:2012ga}, although there the gauge choice $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z =0 $ is used, which is not generically compatible with the parametrization of inequivalent superconformal structures by super Schottky groups. We have seen in \eq{hper} that switching on two odd super Schottky moduli $\theta_i$ and $\phi_i$ requires that $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ has a non-zero Eichler period around the $B_i$ homology cycle, so certainly in that case we cannot assume that $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ vanishes identically.
First of all, we need to construct a basis of $g$ holomorphic sections of the Berezinian bundle of $\ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$. With respect to the holomorphic structure on $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ defined by $\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$, the sections of this line bundle are given in superconformal coordinates by $\ensuremath{\widehat}\phi_i (z|\zeta) [ \d z | \d \zeta]$, where $\phi_i(z|\zeta)$ is independent of $\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$, and the 1-forms $\d z$ and $\d \zeta$ are a basis for $T^* \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g \subseteq T^* \ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$. When the holomorphic structure is deformed, it is not only the coefficient functions $\ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i(z|\zeta)$ which have to be modified, but also the 1-forms $\d z$ and $\d \zeta$ which define $[\d z | \d \zeta]$.
To compute how the local basis $[ \d z | \d \zeta]$ of $\text{Ber}(\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g)$ transforms, it is useful to conceptualize it as a codimension-1 \emph{integral form} on $\ensuremath{\widehat}\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$. Integral forms were introduced in \cite{Leites77}; see section 3.2.3 of \cite{Witten:2012bg} for an introduction. To define an integral form on a supermanifold $M$ with local coordinate $t^i |\theta^j$, we consider the reversed-statistics tangent bundle $\ensuremath{\mathit{\Pi T}} M$. This is identical to the tangent bundle $TM$ with local coordinates given by the coordinates of $M$, $t^i| \theta^j$, as well as the 1-forms $\d t^i$ and $\d \theta^j$ as coordinates on the tangent spaces, except that $ \d t^i$ are taken to be anticommuting and $\d \theta^j$ are taken to be commuting. Differential forms are therefore just functions on $\ensuremath{\mathit{\Pi T}} M$ with polynomial dependence on the $\d \theta^i$'s. Integral forms on $M$ are distributions on $\ensuremath{\mathit{\Pi T}} M$ whose support is the locus $\d \theta^j = 0$.
In our case, $\ensuremath{\mathit{\Pi T}} \ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ is a $3|3$-dimensional supermanifold with local even coordinates $z,\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},\d \zeta$ and odd coordinates $\d z, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}, \zeta$. A differential form on $\ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ is a function on $\ensuremath{\mathit{\Pi T}} \ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ which is polynomial in $\d \zeta$, while an integral form on $\ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ is a distribution which vanishes for $\d \zeta \neq 0$. In particular, a section $\ensuremath{\widehat} \sigma_i = \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i(z|\zeta)[\d z | \d \zeta]$ of $\text{Ber}(\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g)$ can be associated with the integral form $\ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i(z|\zeta)\, \d z\, \delta( \d \zeta)$ on $\ensuremath{\mathit{\Pi T}} \ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$.
To construct the space of holomorphic sections of the Berezinian bundle of the deformed surface $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g' $, first we need to find what we should replace the symbol $[\d z | \d \zeta]$ with. The 1-forms $\d z$ and $\d \zeta$ are of type $(1,0)$, \emph{i.e.}~they have the property that their contraction with the vector field $\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$ vanishes. Then in the presence of a deformed holomorphic structure \eq{ew340}, we need to find a new pair of 1-forms of type $(1,0)$. A computation shows that $\d z + (\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta \, \zeta - h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z)\, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}$ and $\d \zeta + (\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta + \frac{1}{2} \zeta\, \partial_z h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z )\, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} $ have the required property, so a general section of $\text{Ber}(\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g')$ takes the form
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat}{\sigma}_i & = \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta)
\big[\, \d z + (\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta \, \zeta - h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z)\, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \,\big|\, \d \zeta + (\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta + \frac{1}{2} \zeta\, \partial_z h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z )\, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \, \big] \label{pertber} \,
\end{align}
(for $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z=0$ this is just Eq.~(8.19) of \cite{Witten:2012ga}).
Now, we want to find sections \eq{pertber} of $\text{Ber}(\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g')$ which are holomorphic. It is equivalent to require that the corresponding integral form on $\ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ is closed, or in other words that as a function on $\ensuremath{\mathit{\Pi T}} \ensuremath{\widehat} \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$,
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat}{\sigma}_i & = \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta)
\big(\, \d z + (\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta \, \zeta - h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z)\, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \,\big)\, \delta\big( \d \zeta + (\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta + \frac{1}{2} \zeta\, \partial_z h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z )\, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \, \big) \label{berPTM} \,
\end{align}
is annihilated by the odd vector field $\d$ defined by
\begin{align}
\d & \equiv \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}\, \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} + \d z \,\partial_z + \d \zeta \, \partial_\zeta \, . \label{ddef}
\end{align}
We can compute
\begin{align}
\d \ensuremath{\widehat} \sigma_i & = - \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}\, \d z\, \delta ( \d \zeta)\, \Big( \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}\,\ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i - \partial_ z \big( \, \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i \, (\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta - h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z) \big) + \partial_\zeta \big( \, \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i \, ( \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z + \frac{1}{2} \zeta \, \partial_z h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z ) \big) \Big) \, . \label{dsigma}
\end{align}
Expanding $\ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i$ in $\zeta$ as $\ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z| \zeta ) \equiv \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) + \zeta \, \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) $, we can find with a computation that the vanishing of \eq{dsigma} is equivalent to the following pair of equations:
\begin{align}
\Big(\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} +h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z \partial_z + \frac{1}{2} \big(\partial_z h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z \big)\Big) \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i + \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i\, \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta& = 0 \, ; \nonumber \\
\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}\, \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i - \partial_z ( \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i\, \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta - \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i\, h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z ) & = 0 \, , \label{compeqs}
\end{align}
which are equivalent to the superfield equation
\begin{align}
\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i + D_\zeta \big( {\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z D_\zeta \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i \, +\, \frac{1}{2} (D_\zeta {\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z )\, \ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i\big) & =0 \, .
\end{align}
Note that~\eq{pertber}, \eq{dsigma} and \eq{compeqs} reduce to Eqs.~(8.19), (8.22) and (8.23) of Witten \cite{Witten:2012ga} for vanishing metric perturbation, $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z = 0$. \eq{compeqs} is the same as Eq.~(3.3) of D'Hoker and Phong \cite{D'Hoker:2015kwa} with slightly different notation.
The idea is to solve \eq{compeqs} perturbatively in the odd variables which parametrize the deformation. The abelian superdifferential coefficients $\ensuremath{\widehat}\phi_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta)$ on the deformed SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g'$ should be thought of as deformations of the the abelian superdifferential coefficients $\phi_i (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta)$ on the split SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$. For a split SRS, the coefficients of the abelian superdifferentials are locally of the form $\phi_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) = \zeta \omega_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z)$, where $\omega_i$ are the coefficients of abelian differentials on the reduced surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ --- \emph{i.e.}, if we expand $\phi_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z|\zeta) = \alpha_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) + \zeta b_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z)$ on the split SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$, then we have $ \alpha_i =0 $ and $b_i = \omega_i$. We are considering a nilpotent deformation depending on two odd parameters $\theta$ and $\phi$, so we must have
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i & = {\cal O}(\theta) + \cal{O}(\phi) \, ,
&
\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i & =\omega_i + {\cal O}(\theta \phi) \, .
\end{align}
The PDE's \eq{compeqs} can be restated as integral equations over the reduced surface $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$ like so:
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) & = - \frac{1}{2 \pi } \int_{\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g} \d^2 w \, S(z,w) \Big[ \partial_w(\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i\, h_\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}}{}^w) + \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i\, \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}}{}^\psi - \frac{1}{2} \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i\, \partial_w h_\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}}{}^w \Big](\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}},w) \, ; \label{alpheq} \\
\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) & = \omega_i(z) - \frac{1}{2 \pi } \int_{\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g} \d^2 w \, \partial_z \partial_w \log E(z,w) \, \big[ \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i\, \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}}{}^w - \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i \, h_\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}}{}^w \big] (\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}},w) \, . \label{beq}
\end{align}
Here $S(z,w)$ is the Szeg\H o kernel $S(z,w)$, which is a meromorphic section of $K^{1/2}_z \otimes K^{1/2}_w$ characterized by
\begin{align}
\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} S(z,w) & = 2 \pi \,\delta^2(z,w) \, ,
&
S(z,w) & = - S(w,z) \, ,
\end{align}
and $E(z,w)$ is the Schottky-Klein prime form, which is a holomorphic $(-1/2,0)$ form in both $z$ and $w$ with a unique zero at $z=w$.
Now, the idea is to solve \eq{alpheq} and \eq{beq} iteratively order-by-order in the odd parameters. But since we are restricting ourselves to two odd parameters $\theta$, $\phi$, this procedure terminates at the first step. We note that we have
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat} \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta & = {\cal O}(\theta) + {\cal O}(\phi) \,
&
\ensuremath{\widehat} h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z & = {\cal O}(\theta \phi) \, ,
\end{align}
so any terms containing both $\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i$ and $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ necessarily vanish, and $\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i$ may be replaced with $\omega_i$ anywhere it is multiplied by either $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ or $\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta$. So in this case, the integral equations reduce to
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) & = - \frac{1}{2 \pi } \int_{\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g} \d^2 w \, S(z,w) \,\omega_i(w)\, \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}}{}^\psi(\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}},w) \, ; \label{alpheq2} \\
\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i (\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) & = \omega_i(z) - \frac{1}{2 \pi } \int_{\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g} \d^2 w \, \partial_z \partial_w \log E(z,w) \, \big[ \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i\, \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}}{}^\psi - \omega_i \, h_\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}}{}^w \big] (\ensuremath{{\wt{w}}},w) \, . \label{beq2}
\end{align}
The right-hand side of \eq{alpheq2} is exactly of the form of the left-hand side of \eq{chieich}, so $\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i$ is given by the contour integral
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) & = \frac{1}{2 \pi {\rm i}} \,
\sum_{i=1}^g \oint_{{\cal C}_i} \, S(z,w) \,\omega_i(w) X_\chi [\boldsymbol\gamma_i](w) \,\d w \, . \label{alphcont}
\end{align}
Similarly, we can write down a formula for $\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i$ in terms of \eq{heich} and \eq{chieich}, although we only need to know \eq{alphcont} in order to write down the period matrix.
The formula for the period matrix can be written down following section 8.3 of ref.~\cite{Witten:2012ga}. We can find $g$ even closed 1-forms on $\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g$:
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat}\rho_i \,&=\, \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i \, \d z \, + \, (\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i \,\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta-\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i \, h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z )\, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \, , \label{rhodef}
\end{align}
which satisfy $\d \ensuremath{\widehat} \rho_i = 0$ because of the second equation in \eq{compeqs}. Integrating \eq{rhodef} around the $B_j$ homology cycle and using Riemann's bilinear relation, we find that the period matrix $\boldsymbol \tau_{ij} '$ of the deformed SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g'$ is given in terms of $\boldsymbol\tau_{ij}$, the period matrix of the split surface $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$, by
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol \tau_{ij} ' & = \boldsymbol \tau_{ij} \, - \, \frac{1}{(2 \pi {\rm i})} \int_{\ensuremath{\Sigma}_g} \d^2 z \, \omega_j\,(\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i \,\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta-\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i \, h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z )\, . \label{sutaudef}
\end{align}
With some manipulations, we can write this in terms of Eichler periods of $\boldsymbol G$. Specializing to the case with two odd supermoduli switched on, we find that the integrand in \eq{sutaudef} is a total derivative. On the Schottky cover, let us write $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z = - \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \delta z^0$ and $\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta = - \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \delta \zeta^0 $, where we can take $\delta z^0 \in {\cal O}(\theta \phi)$ and $\delta \zeta^0 \in {\cal O}(\theta) + {\cal O}(\phi)$. Then we have
\begin{align}
\omega_j\, \d z\wedge(\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i \,\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta-\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i \, h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z )\, \d \ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \, & =
\d \big( \omega_j\, \d z(\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i \,\delta \zeta^0 -\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i \, \delta z^0 )\big) \, . \label{pmtotder}
\end{align}
To see why this holds, note that when the exterior derivative on the right-hand side is expanded, the term proportional to $\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i\, \delta z^0 $ vanishes because $\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i$ is the sum of a holomorphic part $\omega_i$ and a nilpotent part. Similarly, \eq{compeqs} implies that with only two odd supermoduli we have $\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i = \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i \, \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}\delta \zeta^0$, so the term including $\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i\, \delta \zeta^0 $ is proportional to $\partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}} \delta \zeta^0 \, \delta \zeta^0 \, \propto\, \partial_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}( \delta \zeta^0)^2 = 0$ and it vanishes too.
From the single-valuedness of $\ensuremath{\widehat} \rho_i$ in \eq{rhodef}, it follows that $\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i$ and $\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i$ transform under $\boldsymbol G$ as superdifferentials of weight 1 and 1/2, respectively, \emph{i.e.}~for $\boldsymbol \gamma \in \boldsymbol G$ we have
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i (\boldsymbol \gamma(\boldsymbol z)) & = { F_{\boldsymbol \gamma}(\boldsymbol z)^{-2}}\,\, \ensuremath{\widehat} b_i( \boldsymbol z) \, ,
&
\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i (\boldsymbol \gamma(\boldsymbol z)) & = { F_{\boldsymbol \gamma}(\boldsymbol z)^{-1}}\,\, \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i( \boldsymbol z) \label{abpers} \, ,
\end{align}
so the only objects on the right-hand side of \eq{pmtotder} which are not single-valued on $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g$ are $\delta z^0$ and $\delta \zeta^0$. Then, similarly to the calculation in the bosonic case \eq{tauvarfor}, Stokes' theorem in the form of \eq{heich} and \eq{chieich} can be used to write \eq{sutaudef} in terms of the Eichler periods for $h_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z$ and $\chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta$. We get
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol \tau_{ij} ' & = \boldsymbol \tau_{ij} + \frac{1}{(2 \pi {\rm i})^2}\sum_{i=1}^g \oint_{{\cal C}_i} \d z \, \omega_j \Big(\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i\, X_\chi [\boldsymbol\gamma_i] -\ensuremath{\widehat} b_i\, X_\chi [\boldsymbol\gamma_i]\, \Big) \, . \label{taufromdef}
\end{align}
Now, we are considering a super-Beltrami coefficient ${\cal H}_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^z = h_{\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}}{}^z + 2 \,\zeta\, \chi_\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}}{}^\zeta$ which describes a deformation of $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g \to \ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_g'$ away from the split locus, which amounts to `switching on' two odd moduli (\emph{i.e.}, choosing non-zero values for the odd coordinates of the fixed super-points of $\boldsymbol G$).
But the super-Schottky group formula for the period matrix \eq{schopm} is valid regardless of whether $\boldsymbol G$ is split. This gives us two different formulae for the same period matrix, and we can check that they match by computing the first few terms in the power-series expansion in the semimultipliers $\varepsilon_i$.
\subsubsection{Computing the period matrix in genus $g=2$}
\label{norm}
First of all let us take a genus $g=2$ SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_2'$ described by a normalized super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G'$ as a deformation of a split SRS $\ensuremath{\bs{\surf}}_2$ described by a super Schottky group $\boldsymbol G$. Both $\boldsymbol G$ and $\boldsymbol G'$ have the same even moduli, \emph{i.e.}~the fixed point $u_2 \equiv u$ and the supermultipliers $\varepsilon_1$ and $\varepsilon_2$. But the two odd moduli $\theta_2 \equiv \theta$, $\phi_2 \equiv \phi$ are `switched on' for $\boldsymbol G '$ and set to zero for $\boldsymbol G$. The Eichler periods associated to this deformation are
\begin{align}
X_h[\boldsymbol \gamma_i](z) & = \delta_{i2} \, (\varepsilon_2-\varepsilon_2^{-1}) \frac{(z-u)(z-1)}{(1-u)^2} \, \theta \phi \, , \label{hper2}
\shortintertext{and}
X_{\chi} [\boldsymbol \gamma_i] (z) & = \, \delta_{i2} \, (1-\varepsilon_2^{-1}) \frac{(z-1) \, \theta\,+\,\varepsilon_2\,(z-u) \, \phi}{1-u} \, . \label{chiper2}
\end{align}
So to find $\ensuremath{\widehat}{\alpha}_i$, we can insert the Eichler period $X_{\chi}$ from \eq{chiper2} into the contour integral formula \eq{alphcont}. The other ingredients needed for the computation are the abelian differentials on the reduced surface which can be computed from \eq{schoab}
and are given to second order in $\varepsilon_i$ by putting $k_i \to \varepsilon_i^2$ in \eq{omg2}, and the Szeg\H{o} kernel which is given by the formula in \eq{szego1}, with the first few terms in the $\varepsilon_i$-expansion for genus $g=2$ written down in \eq{Szwg2}. We use
\begin{align}
\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i(\ensuremath{{\wt{z}}},z) & = \frac{1-\varepsilon_2^{-1}}{1-u} \frac{1}{2 \pi {\rm i}} \oint_{{\cal C}_2} \d w \, \,S(z,w) \,\,\omega_i(w) \, \,\big( (w-1) \, \theta\,+\,\varepsilon_2\,(w-u) \, \phi \big)\, , \label{alphcont2}
\end{align}
and power-expand in the semimultipliers $\varepsilon_i$, then the integrand has a unique simple pole at $v_2\equiv 1$. The resulting expression for $\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i$ matches the one computed directly from the Poincar\'e series \eq{absubk} given in \eq{absudnorm}.
With the expression for $\ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i(z)$ to hand, the period matrix $(\boldsymbol \tau_{ij})$ can be written down from the formula \eq{taufromdef}. Both Eichler periods \eq{hper2} and \eq{chiper2} for this deformation contain a $\delta_{i2}$ so again the formula reduces to a single contour integral around ${\cal C}_2$, and because we have expanded in $\varepsilon_i$ the only simple pole is at the fixed point $v_2 \equiv 1$. So we find
\begin{align}
\boldsymbol \tau_{ij} ' & = \boldsymbol \tau_{ij} + \frac{1}{(2 \pi {\rm i})^2} \oint_{z=1} \! \! \! \!\d z \, \, \omega_j(z) \, \Big( \ensuremath{\widehat} \alpha_i(z) \, \big((z-1) \, \theta\,+\,\varepsilon_2\,(z-u) \, \phi\big)\frac{1-\varepsilon_2^{-1}}{1-u} \label{pmg2int} \\
& \hspace{180pt} + \, \omega_i(z) \, (z-u)(z-1) \frac{\varepsilon_2-\varepsilon_2^{-1}}{(1-u)^2} \, \theta \phi \Big)\nonumber \, .
\end{align}
This can be evaluated and matches the expression in \eq{pmnormg2} computed directly from the super Schottky group series \eq{schopm}.
\subsubsection{An alternative choice of odd supermoduli}
\label{shared}
The standard prescription \eq{canonsc} for the canonical normalization of a super Schottky group means that the $g$ generators $\boldsymbol \gamma_i$ are not all on the same footing, since $\boldsymbol \gamma_1$ has no odd parameters while the other generators have two. In the genus $g=2$ case, there are two odd supermoduli in total so a normalization in which both generators have one odd parameter would be more symmetric. Let us use \ensuremath{\text{OSp}(1|2)}~invariance to normalize the odd parts of the fixed superpoints as
\begin{align}
\theta_1 & = \xi \, ;
&
\theta_2 & = \theta \, ;
&
\phi_1 = \phi_2 & = 0 \, . \label{sharedodd}
\end{align}
so now $\theta$ and $\xi$ are the odd supermoduli. The even supermoduli are the same as in the canonically normalized case. The Eichler periods for the deformation from the split case amounting to `switching on' these two odd supermoduli can be found from \eq{hper} and \eq{chiper}, and are given by
\begin{align}
X_\chi[ \boldsymbol \gamma_1 ] & = \big( {\varepsilon_1^{-1}} - 1 \big) \, \xi \, , &
X_\chi[ \boldsymbol \gamma_2 ] & = \big( {\varepsilon_2^{-1}} - 1 \big) \frac{1-z}{1-u}\, \theta \, ,
&
X_h[ \boldsymbol \gamma_i ] & = 0 \, , \label{Eichshared}
\end{align}
so we can take this deformation to be parametrized by the gravitino alone, with the metric perturbation set to zero as in Section 8.3 of \cite{Witten:2012ga}.
As in Section \ref{norm}, the Eichler periods \eq{Eichshared} can be used to compute the abelian superdifferentials $\ensuremath{\widehat} \phi_i(z|\zeta)$ and the period matrix. The results are the same as in the expressions in \eq{absudshar} and \eq{pmsharedg2}, respectively, which are computed directly from the super Schottky group series formulae \eq{absubk} and \eq{schopm}.
\section*{Acknowledgements}
I thank R.~Russo and S.~Sciuto for useful discussions and contributions at an early stage of the work, and also L.~Magnea for collaboration on related projects. Helpful comments on the manuscript have been given by J.~Hayling, E.~Hughes, C.~Maccaferri and M.~Moskovic. This work was supported by the Compagnia di San Paolo contract
``MAST: Modern Applications of String Theory'' \verb=TO-Call3-2012-0088=.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 9,195 |
\section{Introduction}
Disturbances in physical fields generically propagate throughout the causal future of that initial disturbance. The character of this propagation is well-understood for points that are sufficiently close to said disturbance. More specifically, there exist fairly straightforward procedures to construct Green functions\footnote{The term ``Green function'' as used here coincides with the standard definition of a fundamental solution. For the model equation \eqref{GenericWaveEqn}, a Green function is any solution to $L G(p,p') = -4 \pi I \delta(p,p')$, where $I$ denotes an appropriate identity operator (needed for non-scalar fields) and $\delta(p,p')$ the Dirac distribution. By contrast, some authors define Green functions somewhat more restrictively. See, e.g., \cite{BaerWaves}.} for linear (or linear\textit{ized}) wave equations in regions which are sufficiently small that, roughly speaking, characteristic rays starting at one point do not cross each other at any other point. What occurs outside of these regions -- where characteristics intersect (or ``almost intersect'') each other -- is considerably more complicated.
To be specific, consider linear hyperbolic equations whose principal part is the d'Alembertian associated with a spacetime metric $g_{ab}$. Suppressing possible indices on the field $\Phi$ and source $\rho$, let
\begin{equation}
L \Phi = (g^{ab} \nabla_a \nabla_b + \ldots) \Phi = - 4 \pi \rho,
\label{GenericWaveEqn}
\end{equation}
where $\nabla_a$ is the natural derivative operator associated with $g_{ab}$. The omitted part of $L$ in this equation may be any first order linear differential operator. Equations satisfied by Klein-Gordon fields, electromagnetic vector potentials, and linearized perturbations of Einstein's equation all fall into this class (for certain gauge choices).
Considerable insight into \eqref{GenericWaveEqn} may be obtained by constructing an associated Green function. If the points $p$ and $p'$ are sufficiently close, the retarded Green function is known to have the form\footnote{Distributions like $\theta(p \geq p') \delta(\sigma)$ appearing here are not \textit{a priori}, well-defined. They are to be interpreted as, e.g., $\lim_{\epsilon \rightarrow 0^+} \theta(p \geq p') \delta(\sigma+\epsilon)$. See Sect. 4.1 of \cite{FriedlanderWaves}.\label{Foot:Vertex}} \cite{PoissonRev, FriedlanderWaves} (again suppressing indices)
\begin{align}
G_{\mathrm{ret}}(p,p') = \theta(p \geq p') \big[ \mathcal{U} (p,p') \delta ( \sigma(p,p') )
\nonumber
\\
~ + \mathcal{V} (p,p') \Theta ( -\sigma(p,p') ) \big]
\label{GretGeneral}
\end{align}
in four spacetime dimensions. Here, $\theta(p \geq p')$ is defined to equal unity if $p$ is in the causal future of $p'$, and zero otherwise. $\Theta$ and $\delta$ are the one-dimensional Heaviside and Dirac distributions, respectively. $\sigma(p,p') = \sigma(p',p)$ denotes Synge's world function; a two-point scalar equal to one-half of the squared geodesic distance between its arguments \cite{PoissonRev, FriedlanderWaves, SyngeBook}. The bitensors $\mathcal{U} (p,p')$ and $\mathcal{V} (p,p')$ are more complicated to define, although explicit procedures to compute them are known \cite{PoissonRev, FriedlanderWaves}.
The interpretation of \eqref{GretGeneral} is very simple. It implies that disturbances at a point $p'$ are initially propagated ``sharply'' along future-directed null geodesics [where $\sigma(\cdot,p') = 0$] with an influence proportional to $\mathcal{U} (\cdot, p')$. At least for fields where the differential operator $L$ has no first-order component, $\mathcal{U} (\cdot, p')$ is closely related to the expansion of the congruence of geodesics emanating from $p'$. As might have been expected, the importance of the $\delta(\sigma)$ term in the retarded Green function is related to the focusing of null geodesics in the sense expected from geometric optics. Apart from this, the second line of \eqref{GretGeneral} indicates that there may also be contributions to field disturbances -- known as a ``tail'' -- that propagate along all future-directed \textit{timelike} geodesics emanating from $p'$ [where $\sigma (\cdot, p') < 0$].
This description of wave propagation cannot usually be applied throughout an entire spacetime. The Hadamard form \eqref{GretGeneral} for the retarded Green function is guaranteed to be valid only in convex geodesic domains \cite{FriedlanderWaves}. Indeed, the standard definition of $\sigma$ breaks down when, e.g., pairs of points can be connected by more than one geodesic (or by none). It is the purpose of this paper to discuss \textit{global} properties of Green functions in curved spacetimes. In particular, we focus on changes in Green functions arising from the presence of light cone caustics.
Some insight into global wave propagation may be gained from general theorems on the propagation of singularities in wave equations (see, e.g., Corollary 5 on p. 121 of \cite{BarFredenhagen}). Roughly speaking, these state that singularities are globally propagated along null geodesics. In particular, the fact that $G_\mathrm{ret}( \cdot, p' )$ is initially singular along all future-directed null geodesics emanating from $p'$ implies that it remains singular as these geodesics are extended arbitrarily far into the future of $p'$ [even though Eq. \eqref{GretGeneral} does not necessarily hold in the distant future]. Standard propagation-of-singularities theorems do not, however, describe the specific ``character'' of the singularity on a given null geodesic. Generically, the singular structure of $G_\mathrm{ret}( \cdot, p')$ can exhibit qualitative changes when passing each caustic associated with the future light cone of $p'$.
It is clear from \eqref{GretGeneral} that retarded Green functions initially contain a term involving $\delta(\sigma)$. Recent computations of retarded Green functions for linear scalar fields in Nariai \cite{CausticsNariai} and Schwarzschild \cite{CausticsSchw} spacetimes have demonstrated that there is a sense in which such terms are replaced by different singular distributions after each encounter with a caustic of the light cone. Following a null geodesic forwards in time from a source point $p'$, the singular structure of $G_\mathrm{ret}( \cdot ,p')$ appeared to ``oscillate'' in the repeating 4-fold pattern [modulo an appropriate extension of the (positive) prefactor $\mathcal{U}(p,p')$ appearing in \eqref{GretGeneral}]
\begin{equation}
\delta(\sigma) \rightarrow \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{1}{\pi \sigma} \right)\rightarrow - \delta(\sigma) \rightarrow - \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{1}{\pi \sigma} \right) \rightarrow \ldots
\label{SingStruct4}
\end{equation}
Here, ``pv'' denotes the Cauchy principal value.
Ori has heuristically argued \cite{Ori} that this phenomenon should be generic for waves propagating through ``astigmatic caustics'' where light rays are focused in only one transverse direction. Such caustics are associated with conjugate points of multiplicity 1. Furthermore, Ori claims that the effect of ``stronger'' \textit{an}astigmatic caustics associated with multiplicity 2 conjugate points should have an effect equivalent to two passes through astigmatic caustics. If all caustics in a particular geometry are anastigmatic -- displaying perfect focusing -- this reasoning would imply that the associated Green functions display the 2-fold pattern of singular structures
\begin{equation}
\delta(\sigma) \rightarrow - \delta(\sigma) \rightarrow \ldots
\label{SingStruct2}
\end{equation}
Such patterns have indeed been observed in scalar Green functions for both the Einstein static universe and the Bertotti-Robinson spacetime \cite{MarcPrivate}.
There is a vast literature on wave propagation through caustics in various contexts. A significant body of work has applied catastrophe theory to classify shapes of stable caustic surfaces in different contexts \cite{ArnoldCausticBook, PerlickCaustics, EhlersCaustics,OtherRussianCausticBook}. Additionally, the behavior of wave fields near caustics has been discussed in, e.g., \cite{OtherRussianCausticBook, Ludwig}. It is known from this work that there is a sense in which individual Fourier modes of a field experience a phase change of $\pi/2$ on passing through an astigmatic caustic [associated with the 4-fold pattern \eqref{SingStruct4}]. One might therefore expect four passes through astigmatic caustics to return a Green function to its ``original form.'' Stronger anastigmatic caustics associated with the pattern \eqref{SingStruct2} effectively add a phase of $2 (\pi/2) = \pi$ to each Fourier mode. Two passes through such caustics might therefore be expected to return a Green function to its original form.
Despite this type of frequency-domain argument, the simple ``position-space'' patterns \eqref{SingStruct4} and \eqref{SingStruct2} do not appear to have been systematically derived before except in a few special cases. One problem is finding an appropriately-precise statement of the result. The usual definition of $\sigma$ breaks down once caustics arise, so even the meanings of the patterns \eqref{SingStruct4} and \eqref{SingStruct2} are not immediately clear in general spacetimes. Additionally, one can only hope that there is a sense in which such patterns hold ``near'' null geodesics where the singular portion of a Green function might be meaningfully disentangled from its remainder. It is not immediately clear how to precisely formulate a notion of this type.
The physical interpretation of the patterns \eqref{SingStruct4} and \eqref{SingStruct2} has also been somewhat mysterious. How, for example, can a ``sharp'' distribution like $\delta(\sigma)$ instantaneously jump into the much more ``spread out'' $\mathrm{pv}(1/\pi \sigma)$? Additionally, one may question how a causal Green function could extend into regions where $\sigma>0$ [as it does when the singular structure of a Green function involves $\mathrm{pv}(1/\pi \sigma)$]. Naively, this might appear to imply that disturbances in fields can propagate to points that are causally disconnected from that disturbance.
This paper starts by investigating and resolving all of these issues in four-dimensional plane wave spacetimes. Retarded and advanced Green functions associated with massless scalar fields propagating in smooth plane wave spacetimes are derived explicitly. These geometries might be thought of as modelling gravitational waves emitted from some moderately distant astrophysical system. Certain characteristics of plane wave spacetimes are not, however, particularly realistic. More relevant are some of their mathematical properties:
\begin{itemize}
\item Appropriately adjusting the amplitude and polarization profile of a plane wave geometry allows the construction of examples with any number and combination of astigmatic and anastigmatic caustics. This is accomplished in a spacetime with topology $\mathbb{R}^4$ and a metric whose coordinate components can be made globally smooth.
\item Green functions associated with massless minimally-coupled scalar fields or Maxwell fields are known to have nonzero tails $\mathcal{V}(p,p')$ in almost every four-dimensional spacetime. Essentially the only nontrivial counterexamples are plane wave spacetimes \cite{FriedlanderWaves, Huygens}.
\item Although generic plane wave spacetimes fail to be (globally) geodesically convex, there is a natural definition for $\sigma(p,p')$ that holds almost everywhere.
\item The geodesic structure of plane wave spacetimes is understood essentially in its entirety. This allows $\sigma(p,p')$ and $\mathcal{U}(p,p')$ to be computed explicitly.
\end{itemize}
Most importantly, we choose to work in plane wave spacetimes due to the existence of a procedure known as the Penrose limit \cite{PenroseLimit, BlauPenrose, BlauNotes}. This provides a sense in which the geometry near any given null geodesic in an arbitrary spacetime looks like the geometry of an appropriate plane wave spacetime. The Penrose limit preserves various properties of the original spacetime \cite{BlauNotes, GerochHereditary, BlauHereditary}; in particular, the conjugate point structure of the chosen (or ``reference'') geodesic.
We use Penrose limits to argue that most of the ``leading order'' singular behavior of Green functions associated with wave propagation in \textit{arbitrary} spacetimes may be understood using knowledge of Green functions in appropriate plane wave spacetimes. This singular structure naturally splits into two components. One portion is associated with the appearance of conjugate points on the reference geodesic with which the Penrose limit is performed. The effects of such points are, in a sense, determined quasi-locally. They affect Green functions near the reference geodesic in a way that depends only on their multiplicities. Furthermore, the effects of conjugate points propagate into their future along the reference geodesic. In most cases, the singular structures that result from the appearance of conjugate points have either the 4- or 2-fold patterns \eqref{SingStruct4} or \eqref{SingStruct2}. There do, however, exist finely-tuned examples that fall into neither category because there are a mixture of astigmatic and anastigmatic caustics.
It is important to emphasize that despite this result, Green functions are not quasi-local objects. In general, it is not possible for all of a Green function's singular structure to be determined near some null geodesic using only knowledge of the geometry near that geodesic. ``Nonlocal singularities'' can be introduced near a reference geodesic when non-conjugate pairs of points on that geodesic are also connected by other null geodesics\footnote{A simple example of this phenomenon is provided by the spacetime of a straight cosmic string \cite{PerlickCaustics}. These geometries can be described by the metric ${\rm d} s^2 = -{\rm d} t^2 + {\rm d} z^2 + {\rm d} \rho^2 +(k \rho)^2 {\rm d} \phi^2$ with $t, z \in \mathbb{R}$, $\rho>0$, and $\phi \in [0, 2 \pi)$. They are locally flat, and therefore admit no conjugate points along any geodesic. Cosmic string spacetimes do, however, possess an angular defect (if $k \neq 1$) that forces some pairs of points on opposite sides of the string to be connected by more than one geodesic.}. We show that the effects of such intersections on a Green function are ``non-propagating.'' There is sense in which their associated singularities are confined to regions near the intersection points. Using the Penrose limit, singularities of this type correspond to isolated structures in plane wave Green functions occurring at locations which cannot be predicted from any given set of initial data. Plane wave spacetimes are not globally hyperbolic, so their Green functions cannot be uniquely specified in terms of any initial data set. This lack of uniqueness is, indeed, necessary if plane wave Green functions are to consistently capture certain characteristics of generic Green functions with intrinsically nonlocal components.
This paper is organized into three main parts. Sects. \ref{Sect:ppGeometry} and \ref{Sect:Geometry} define the plane wave geometry and provide an extensive discussion of its geometrical properties. While much of the material in these sections has been noted before \cite{BlauNotes, GlobalGeo, EhlersKundt, EhrlichEmch1, EhrlichEmch2, QED1, QED2}, some appears to be new (e.g., the behavior of various geometric objects near caustics). Only a few key results from Sect. \ref{Sect:Geometry} are needed to understand the majority of Sect. \ref{Sect:Green}, where explicit global Green functions are constructed for all smooth four-dimensional plane wave spacetimes. Sect. \ref{Sect:Penrose} finally shows that knowledge of plane wave Green functions is sufficient to understand the leading order singular structure of Green functions in arbitrary spacetimes. Appendix \ref{Sect:ABProperties} describes various properties of two matrices central to describing the geometry of plane wave spacetimes. Appendix \ref{Sect:Distributions} establishes that the Green function obtained for plane wave spacetimes is a well-defined distribution.
\subsection*{Notation}
In this paper, abstract indices are represented using letters taken from the beginning of the Latin alphabet: $a,b,\ldots$ Four-dimensional coordinate indices are represented using Greek characters, while indices referring only to the spatial coordinates $x^1, x^2$ or $X^1,X^2$ introduced below are denoted by $i,j,\ldots$ Where appropriate, units are used in which $G=c=1$. Our sign conventions follow those of Wald \cite{Wald}: The metric signature is chosen to be $(-+++)$, the Riemann tensor is defined such that $2 \nabla_{[a} \nabla_{b]} \omega_c = R_{abc}{}^{d} \omega_d$ for any 1-form $\omega_a$, and the Ricci tensor satisfies $R_{ab} = R_{acb}{}^{c}$. Spacetime points on a manifold $M$ are generally denoted by $p, \, p'$, etc. Coordinates associated with (say) $p'$ are themselves primed. We often find occasion to abuse notation in various ways that should be understandable from context. For example, we often identify a function of spacetime points with the equivalent function acting on coordinates: e.g., $f(p) = f(u,v,x^1,x^2)$ in a global chart $(u,v,x^1,x^2): M \rightarrow \mathbb{R}^4$. We also make extensive use of elementary vector and matrix notation to denote the spatial coordinate components of various tensors: e.g., ${\mathbf x}^\intercal = (x^1 \, \, \, \, x^2)$, $(\mathbf{A} \mathbf{B})_{ij} = A_{ik} B_{kj}$, etc. The majority of this paper is concerned with plane wave spacetimes. In Sect. \ref{Sect:Penrose}, more general spacetimes are considered as well. Quantities associated with these geometries are often distinguished by the presence of a check mark. A non-plane wave metric is often denoted by $\check{g}_{ab}$, for example.
\section{Plane wave spacetimes in general}
\label{Sect:ppGeometry}
\subsection{pp-waves}
A pp-wave is a spacetime which may be physically interpreted as a (not necessarily vacuum) gravitational wave with parallel rays orthogonal to a family of planar wavefronts. While definitions in the literature vary slightly, pp-waves are often prescribed as a manifold $M$ together with a metric $g_{ab}$ which everywhere admits a nonzero null vector field $\ell^a$ satisfying $\nabla_a \ell^b = 0$ (where $\nabla_a$ is the Levi-Civita connection associated with $g_{ab}$). $\ell^a$ is interpreted as the direction of wave propagation. Since it is covariantly constant, it must be Killing. This implies that the wave propagates without distortion. It is also clear that the integral curves of $\ell^a$ -- the characteristic rays of the gravitational wave -- form a null geodesic congruence that is non-expanding, shear-free, and twist-free. This implies that there is a sense in which such rays remain ``parallel'' to each other. They are also orthogonal to a family of planar 2-surfaces that may be interpreted as wavefronts.
A large class of pp-wave metrics in four dimensions can be written as \cite{EhlersKundt, HallBook, GenPPWave, GriffithsBook}
\begin{equation}
{\rm d} s^2 = - 2 {\rm d} u {\rm d} v + H(u, {\mathbf x}) {\rm d} u^2 + |{\rm d} {\mathbf x}|^2,
\label{ppMetricGen}
\end{equation}
where $|{\rm d} {\mathbf x}|^2$ denotes $({\rm d} x^1)^2 + ({\rm d} x^2)^2$. We assume for simplicity that the coordinates $(u,v,{\mathbf x}) = (u,v,x^1,x^2)$ can take any values in $\mathbb{R}^4$. The unconstrained function $H(u,{\mathbf x}) = H(u,x^1,x^2)$ fixes the waveform and its polarization. Note that $\partial/\partial v$ is both null and covariantly-constant. It may therefore be identified with the direction of wave propagation $\ell^a$:
\begin{equation}
\ell^a = \left( \frac{\partial}{ \partial v } \right)^a.
\label{EllDef}
\end{equation}
Surfaces spanned by the spatial coordinates $x^1$ and $x^2$ (at fixed $u,v$) are wavefronts transverse to the direction of propagation. They are spacelike surfaces with topology $\mathbb{R}^2$ and an induced metric that is everywhere flat: The wavefronts are 2-planes. Furthermore, note that $\ell_a = -\nabla_a u$. The $u$ coordinate may be viewed as labelling the phase of the gravitational wave.
All non-vanishing coordinate components of the Riemann tensor may be obtained from
\begin{equation}\label{Riemann}
R_{uiuj} = - \frac{1}{2} \partial_i \partial_j H(u,{\mathbf x}) ,
\end{equation}
where $\partial_i :=\partial/\partial x^i$ and $i=1,2$. The Ricci tensor can have at most one nonzero component:
\begin{equation}\label{Ricci}
R_{uu} = - \frac{1}{2} \nabla^2 H(u,{\mathbf x}).
\end{equation}
Here, $\nabla^2$ denotes the two-dimensional Euclidean Laplacian acting on the coordinates $(x^1,x^2)$. It follows that any pp-wave satisfying the vacuum Einstein equation $R_{ab} = 0$ has a waveform $H(u,{\mathbf x})$ that is harmonic in the spatial coordinates. The sum of any two harmonic functions is itself harmonic, so there is a sense in which vacuum pp-wave metrics propagating in the same direction remain vacuum under linear superposition.
Note that it follows from \eqref{ppMetricGen} and \eqref{Ricci} that the Ricci scalar $g^{ab} R_{ab}$ vanishes in all pp-wave spacetimes. More generally, \textit{all} locally-constructed curvature scalars vanish in these geometries. Spacetimes with this property -- of which the pp-waves are a special case -- are known to be members of the Kundt class \cite{VanishingCurvScalars} (The converse is not true: There do exist Kundt metrics with non-vanishing curvature scalars.). Geometries with vanishing curvature scalars are the gravitational analogs of ``null'' electromagnetic fields $F_{ab}$ satisfying $F_{ab} F^{ab} = \epsilon^{abcd} F_{ab} F_{cd} = \ldots = 0$. Some of the simplest nontrivial examples of null electromagnetic fields are plane waves propagating in flat spacetime. Similarly, some of the simplest nontrivial geometries with vanishing curvature scalars are plane wave spacetimes. These are a subclass of pp-wave spacetimes.
\subsection{Plane waves}
\label{Sect:Plane}
Plane wave spacetimes are special pp-waves where the curvature components $R_{\mu\nu\lambda\rho}$ depend only on the ``phase coordinate'' $u$. The wave amplitude and polarization can then be said to remain constant on each planar wavefront formed by varying $x^1, x^2$ while holding fixed $u$ and $v$.
It follows from \eqref{Riemann} that plane waves arise if the profile function $H(u,{\mathbf x})$ is at most quadratic in the spatial variables ${\mathbf x}$. A coordinate transformation may be used to eliminate any components of $H$ independent of or linear in $x^1$ and $x^2$. The metric of a general plane wave spacetime can therefore be written in the Brinkmann form
\begin{equation}
{\rm d} s^2 = - 2 {\rm d} u {\rm d} v + H_{ij}(u) x^i x^j {\rm d} u^2 + | {\rm d} {\mathbf x}|^2 .
\label{PlaneWaveGen}
\end{equation}
Here, $H_{ij} (u)$ is an arbitrary symmetric $2 \times 2$ matrix that specifies the wave's amplitude and polarization profile. Except in Sect. \ref{Sect:Penrose}, the metric \eqref{PlaneWaveGen} is assumed to hold throughout this paper. We restrict attention to non-singular plane waves where $(u,v,{\mathbf x}) \in \mathbb{R}^4$ and $H_{ij}(u)$ is a collection of smooth functions from $\mathbb{R}$ to $\mathbb{R}$.
It is convenient later to have a special notation for constant-phase surfaces associated with \eqref{PlaneWaveGen}. For any $u' \in \mathbb{R}$, let $S_{u'}$ denote the $u = u'$ hyperplane
\begin{equation}
S_{u'} := \{ p' \in M : u(p') = u' \}.
\label{ConstU}
\end{equation}
It follows from \eqref{Riemann} that the Riemann tensor on one of these hypersurfaces is entirely determined by the components
\begin{equation}
R_{uiuj} = - H_{ij}(u).
\label{RiemannPlane}
\end{equation}
Furthermore,
\begin{equation}
R_{uu} = - \mathrm{Tr} \, \mathbf{H}(u),
\label{RicciPlane}
\end{equation}
where $\mathrm{Tr}$ denotes the ordinary trace of the $2 \times 2$ matrix $(\mathbf{H})_{ij} = H_{ij}$.
It follows that the vacuum Einstein equation $R_{ab} = 0$ is satisfied if and only if $H_{ij}$ is trace-free. The metric of any purely gravitational plane wave can therefore be put into the form
\begin{align}
{\rm d} s^2 = - 2 {\rm d} u {\rm d} v + \big\{ h_{+}(u) \big[ (x^1)^2-(x^2)^2 \big]
\nonumber
\\
~ + 2 h_{\times}(u) x^1 x^2 \big\} {\rm d} u^2 + |{\rm d} {\mathbf x}|^2 ,
\label{PlaneWaveRiccFlat}
\end{align}
where $h_{+}(u)$ and $h_{\times} (u)$ are arbitrary functions representing waveforms for the two polarization states of the gravitational wave. If these functions are proportional, the wave is said to be linearly polarized. A coordinate rotation can then be used to eliminate $h_{\times}(u)$ in favor of rescaling $h_{+}(u)$.
It is interesting to note that there is a sense in which metrics with the form \eqref{PlaneWaveRiccFlat} satisfy all generally covariant field equations that can be constructed purely from the metric and its derivatives \cite{PlaneWaveFieldEqs}. Ricci-flat plane wave spacetimes therefore provide a model for plane-symmetric gravitational radiation in general relativity as well as many alternative theories of gravity.
In this paper, we do not restrict the discussion only to vacuum plane waves. One interesting class of non-vacuum plane waves are those that are conformally-flat. Such geometries must have Riemann tensors that are ``pure trace.'' It follows from inspection of \eqref{PlaneWaveGen} and \eqref{RicciPlane} that the metric of a conformally-flat plane wave can always be put into the form
\begin{equation}
{\rm d} s^2 = - 2 {\rm d} u {\rm d} v - h^2(u) |{\mathbf x}|^2 {\rm d} u^2 + |{\rm d} {\mathbf x}|^2
\label{PlaneWaveConfFlat}
\end{equation}
for some function $h(u)$. There is at most one nonzero Ricci component in these coordinates:
\begin{equation}
R_{uu} = 2 h^2(u) .
\label{RicciConfFlat}
\end{equation}
If Einstein's equation $R_{ab} - \frac{1}{2} g_{ab} R = 8\pi T_{ab}$ is imposed, the null energy condition holds for the stress-energy tensor $T_{ab}$ if and only if $h^2(u) \geq 0$. This condition also implies the weak, dominant and strong energy conditions.
Conformally-flat plane wave spacetimes satisfying $h^2(u) \geq 0$ may be interpreted as the gravitational fields associated with plane electromagnetic waves in Einstein-Maxwell theory. In general, the stress-energy tensor of an electromagnetic field $F_{ab}$ is
\begin{equation}
T_{ab} = \frac{1}{4 \pi} (F_{ac} F_{b}{}^{c} - \frac{1}{4} g_{ab} F_{cd} F^{cd}).
\end{equation}
Inserting this into Einstein's equation and using \eqref{RicciConfFlat}, it is easily observed that the plane wave geometry \eqref{PlaneWaveConfFlat} may be associated with the electromagnetic plane wave
\begin{equation}
F_{ab} = 2 h(u) \nabla_{[a} u \nabla_{b]} x^1 .
\label{EMField}
\end{equation}
This electromagnetic field is a solution to the vacuum Maxwell equations. It also satisfies $F_{ab} F^{ab} = \epsilon_{abcd} F^{ab} F^{cd} = 0$. The electric and magnetic fields seen by any observer are therefore equal in magnitude and orthogonal:
\begin{equation}
E_a E^a = B_a B^a , \qquad E_a B^a = 0.
\end{equation}
Note, however, that \eqref{EMField} is but one possible $F_{ab}$ that could be associated with a given $h(u)$. Other possibilities exist.
Although we make little use of it, it should be mentioned that plane waves are often described in the literature in terms of Rosen coordinates $(U,V,\mathbf{X})$ instead of the Brinkmann coordinates $(u,v,{\mathbf x})$ used in \eqref{PlaneWaveGen}. The metric then takes the form
\begin{equation}
{\rm d} s^2 = - 2 {\rm d} U {\rm d} V + \mathcal{H}_{ij}(U) {\rm d} X^i {\rm d} X^j.
\label{RosenMetric}
\end{equation}
The $2 \times 2$ matrix $\mathcal{H}_{ij}(U)$ appearing here depends non-algebraically and non-uniquely on $H_{ij}(u)$. Consider, in particular, the transformation
\begin{subequations}
\label{BrinkmannToRosen}
\begin{align}
u &= U,
\\
v &= V + \frac{1}{2} \dot{E}^{k}{}_{i} (U) E_{kj} (U) X^i X^j,
\\
x^i &= E^{i}{}_{j}(U) X^j,
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
where the matrix $E^{i}{}_{j}(U)$ is a nontrivial solution to the differential equation
\begin{equation}
\ddot{\mathbf{E}}(U) = \mathbf{H} (U) \mathbf{E} (U).
\label{EDef}
\end{equation}
We also require that
\begin{equation}
\dot{\mathbf{E}}^\intercal \mathbf{E} = (\dot{\mathbf{E}}^\intercal \mathbf{E})^\intercal.
\label{SymE}
\end{equation}
Applying \eqref{BrinkmannToRosen} to the Brinkmann line element \eqref{PlaneWaveGen} with these restrictions on $\mathbf{E}$, one finds the Rosen line element \eqref{RosenMetric} with
\begin{equation}
\bm{\mathcal{H}}(U) = \mathbf{E}^\intercal (U) \mathbf{E}(U).
\label{RosenH}
\end{equation}
Rosen coordinates have the advantage of being more closely related than Brinkmann coordinates to intuition for gravitational waves built up from linearizing Einstein's equation about Minkowski spacetime in transverse-traceless gauge. Some properties of a plane wave's geodesics and symmetries are also more easily expressed in terms of Rosen coordinates. Unfortunately, the metric \eqref{RosenMetric} does not generally cover the entire spacetime. Rosen coordinates generically develop singularities that are not present in Brinkmann coordinates. There is also a considerable degree of ``gauge freedom'' in $\mathcal{H}_{ij}$ [i.e., there are many allowed solutions to \eqref{EDef} for a given $H_{ij}$].
\section{Geometric properties of plane wave spacetimes}
\label{Sect:Geometry}
Before discussing wave propagation in some background spacetime, it is important to understand the geometry of that background. This section discusses the symmetries of plane wave spacetimes as well as their geodesic and causal structures. Bitensors such as Synge's function, the van Vleck determinant, and the parallel propagator are computed explicitly. Emphasis is placed on the focusing of geodesics and the asymptotic behavior of various bitensors near light cone caustics. These topics are all important for the understanding of Green functions associated with wave equations like \eqref{GretGeneral}.
A recurring object in the geometry of plane wave spacetimes is the matrix differential equation \eqref{EDef}. This may be viewed as a generalized oscillator equation where the wave profile $\mathbf{H}(U)$ acts like (the negative of) a ``squared frequency matrix.'' It is useful to describe all solutions by a linear combination of two particular solutions ${\mathbf A}(u,u')$ and ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$. We choose to define these matrices to be solutions of
\begin{subequations}
\label{JacobiSpatial}
\begin{align}
\partial^2_u {\mathbf A}(u,u') = \mathbf{H}(u) {\mathbf A}(u,u')
\\
\partial^2_u {\mathbf B}(u,u') = \mathbf{H}(u) {\mathbf B}(u,u')
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
satisfying the boundary conditions
\begin{align}
\label{ABboundary}
[{\mathbf A}] = [\partial_u {\mathbf B}]= \bm{\delta}, \qquad [ {\mathbf B} ] = [ \partial_u {\mathbf A} ] = 0.
\end{align}
Here, $\bm{\delta}$ denotes the $2 \times 2$ identity matrix and $[ \cdot]$ indicates the coincidence limit $u \rightarrow u'$. ${\mathbf A}(u,u')$ and ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ are assumed to be matrices of functions that are smooth throughout $\mathbb{R} \times \mathbb{R}$. Some of their properties are discussed in Appendix \ref{Sect:ABProperties}.
We demonstrate below that ${\mathbf A}(u,u')$ and ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ may be used not only to describe the transformation between Rosen and Brinkmann coordinates, but also to compute the spatial coordinate components of geodesics and Jacobi fields. Additionally, these matrices can be used to identify conjugate points, explicitly compute various bitensors, and construct Killing fields.
As an important example, consider a geodesic passing through two points $p$ and $p'$. It is shown in Sect. \ref{Sect:Conj} that these points are conjugate along the given geodesic if and only if -- abusing notation somewhat -- their Brinkmann wavefront coordinates $u = u(p)$ and $u' = u(p')$ satisfy
\begin{equation}
\det {\mathbf B}(u,u') = 0
\label{ZeroDet}
\end{equation}
and $u \neq u'$. This means that there exists a nontrivial Jacobi field along the chosen geodesic which vanishes at both $p$ and $p'$. Defining the multiplicity of a conjugate pair as the number of nontrivial linearly independent Jacobi fields which vanish at these points (i.e., the number of focused directions), the multiplicity of $p$ and $p'$ is easily read off as the nullity of ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$. In the four spacetime dimensions considered here, the multiplicity cannot exceed two. If the pair $(p,p')$ is conjugate with multiplicity 1, the set of all null geodesics emanating from $p'$ and passing through the constant-$u$ surface $S_{u}$ is shown in Sect. \ref{Sect:CausticGeo} to form a one-dimensional curve on $S_u$ [recall \eqref{ConstU}]. This represents astigmatic focusing. Conjugate points with multiplicity 2 momentarily focus bundles of null geodesics to a single point. This represents anastigmatic focusing.
Note that \eqref{ZeroDet} does not depend on any details of the geodesic under consideration. It is purely a relation between pairs of $u$ coordinates. Geometrically, it may be interpreted as distinguishing certain pairs $(S_{u}, S_{u'})$ of hyperplanes associated with two different phases of the gravitational wave. We call these ``conjugate hyperplanes.'' They play a central role in the geometry of plane wave spacetimes.
It is convenient to denote the set of all solutions to $\det {\mathbf B}(\cdot, u')=0$ by $T(u')$. We write the individual elements\footnote{Conjugate points always occur discretely in plane wave spacetimes. In more general Lorentzian metrics, it is possible for there to exist continuous sections of a geodesic that are conjugate to one particular point on that geodesic \cite{HelferConj, NewerConj}. This is, however, only possible along spacelike geodesics. For plane wave spacetimes, the appearance of conjugate points along spacelike and causal geodesics is governed by the same equation. $T(u')$ is therefore a countable set for every $u' \in \mathbb{R}$.} of $T(u')$ as $\tau_n(u') \in \mathbb{R} \setminus \{ u' \}$:
\begin{equation}
T(u') = \bigcup_n \tau_n(u').
\label{CTau}
\end{equation}
Here, the $n$ are nonzero integers that order the elements of $T(u')$ (if any). By convention, we set $n>0$ if $\tau_n(u')>u'$ and $n<0$ otherwise. See Fig. \ref{Fig:Normal} and further discussion in Sects. \ref{Sect:Geodesics} and \ref{Sect:Conj} below.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width= .85\linewidth]{NormalNeighb}
\caption{Fixing any $u' \in \mathbb{R}$, a plane wave spacetime naturally divides into a set of 3-surfaces $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ and open 4-volumes $\mathcal{N}_n(u')$ in between them. Every point in $S_{u'}$ is connected to every point in $\mathcal{N}_n(u')$ by exactly one geodesic. Such points are never conjugate. Points in $S_{u'}$ can be connected to points in $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ by either an infinite number of geodesics or by none. In the former case, both points are conjugate along every connecting geodesic. This justifies the description of $(S_{u'}, S_{\tau_n(u')})$ as a pair of ``conjugate hyperplanes.''}
\label{Fig:Normal}
\end{figure}
Given some preferred phase coordinate $u'$, $T(u')$ naturally divides the spacetime into a collection of simply-connected open sets $\mathcal{N}_n(u')$ and their bounding hyperplanes $S_{\tau_n(u')}$. Define the region $\mathcal{N}_0(u')$ to be
\begin{align}
\mathcal{N}_0 (u') := \{ p \in M : u(p) \in ( \tau_{-1} (u'), \tau_{+1} (u') ) \}
\label{NormalNeighborhood}
\end{align}
if $\tau_{\pm 1}(u')$ both exist in $T(u')$. If these elements do not exist, the appropriate endpoint(s) of the interval in the definition of $\mathcal{N}_0(u')$ is to be replaced by $\pm \infty$. If, say, $\tau_{+1} (u')$ and $\tau_{+2}(u')$ exist,
\begin{align}
\mathcal{N}_{1}:= \{ p \in M: u(p) \in (\tau_1, \tau_2) \}.
\end{align}
Similarly,
\begin{equation}
\mathcal{N}_{-1}:= \{p \in M: u(p) \in (\tau_{-2}, \tau_{-1}) \}
\end{equation}
if $\tau_{-1}(u')$ and $\tau_{-2}(u')$ both exist. In general, $\mathcal{N}_n(u')$ represents the region between the $n$th hyperplane conjugate to $S_{u'}$ and the ``next one.'' See Fig \ref{Fig:Normal}.
The region $\mathcal{N}_0 (u')$ is a convex normal neighborhood of every point $p'$ for which $u' = u(p')$. It is, however, shown in Sect. \ref{Sect:Geodesics} below that all points in the open set
\begin{equation}
\mathcal{N} (u') := \bigcup_n \mathcal{N}_n (u')
\label{GenNormalNeighborhood}
\end{equation}
are connected to $p'$ by exactly one geodesic. In this sense, $\mathcal{N}(u')$ is a ``generalized normal neighborhood'' of $p'$. Note, however, that this set is not path-connected unless $T(u')$ is the empty set (in which case $\mathcal{N}(u') = \mathcal{N}_0(u') =M$). The geodesic connecting $p'$ to a generic point in $\mathcal{N}(u')$ need not lie entirely in $\mathcal{N}(u')$. In general, it will pass through some of the $S_{\tau_n}(u')$. These hypersurfaces are not contained in $\mathcal{N}(u')$. Note that the portion of the spacetime not contained in $\mathcal{N}(u')$,
\begin{equation}
M \setminus \mathcal{N}(u') = \bigcup_{n} S_{\tau_n(u')},
\end{equation}
has zero volume.
\subsection{Symmetries}
\label{Sect:Syms}
Plane wave spacetimes possess at least five linearly independent Killing vectors. One of these is clearly $\ell^a = (\partial/\partial v)^a$. The others have the form
\begin{equation}
\left( x^i \dot{\Xi}_i(u) \frac{\partial}{\partial v} + \Xi^i (u) \frac{\partial}{\partial x^i} \right)^a
\label{KillingVectsAuto}
\end{equation}
in terms of the Brinkmann coordinates $(u,v, {\mathbf x})$. Here, $\Xi^i(u) = \Xi_i(u)$ is any solution to
\begin{equation}
\ddot{\bm{\Xi}}(u) = \mathbf{H} (u) \bm{\Xi}(u) .
\label{KillingEq}
\end{equation}
This equation prescribes a total of four linearly independent Killing fields in addition to $\ell^a$. Even more Killing fields may be found in certain special cases. Note that \eqref{KillingEq} is very closely related to the modified oscillator equation \eqref{EDef}. In terms of the matrices ${\mathbf A}$ and ${\mathbf B}$ defined by \eqref{JacobiSpatial} and \eqref{ABboundary}, the general solution is
\begin{equation}
\bm{\Xi}(u) = {\mathbf A}(u,u') \bm{\Xi}(u') + {\mathbf B}(u,u') \dot{\bm{\Xi}}(u').
\label{KillingJacobi}
\end{equation}
The parameters $u'$, $\bm{\Xi}(u')$, and $\dot{\bm{\Xi}}(u')$ appearing in this equation may be varied arbitrarily.
Various types of non-Killing symmetries exist in generic plane wave spacetimes. For example, the vector field $\zeta^a := u \ell^a$ is always a (proper) affine collineation.\footnote{Affine collineations generate a family of diffeomorphisms that preserve all geodesics and their affine parameters. A vector field $\zeta^a$ is an affine collineation if and only if $\nabla_a \mathcal{L}_\zeta g_{bc} = 0$ \cite{HallBook}. A homothety $\psi^a$ is a special type of affine collineation satisfying $\mathcal{L}_\psi g_{ab} = (\mbox{constant}) \times g_{ab}$. Its associated diffeomorphisms preserve the metric up to changes in scale. A \textit{proper} homothety is a homothety that is not Killing. A proper affine collineation is an affine collineation that is not a homothety (and not Killing).} There is also a proper homothety $\psi^a$ given by
\begin{equation}
\psi^a = \left( 2 v \frac{\partial}{\partial v} + x^i \frac{\partial}{\partial x^i} \right)^a.
\label{Homothety}
\end{equation}
This satisfies $\mathcal{L}_\psi g_{ab} = 2 g_{ab}$. More extensive discussions of the symmetries of plane wave spacetimes may be found in \cite{ppWaveConfSyms, ppWaveKT}.
\subsection{Geodesics}
\label{Sect:Geodesics}
The geodesic structure of plane wave spacetimes is relatively straightforward to determine, yet still exhibits a number of nontrivial features. First recall that the vector field $\ell^a = (\partial/ \partial v)^a$ is Killing. The quantity $\ell_a \dot{z}^a$ is therefore conserved along any affinely-parameterized geodesic with tangent $\dot{z}^a$.
If $\ell_a \dot{z}^a =0$ for a particular geodesic, that geodesic remains in a single constant-$u$ hypersurface. In the Brinkmann coordinates where \eqref{PlaneWaveGen} holds, the coordinate components of such a geodesic satisfy
\begin{equation}
\frac{{\rm d} }{{\rm d} s} \dot{z}^\mu (s) = 0
\end{equation}
for all $\mu = u,v,x^1,x^2$. Any geodesic lying on a surface of constant phase $u$ therefore appears to be a (Euclidean) straight line in the coordinates $(v,{\mathbf x})$. It is also clear that there exists exactly one geodesic connecting any pair of points with the same $u$ coordinates. The hypersurfaces $S_u$ defined by \eqref{ConstU} are therefore totally-geodesic.
Geodesics are more complicated when $\ell_a \dot{z}^a \neq 0$. In these cases, the affine parameter of a geodesic may always be rescaled such that $\ell_a \dot{z}^a = -1$. Choosing the origin of this parameter appropriately then allows it to be identified with the coordinate $u$. Doing this, the spatial components $z^i(s) = z^i(u)$ of a geodesic are easily shown to satisfy
\begin{equation}
\ddot{\mathbf{z}} (u) = \mathbf{H}(u) \mathbf{z}(u) .
\label{Geodesic}
\end{equation}
This equation is identical to \eqref{KillingEq} and very similar to \eqref{EDef}. As in \eqref{KillingJacobi}, any possible $\mathbf{z}(u)$ can be written in terms of the matrices ${\mathbf A}$ and ${\mathbf B}$ introduced above:
\begin{equation}
\mathbf{z} (u) = {\mathbf A}(u,u') \mathbf{z}(u') + {\mathbf B}(u,u') \dot{\mathbf{z}}(u').
\label{GeodesicJacobi}
\end{equation}
The $v$ component of any geodesic is most easily found using the conservation law associated with the homothety $\psi^a$ given by \eqref{Homothety}. In general, affine collineations -- of which homotheties (and Killing fields) are special cases -- are associated with conserved quantities of the form
\begin{equation}
\dot{z}_a \psi^a - \frac{1}{2} s \dot{z}^a \dot{z}^b \mathcal{L}_\psi g_{ab}
\end{equation}
for any affinely-parameterized geodesic with tangent $\dot{z}^a(s)$ \cite{KatzinLevine}. Using this for a geodesic with initial coordinates $(u',v',\mathbf{z}')$ and initial spatial velocity $\dot{\mathbf{z}}'$,
\begin{align}
z^v(u) &= v' + \varepsilon (u-u')
\nonumber
\\
& ~ + \frac{1}{2} \big[ \mathbf{z}(u) \cdot \dot{\mathbf{z}}(u) - \mathbf{z}' \cdot \dot{\mathbf{z}}' \big] .
\label{vGeodesic}
\end{align}
Here, $s$ has again been identified with $u$ and the constant $\varepsilon$ is defined by
\begin{equation}
\varepsilon = - \frac{1}{2} \dot{z}_\mu(u) \dot{z}^\mu(u).
\label{EpsilonDef}
\end{equation}
All geodesics not confined to the hyperplane $S_{u'}$ have spatial coordinates which evolve via \eqref{GeodesicJacobi}. The evolution of their $v$ coordinates is easily found by combining \eqref{GeodesicJacobi} and \eqref{vGeodesic}.
Given any two distinct points on a particular geodesic where ${\mathbf B}^{-1}(u,u')$ exists, \eqref{GeodesicJacobi} may be used to solve for the spatial velocity in terms of the starting and ending points ${\mathbf x} = \mathbf{z}(u)$ and ${\mathbf x}' = \mathbf{z}(u')$:
\begin{subequations}
\label{GeodesicVelocities}
\begin{align}
&\dot{\mathbf{z}}' = {\mathbf B}^{-1} ({\mathbf x} - {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}'),
\\
&\dot{\mathbf{z}} = \partial_u {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}' + \partial_u {\mathbf B} {\mathbf B}^{-1} ({\mathbf x} - {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}' ) .
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
Using \eqref{vGeodesic}, the $v$ coordinate of such a geodesic is given by
\begin{align}
z^v(u) = v' + \varepsilon (u-u') + \frac{1}{2} \Big[ {\mathbf x}^\intercal \partial_u {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}'
\nonumber
\\
~ + ( {\mathbf x}^\intercal \partial_u {\mathbf B} - {\mathbf x}'^\intercal) {\mathbf B}^{-1} ({\mathbf x} - {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}' ) \Big].
\label{vGeodesic2}
\end{align}
The constant $\varepsilon$ is unconstrained. It follows that two points $p$ and $p'$ are connected by exactly one geodesic whenever $\det {\mathbf B}(u,u') \neq 0$. It was mentioned above that pairs of points are also connected by exactly one geodesic when $u=u'$. Recalling \eqref{GenNormalNeighborhood} and the surrounding discussion, there therefore exists exactly one geodesic connecting any point $p \in \mathcal{N}(u')$ to any point $p'$ with phase coordinate $u'=u(p')$.
In all other cases, $p$ and $p'$ lie on conjugate hyperplanes. The rank of the $2 \times 2$ matrix ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ is then strictly less than two. If a particular pair of hyperplanes is fixed together with spatial coordinates ${\mathbf x}'$ on one of them, it follows from \eqref{GeodesicJacobi} that the space of all possible ${\mathbf x}$ that can be reached by geodesics with initial spatial coordinates ${\mathbf x}'$ has a dimension less than two. This implies that almost all points on conjugate hyperplanes are geodesically disconnected (although they are always connected by continuous non-geodesic curves).
Suppose, however, that two points lying on conjugate hyperplanes are known to be connected by one particular geodesic. If the initial data for this geodesic is modified by adding to its initial spatial velocity any nonzero vector in the null space of ${\mathbf B}$, it follows from \eqref{GeodesicJacobi} that the spatial endpoints of this new geodesic will be the same as those of the original geodesic. Spacetime points that lie on conjugate hyperplanes and are connected by at least one geodesic are therefore connected by an infinite number of geodesics. See Fig. \ref{Fig:GeodesicFocusing}.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width= .9 \linewidth]{geod}
\caption{Schematic illustration of geodesic focusing in a plane wave spacetime. Three $u$ coordinates conjugate to $u'$ are indicated together with the projection of three geodesics onto the $x^1$-$u$ coordinate plane. The focusing here is assumed to act (at least) in the $x^1$-direction.
The regions $\mathcal{N}_0(u')$ and $\mathcal{N}_1(u')$ are also illustrated. See Figs. \ref{Fig:Mult2Focus} and \ref{Fig:Mult1Focus} for a different projection.}
\label{Fig:GeodesicFocusing}
\end{figure}
To summarize, all distinct pairs of points that do not lie on conjugate hyperplanes are connected by exactly one geodesic. Almost all points lying on conjugate hyperplanes fail to be connected by any geodesics. The remainder are connected by an infinite number of geodesics. More discussion may be found in Sect. \ref{Sect:CausticGeo} below.
\subsection{Conjugate points and Jacobi propagators}
\label{Sect:Conj}
In general, plane waves satisfying standard energy conditions focus geodesics. It is evident from the above discussion that, as claimed, pairs of points satisfying \eqref{ZeroDet} must be conjugate along any geodesic connecting them. We now show that \textit{all} conjugate points are of this form. Furthermore, we establish that the matrices ${\mathbf A}$ and ${\mathbf B}$ coincide with the spatial components of Jacobi propagators $A^{a}{}_{a'}$ and $B^{a}{}_{a'}$ (when the associated geodesic satisfies $\ell_a \dot{z}^a \neq 0$ and the affine parameter is identified with $u$). The full Jacobi propagators are known to be useful for computing ``generalized Killing fields'' which have found application in understanding the motion of extended matter distributions \cite{Dix70a, Dix74, HarteSyms, HarteScalar, HarteEM, HarteGrav}. Although they will not be used later, we provide explicit forms for the full Jacobi propagators in terms of their spatial components ${\mathbf A}$ and ${\mathbf B}$.
By definition, two points $p$ and $p'$ lying on a particular geodesic are said to be conjugate if there exists a nontrivial Jacobi field on that geodesic which vanishes at both $p$ and $p'$ (see, e.g., \cite{Wald}). The multiplicity of a conjugate pair is defined to be the number of linearly independent Jacobi fields with this property. In general, the presence of conjugate points indicates that a family of geodesics starting at one point later intersect (or come arbitrarily close to intersecting). The multiplicity of a conjugate pair indicates the number of transverse directions that are so focused.
Consider an affinely parameterized geodesic $z(s)$ as above. By definition, Jacobi fields $\xi^{a}(s)$ on this curve satisfy
\begin{equation}
\frac{\mathrm{D}^{2} \xi^{a}}{{\rm d} s^{2}} - R_{bcd}{}^{a} \xi^{b} \dot{z}^{c} \dot{z}^{d} =0 ,
\label{Jacobi}
\end{equation}
where $\mathrm{D}/{\rm d} s$ denotes a covariant derivative in the direction $\dot{z}^a$. The Jacobi equation is linear, so its general solution has the form
\begin{equation}
\xi^{a}(s) = A^{a}{}_{b'}(s,s') \xi^{b'}(s') + B^{a}{}_{b'}(s,s') \frac{\mathrm{D} }{{\rm d} s'} \xi^{b'}(s') ,
\label{JacobiPropDef}
\end{equation}
for some bitensors $A^{a}{}_{b'}(s,s')$ and $B^{a}{}_{b'}(s,s')$ that depend only on the spacetime metric and the chosen geodesic. These are called Jacobi propagators.
They are solutions to
\begin{subequations}
\label{JacobiPropEqs}
\begin{eqnarray}
0 &=& \frac{\mathrm{D}^{2}}{{\rm d} s^{2}} A^{a}{}_{a'} - R_{bcd}{}^{a} A^{b}{}_{a'} \dot{z}^{c} \dot{z}^d ,
\\
&=& \frac{\mathrm{D}^{2}}{{\rm d} s^{2}} B^{a}{}_{a'} - R_{bcd}{}^{a} B^{b}{}_{a'} \dot{z}^{c} \dot{z}^d,
\end{eqnarray}
\end{subequations}
with the boundary conditions
\begin{subequations}
\label{ABBoundary}
\begin{align}
\left[ \frac{\mathrm{D} A^{a}{}_{a'} }{{\rm d} s } \right] = [ B^{a}{}_{a'} ] = 0,
\\
[A^{a}{}_{a'} ] = \left[ \frac{\mathrm{D} B^{a}{}_{a'} }{ {\rm d} s} \right] = \delta^{a}_{a'}.
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
If $s$ and $s'$ are not too widely separated, $A^{a}{}_{a'}(s,s')$ and $B^{a}{}_{a'}(s,s')$ may be written explicitly in terms of Synge's function $\sigma(p,p')$ and its first two derivatives \cite{Dix70a}. Our main interest lies in geometric properties of plane waves outside of the normal neighborhood where the traditional derivation of such formulae breaks down. We therefore consign ourselves for now to somewhat less explicit comments on the Jacobi propagators that hold globally. It is shown in Sect. \ref{Sect:Bitensors} below that Synge's function may, in fact, be usefully extended beyond the normal neighborhood. It is, however, more convenient to express $\sigma$ in terms of the Jacobi propagators rather than writing the Jacobi propagators in terms of $\sigma$.
First note that for geodesics confined to a single constant-$u$ hypersurface, the Jacobi propagators are simply
\begin{equation}
A^{\mu}{}_{\mu'} = \delta^\mu_{\mu'}, \qquad B^{\mu}{}_{\mu'} = (s-s') \delta^{\mu}_{\mu'}
\end{equation}
in the Brinkmann coordinates where the metric takes the form \eqref{PlaneWaveGen}. It is therefore clear that there can be no conjugate points along any geodesic satisfying $\ell_a \dot{z}^a = 0$.
Now consider a geodesic where $\ell_a \dot{z}^a \neq 0$. As before, we may identify its affine parameter with $u$. Doing so, it is apparent from inspection of \eqref{Jacobi} that $\dot{z}^{a}(u)$ and $(u-u') \dot{z}^{a}(u)$ are both Jacobi fields. This means that
\begin{subequations}
\label{JacobiEig1}
\begin{eqnarray}
A^{a}{}_{a'}(u,u') \dot{z}^{a'}(u') &=& \dot{z}^{a}(u),
\\
B^{a}{}_{a'}(u,u') \dot{z}^{a'}(u') &=& (u-u') \dot{z}^{a}(u).
\end{eqnarray}
\end{subequations}
Also note that the restriction of any affine collineation (such as a Killing vector) to a particular geodesic is a Jacobi field on that geodesic. This means, for example, that the covariantly-constant null vector $\ell^{a}$ associated with the direction of propagation of a generic plane wave spacetime can be used to generate Jacobi fields. So can $(u-u') \ell^{a}$. Hence,
\begin{subequations}
\label{JacobiEig2}
\begin{eqnarray}
A^{a}{}_{a'}(u,u') \ell^{a'}(z(u')) &=& \ell^{a}(z(u)),
\\
B^{a}{}_{a'}(u,u') \ell^{a'}(z(u')) &=& (u-u') \ell^{a}(z(u)).
\end{eqnarray}
\end{subequations}
Furthermore, application of \eqref{Riemann} and \eqref{JacobiPropEqs} shows that
\begin{subequations}
\label{lzDotAB}
\begin{eqnarray}
0 &= & \partial^2_u ( \ell_a A^{a}{}_{a'} ) = \partial^2_u ( \ell_a B^{a}{}_{a'} ),
\\
&=& \partial^2_u ( \dot{z}_a A^{a}{}_{a'} ) = \partial^2_u ( \dot{z}_a B^{a}{}_{a'} ).
\end{eqnarray}
\end{subequations}
Using the coincidence limits \eqref{ABBoundary} of $A^{a}{}_{a'}$ and $B^{a}{}_{a'}$, the appropriate solutions to these differential equations are seen to be
\begin{subequations}
\label{lzDotAB2}
\begin{align}
\ell_a A^{a}{}_{a'} (u,u') &= \ell_{a'},
\\
\ell_a B^{a}{}_{a'} (u,u') &= (u-u') \ell_{a'},
\\
\dot{z}_a A^{a}{}_{a'} (u,u') &= \dot{z}_{a'},
\\
\dot{z}_a B^{a}{}_{a'} (u,u') &= (u-u') \dot{z}_{a'}.
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
Also note that the components $A^{i}{}_{i'}$ and $B^{i}{}_{i'}$ in Brinkmann coordinates coincide with the matrices ${\mathbf A}$ and ${\mathbf B}$ defined by \eqref{JacobiSpatial} and \eqref{ABboundary} above.
If two points $z(u)$ and $z(u')$ (with $u \neq u'$) are conjugate on a particular geodesic, there must exist nonzero vectors $\lambda^{a'}$ at $z(u')$ such that
\begin{equation}
B^{a}{}_{a'}(u,u') \lambda^{a'} = 0.
\label{JacobiConjCond}
\end{equation}
Contracting this with $\ell_a$ and $\dot{z}_a$ while using \eqref{lzDotAB2} shows that
\begin{equation}
\ell_{a'} \lambda^{a'} = \dot{z}_{a'} \lambda^{a'} = 0.
\label{vOrtho}
\end{equation}
Applying \eqref{lzDotAB2} again then shows that \eqref{JacobiConjCond} can always be replaced by the weaker condition
\begin{equation}
B^{i}{}_{\mu'} (u, u') \lambda^{\mu'} = 0.
\label{BSimpInt}
\end{equation}
Using \eqref{JacobiEig2} and \eqref{vOrtho} further demonstrates that distinct points $z(u)$ and $z(u')$ in plane wave spacetimes are conjugate if and only if $u$ and $u'$ satisfy \eqref{ZeroDet}. As claimed at the beginning of Sect. \ref{Sect:Geometry}, all conjugate points may be identified by finding the zeros of $\det {\mathbf B}(u,u')$.
For completeness, we now write down all coordinate components of the Jacobi propagators using the eigenvector equations \eqref{JacobiEig1}, \eqref{JacobiEig2}, and \eqref{lzDotAB2}. Applying the relations involving $\ell^a$,
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
A^{\mu}{}_{v'} = \delta^\mu_v , \qquad B^{\mu}{}_{v'} = (u-u') \delta^\mu_v,
\\
A^{u}{}_{\mu'} = \delta^{u'}_{\mu'} , \qquad B^{u}{}_{\mu'} = (u-u') \delta^{u'}_{\mu'} .
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
Using \eqref{vGeodesic},
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
A^{i}{}_{u'} &= \big( \dot{\mathbf{z}} - {\mathbf A} \dot{\mathbf{z}}' \big)^i,
\\
A^{v}{}_{i'} &= \big( \dot{\mathbf{z}}^\intercal {\mathbf A} - \dot{\mathbf{z}}' \big)_{i'},
\\
A^{v}{}_{u'} &= \frac{1}{2} \big[ ({\mathbf x}^\intercal \mathbf{H} {\mathbf x} - {\mathbf x}'^\intercal \mathbf{H}' {\mathbf x}')
\nonumber
\\
&\qquad \quad + |\dot{\mathbf{z}}'|^2 + |\dot{\mathbf{z}}|^2 -2 \dot{\mathbf{z}}^\intercal {\mathbf A} \dot{\mathbf{z}}'\big],
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
and
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
B^{i}{}_{u'} &= \big[ (u-u') \dot{\mathbf{z}} - {\mathbf B} \dot{\mathbf{z}}' \big]^i,
\\
B^{v}{}_{i'} &= \big[ \dot{\mathbf{z}}^\intercal {\mathbf B} - (u-u') \dot{\mathbf{z}}' \big]_{i'},
\\
B^{v}{}_{u'} &= \frac{1}{2} (u-u') \big[({\mathbf x}^\intercal \mathbf{H} {\mathbf x} - {\mathbf x}'^\intercal \mathbf{H}' {\mathbf x}')
\nonumber
\\
& \qquad ~ + |\dot{\mathbf{z}}'|^2 + |\dot{\mathbf{z}}|^2 - 2 \dot{\mathbf{z}}^\intercal {\mathbf B} \dot{\mathbf{z}}' \big].
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
Although the Jacobi propagators are defined along a particular geodesic, they are easily reinterpreted as bitensors \textit{on spacetime} for all pairs of points $p$ and $p'$ that do not lie on conjugate hyperplanes. This may be done explicitly by using \eqref{GeodesicVelocities} to replace $\dot{\mathbf{z}}$ and $\dot{\mathbf{z}}'$ with ${\mathbf x}$, ${\mathbf x}'$, ${\mathbf A}$, and ${\mathbf B}$. It is then straightforward to build vector fields on spacetime equal to Jacobi fields along all geodesics emanating from some preferred origin. Fixing that origin, the resulting fields form a 20-dimensional vector space. They can be interpreted as ``generalized affine collineations'' associated with the chosen origin \cite{HarteSyms}. A certain ten-dimensional subset generalize the Killing fields (and include any real Killing fields that may exist).
\subsection{Bitensors}
\label{Sect:Bitensors}
Two-point tensors (or bitensors) are useful for, among other things, the evaluation of Green functions in curved spacetimes. Foremost among these is Synge's world function $\sigma(p,p') = \sigma(p',p)$, which is equal to one-half of the squared geodesic distance between its arguments. This is typically defined only in those regions where $p$ and $p'$ can be connected by exactly one geodesic. More generally, it is possible to define a closely related two-point scalar $\sigma_z (s,s')$ associated with a particular geodesic $z(s)$:
\begin{equation}
\sigma_z(s,s') := \frac{1}{2} (s'-s) \int_{s}^{s'} g_{ab}(z(t)) \dot{z}^a (t) \dot{z}^b(t) {\rm d} t.
\label{SigDef}
\end{equation}
If the geodesic in this equation is the only geodesic connecting two points $z(s)$ and $z(s')$, the ordinary world function is related via
\begin{equation}
\sigma(z(s),z(s')) = \sigma_z(s,s') .
\label{TwoSigmas}
\end{equation}
Sect. \ref{Sect:Geodesics} establishes that distinct points in plane wave spacetimes are connected by exactly one geodesic as long as they do not lie on conjugate hyperplanes. Eq. \eqref{TwoSigmas} may therefore be used to define Synge's function for all pairs of points that do not lie on conjugate hyperplanes.
The definition \eqref{SigDef} for $\sigma_z$ is straightforward to evaluate explicitly in the general plane wave metric \eqref{PlaneWaveGen} along any geodesic satisfying $\ell_{a} \dot{z}^{a} = -1$ (with, once again, $s$ identified with $u$). Integrating by parts and using \eqref{Geodesic} gives
\begin{equation}
\sigma_z (u,u') = \frac{1}{2} (u-u') \left. ( \mathbf{z} \cdot \dot{\mathbf{z}} - 2 z^{v} ) \right|_{u'}^{u}.
\label{Sigma1}
\end{equation}
Removing the $\dot{\mathbf{z}}$ appearing here using \eqref{GeodesicVelocities} and substituting the result into \eqref{TwoSigmas},
\begin{align}
\sigma(p,p') = \frac{1}{2} (u-u') \Big[ - 2 (v - v') + {\mathbf x}^\intercal \partial_{u} {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}' \nonumber
\\
~ + ( {\mathbf x}^\intercal \partial_{u} {\mathbf B} - {\mathbf x}'^\intercal ) {\mathbf B}^{-1} ( {\mathbf x} - {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}' ) \Big] .
\label{SigmaGen}
\end{align}
$\partial_u {\mathbf A}$ may be eliminated from this equation using \eqref{Abel} and the symmetry of $\partial_u {\mathbf B} {\mathbf B}^{-1}$ established in Appendix \ref{Sect:ABProperties}:
\begin{align}
\sigma(p,p') = \frac{1}{2} (u-u') \Big[ - 2 (v - v') + {\mathbf x}^\intercal \partial_u {\mathbf B} {\mathbf B}^{-1} {\mathbf x}
\nonumber
\\
~ + {\mathbf x}'^\intercal {\mathbf B}^{-1} {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}' - 2 {\mathbf x}'^\intercal {\mathbf B}^{-1} {\mathbf x} \Big].
\label{SigmaGen2}
\end{align}
Both of these relations are valid as long as $u \notin T(u')$ and $u \neq u'$. If $u=u'$, Synge's function reduces to the Euclidean expression
\begin{equation}
\sigma(p,p') = \frac{1}{2} |{\mathbf x} -{\mathbf x}'|^2.
\end{equation}
Note that unless ${\mathbf x}$ and ${\mathbf x}'$ are chosen in a very particular way, $\sigma$ diverges as $u \rightarrow \tau_n(u') \in T(u')$. This is a manifestation of the aforementioned fact that most pairs of points on conjugate hyperplanes cannot be connected by any geodesics.
The (scalarized) van Vleck determinant $\Delta(p,p')$ is often defined\footnote{It is also common to define the van Vleck determinant as the solution to a certain ``transport equation'' along the geodesic connecting its arguments \cite{FriedlanderWaves, PoissonRev}. Unfortunately, $\Delta(p,p')$ becomes unbounded near conjugate hyperplanes. It is not clear how to unambiguously extend the solution of a differential equation through these singularities, so we adopt the definition \eqref{vanVleckDef} instead.} in terms of $\sigma(p,p')$ via
\begin{equation}
\Delta(p,p') = - \frac{ \det [ - \nabla_\mu \nabla_{\mu'} \sigma(p,p') ] }{ \sqrt{-g(p)} \sqrt{-g(p')} } ,
\label{vanVleckDef}
\end{equation}
where $g(p) := \det g_{\mu\nu}(p)$. This is a biscalar with coincidence limit $[\Delta] = 1$. It is closely related to the expansion of the congruence of geodesics emanating from $p'$ \cite{PoissonRev}. Inserting \eqref{PlaneWaveGen} and \eqref{SigmaGen2} into \eqref{vanVleckDef} shows that
\begin{align}
\Delta(p,p') = \det ( \partial_{i} \partial_{i'} \sigma ) = \frac{ (u-u')^{2} }{ \det {\mathbf B}(u,u') }
\label{vanVleck}
\end{align}
wherever $\sigma$ is defined. It is evident from \eqref{ZeroDet} that $\Delta(\cdot, p')$ is unbounded near any hyperplane conjugate to $S_{u'} \ni p'$. This is related to the well-known fact that the expansion of a congruence of geodesics emitted from a particular source point diverges when approaching a point that is conjugate to that source \cite{Wald}.
Recall that ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ has been assumed to remain everywhere finite [which follows from assuming that $\mathbf{H}(u)$ is sufficiently well-behaved]. Using this together with \eqref{vanVleckDef} shows that $\Delta(\cdot, p')$ can never pass through zero. It may switch signs, however. It is shown in Sect. \ref{Sect:CausticGeo} that this occurs only when passing through conjugate hyperplanes with multiplicity $1$.
The parallel propagator $g^{a}{}_{a'}(p,p')$ is another important bitensor. Although this is not required to construct the scalar Green functions discussed in most of this paper, it does appear in Green functions associated with electromagnetic fields and metric perturbations \cite{PoissonRev}. We therefore include it for completeness. $g^{a}{}_{a'}(p,p')$ satisfies
\begin{equation}
\frac{\mathrm{D} }{{\rm d} s} g^{a}{}_{a'}(z(s),z(s')) = 0
\label{ParPropDef}
\end{equation}
along any geodesic $z(s)$ connecting its two arguments. It also has the coincidence limit $[g^{a}{}_{a'} ] = \delta^a_{a'}$. As the name implies, $g^{a}{}_{a'}(p,p')$ parallel transports vectors from $p'$ to $p$ (or covectors from $p$ to $p'$) when there is a unique geodesic connecting these points.
If $p$ and $p'$ are connected by a single geodesic with tangent $\dot{z}^a(u)$, it is clear that $\ell^a$ and $\dot{z}^a$ are both left- and right-eigenvectors of $g^{a}{}_{a'}(p,p')$:
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
\ell_a g^{a}{}_{a'} = \ell_{a'}, \qquad g^{a}{}_{a'} \ell^{a'} = \ell^a,
\\
\dot{z}_a g^{a}{}_{a'} = \dot{z}_{a'}, \qquad g^{a}{}_{a'} \dot{z}^{a'} = \dot{z}^a .
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
Applying the first of these equations demonstrates that
\begin{equation}
g^{u}{}_{\mu'} = \delta^{u'}_{\mu'}, \qquad g^{\mu}{}_{v'} = \delta^{\mu}_{v}.
\end{equation}
A direct calculation using \eqref{ParPropDef} also shows that
\begin{equation}
g^{i}{}_{i'} = \delta^{i}_{i'}.
\end{equation}
The remaining components of the parallel propagator are
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
g^{i}{}_{u'} = (\dot{\mathbf{z}} - \dot{\mathbf{z}}')^i, \qquad g^{v}{}_{i'} = (\dot{\mathbf{z}} - \dot{\mathbf{z}}')_{i'},
\\
g^{v}{}_{u'} = \frac{1}{2} \big[ ( {\mathbf x}^\intercal \mathbf{H} {\mathbf x} - {\mathbf x}'^\intercal \mathbf{H}' {\mathbf x}') + | \dot{\mathbf{z}} - \dot{\mathbf{z}}' |^2 \big] .
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
Applying \eqref{GeodesicVelocities} removes any reference to geodesic velocities in these equations:
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
g^{i}{}_{u'} = g^{v}{}_{i} = \big[ (\partial_u {\mathbf B} - \bm{\delta}) {\mathbf B}^{-1} ({\mathbf x} - {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}') \nonumber
\\
~ + \partial_u {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}' \big]_i,
\\
g^{v}{}_{u'} = \frac{1}{2} \big[ ( {\mathbf x}^\intercal \mathbf{H} {\mathbf x} - {\mathbf x}'^\intercal \mathbf{H}' {\mathbf x}') + |g^{i}{}_{u'}|^2 \big].
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
\subsection{Effects of caustics}
\label{Sect:CausticGeo}
Essentially all difficulties related to deriving Green functions in plane wave spacetimes arise from the poor behavior of various bitensors near conjugate hyperplanes. This is, in turn, a consequence of geodesic non-uniqueness in these regions. We now discuss the structure of geodesics and the asymptotic forms of $\sigma(p,p')$ and $\Delta(p,p')$ near conjugate hyperplanes. Both of these topics depend on knowledge of the spatial Jacobi propagators ${\mathbf A}(u,u')$ and ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ near conjugate hyperplanes.
\subsubsection{${\mathbf A}$ and ${\mathbf B}$ near conjugate hyperplanes}
It is simplest to discuss the behavior of the spatial Jacobi propagators near conjugate hyperplanes associated with degenerate (multiplicity 2) conjugate points. Consider a particular $\tau_n(u') \in T(u')$ where
\begin{equation}
\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n(u') := {\mathbf B} (\tau_n(u'),u') = 0.
\end{equation}
It follows from \eqref{Abel} that $\hat{{\mathbf A}}_n(u') := {\mathbf A}(\tau_n(u'),u')$ and $\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n (u') := \partial_u {\mathbf B}(u,u')|_{u=\tau_n(u')}$ are both invertible [even though $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n(u')$ is not]. Furthermore,
\begin{equation}
\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n = (\hat{{\mathbf A}}_n^{-1})^\intercal \neq 0.
\label{BDotDeg}
\end{equation}
Using these expressions to expand ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ when $u$ is near $\tau_n$,
\begin{equation}
{\mathbf B}(u,u') \sim (u-\tau_n) (\hat{{\mathbf A}}_n^{-1})^\intercal .
\end{equation}
The ``$\sim$'' symbol is used here to denote a relation that holds asymptotically as $u \rightarrow \tau_n$. To leading order, the determinant of ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ in this limit is
\begin{equation}
\det {\mathbf B}(u,u') \sim \frac{(u-\tau_n)^2}{\det \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n} .
\label{DetBDeg}
\end{equation}
Its inverse is clearly
\begin{equation}
{\mathbf B}^{-1}(u,u') \sim (u-\tau_n)^{-1} \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n^\intercal .
\label{InvBDeg}
\end{equation}
Now consider a different $\tau_n \in T(u')$ associated with a \textit{non}-degenerate (multiplicity 1) conjugate point. $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n$ is then nonzero and has matrix rank $1$. Using the matrix determinant lemma \cite{NumericalMethods} together with \eqref{Abel}, the Jacobi propagators at $(\tau_n(u'),u')$ are easily seen to satisfy
\begin{equation}
\det \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n \det \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n = 1 + \mathrm{Tr} \, ( \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf A}}_n^\intercal \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n ).
\label{DetCond}
\end{equation}
We shall only consider cases where
\begin{equation}
\mathrm{Tr} \, ( \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf A}}_n^\intercal \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n ) \neq -1.
\label{TrCond}
\end{equation}
This is a technical condition which we use to ensure that $\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n$ is invertible. There do exist plane waves where \eqref{TrCond} is violated, but these examples must be very finely tuned.
Applying the matrix determinant lemma gives an approximation for the determinant of ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ when $u$ is near $\tau_n$. To lowest nontrivial order,
\begin{align}
\det {\mathbf B}(u,u') \sim (u-\tau_n) \mathrm{Tr} \, [ \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1} ]
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \det \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n.
\label{DetBSimp}
\end{align}
The inverse of ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ in the limit $u \rightarrow \tau_n$ follows from the Sherman-Morrison formula \cite{NumericalMethods}:
\begin{align}
{\mathbf B}^{-1} (u,u') \sim ~ \! & (u-\tau_n)^{-1} (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1}
\nonumber
\\
& ~ \times \bigg( \bm{\delta} - \frac{ \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1} }{ \mathrm{Tr} \, [ \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1}] } \bigg) .
\label{InvBSimp}
\end{align}
Assumption \eqref{TrCond} implies that $\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}_n}$ has matrix rank $2$. $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n$ has rank $1$ for the non-degenerate case considered here, so $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1}$ must also have rank $1$. It is shown in Appendix \ref{Sect:ABProperties} that $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1}$ is also symmetric. As a result, it possesses one nonzero eigenvalue and a non-vanishing trace. The matrix in parentheses in \eqref{InvBSimp} is therefore a two-dimensional projection operator. It is symmetric with eigenvalues $0$ and $1$. There therefore exists a unit vector $\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n$ satisfying
\begin{equation}
\bigg( \bm{\delta} - \frac{ \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1} }{ \mathrm{Tr} \, [ \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1}] } \bigg) \hat{\mathbf{q}}_n = \mathbf{\hat{q}}_n.
\label{nDef}
\end{equation}
This is unique up to a sign. In terms of $\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n$,
\begin{align}
{\mathbf B}^{-1}(u,u') \sim (u-\tau_n)^{-1} (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1} (\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n \otimes \hat{\mathbf{q}}_n).
\label{BInvDiag}
\end{align}
Eq. \eqref{nDef} may be used to see that $\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n$ is in the (left-) null space of $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n$:
\begin{equation}
\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n^\intercal \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n = 0.
\label{nDotB}
\end{equation}
Using \eqref{Abel}, the $u$-derivative of ${\mathbf B}$ on a non-degenerate conjugate hyperplane is given by
\begin{equation}
\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n = (\hat{{\mathbf A}}^{-1}_n)^\intercal ( \bm{\delta} + \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf A}}_n^\intercal \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n ) .
\label{BDotSimp}
\end{equation}
This may be substituted into \eqref{DetBSimp} and \eqref{InvBSimp} in order to provide explicit approximations for the inverse and determinant of ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ near a non-degenerate conjugate hyperplane in terms of $\hat{{\mathbf A}}_n$, $\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf A}}_n$, and $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n$. Eqs. \eqref{DetBDeg} and \eqref{InvBDeg} serve the same purpose for degenerate conjugate points.
${\mathbf B}$ may be interpreted as a ``focusing matrix.'' Near degenerate conjugate points, \eqref{InvBDeg} implies that ${\mathbf B}^{-1}$ diverges in both spatial directions. In the case of a non-degenerate conjugate point, \eqref{BInvDiag} illustrates how ${\mathbf B}^{-1}$ diverges in only ``one direction.'' This distinction is closely related to the behavior of geodesics near conjugate points with different multiplicities.
\subsubsection{Geodesics on conjugate hyperplanes}
\label{Sect:GeoConj}
It is shown in Sect. \ref{Sect:Geodesics} that pairs of points on conjugate hyperplanes are connected either by an infinite number of geodesics or by none. This is a consequence of the fact that all geodesics -- timelike, spacelike, or null -- emanating from a single point and reaching a conjugate hyperplane are focused down to a one- or two-dimensional region on that three-dimensional surface. The null geodesics are focused to either a point or a line. We now demonstrate that the latter case occurs on non-degenerate conjugate hyperplanes, and is an example of astigmatic focusing. Scenarios where all null geodesics momentarily focus to a single point occur only on degenerate conjugate hyperplanes. This is anastigmatic focusing.
Consider a point $p'$ and a constant-$u$ hyperplane $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ that is conjugate to $S_{u'}$. Suppose that the conjugate points associated with this pair are degenerate, so $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n = {\mathbf B}(\tau_n,u') = 0$. It then follows from \eqref{GeodesicJacobi} that all geodesics (of any type) emanating from a particular point $p'$ with spatial coordinates ${\mathbf x}'$ are focused to
\begin{equation}
{\mathbf x} = \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n(u') {\mathbf x}'
\label{xFocusDeg}
\end{equation}
as they pass through $S_{\tau_n(u')}$. Use of \eqref{GeodesicJacobi}, \eqref{vGeodesic}, and \eqref{BDotDeg} then shows that the $v$ coordinates of all geodesics are given by
\begin{equation}
v' + \varepsilon (\tau_n-u') + \frac{1}{2} {\mathbf x}'^\intercal \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n^\intercal \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}'
\end{equation}
on $S_{\tau_n}$. The only free parameter here is $\varepsilon$, which is defined by \eqref{EpsilonDef}. The set of all geodesics emanating from $p'$ are therefore focused down to a line on $S_{\tau_n}$. Null geodesics are all characterized by $\varepsilon=0$, and are therefore focused down to a single point. See Fig. \ref{Fig:Mult2Focus}. Almost the entire null cone of a point $p'$ is focused to a point on every degenerate hyperplane conjugate to $S_{u'}$. The lone exception is the null geodesic generated by $\ell^a$. This lies entirely in $S_{u'}$, so it never passes through any conjugate hyperplanes.
\begin{figure}[t!]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=1\linewidth]{Mult2Focus}
\vskip -.35 cm
\caption{A collection of null geodesics emanating from a point on $S_{u'}$ (the lower plane) and focusing back to a single point on a conjugate hyperplane $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ with multiplicity 2 (the upper plane). One spatial coordinate has been suppressed.}
\label{Fig:Mult2Focus}
\end{figure}
The situation is slightly more complicated for non-degenerate conjugate points. In these cases, $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n$ can be written as the outer product of two nonzero vectors:
\begin{equation}
\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n = \hat{\mathbf{p}}_n \otimes \hat{\mathbf{m}}_n.
\label{BRank1}
\end{equation}
There is no loss of generality in supposing that $| \hat{\mathbf{p}}_n |^2 =1$. Substitution of \eqref{BRank1} into \eqref{GeodesicJacobi} shows that the spatial components of all geodesics starting at ${\mathbf x}'$ lie on the line
\begin{equation}
{\mathbf x} = \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}'+ t \hat{\mathbf{p}}_n
\label{xFocusSimp}
\end{equation}
as they pass through $S_{\tau_n}$. The parameter $t = \hat{\mathbf{m}}_n \cdot \dot{\mathbf{z}}'$ appearing in this equation can be any real number. Combining \eqref{BRank1} with \eqref{nDotB} shows that
\begin{equation}
\hat{\mathbf{p}}_n \cdot \hat{\mathbf{q}}_n = 0,
\label{nmOrtho}
\end{equation}
where $\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n$ is defined by \eqref{nDef}. In this sense, a plane wave may be thought of as focusing geodesics in the direction $\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n$.
Eqs. \eqref{nDef} and \eqref{nmOrtho} imply that $\hat{\mathbf{p}}_n$ is an eigenvector of $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n ( \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n )^{-1}$. In particular,
\begin{equation}
\hat{{\mathbf B}}^\intercal_n \hat{\mathbf{p}}_n = \mathrm{Tr} \, [\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n ( \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n )^{-1} ] ( \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n )^\intercal \hat{\mathbf{p}}_n.
\end{equation}
Using this together with \eqref{GeodesicJacobi}, \eqref{vGeodesic}, \eqref{xFocusSimp}, and \eqref{Abel}, the $v$ coordinates of geodesics starting at a single point and passing through a non-degenerate conjugate hyperplane $S_{\tau_n}$ satisfy
\begin{align}
v' + \varepsilon (\tau_n - u') + \frac{1}{2} {\mathbf x}'^\intercal \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n^\intercal \widehat{ \partial_u {\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}' +
t \hat{\mathbf{p}}_n^\intercal \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}'
\nonumber
\\
~ + \frac{1}{2} t^2 \mathrm{Tr}\, [\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n ( \widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n )^{-1} ]^{-1} .
\end{align}
There are two free parameters here: $\varepsilon$ and $t$. For null geodesics, $\varepsilon$ vanishes. The intersection of $S_{\tau_n}(u')$ with the light cone of a point $p'$ is therefore a one-dimensional curve. It is a parabola in the coordinates $( v,{\mathbf x})$. See Fig. \ref{Fig:Mult1Focus}.
\begin{figure}[t!]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.95\linewidth]{Mult1Focus}
\caption{A collection of null geodesics emanating from a point on $S_{u'}$ (the lower plane) and focusing to a parabola on a conjugate hyperplane $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ with multiplicity 1 (the upper plane). One spatial coordinate aligned with $\hat{\mathbf{p}}_n(u')$ is displayed. The other [aligned with $\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n(u')$] is suppressed.}
\label{Fig:Mult1Focus}
\end{figure}
\subsubsection{Bitensors near conjugate hyperplanes}
The bitensors discussed in Sect. \ref{Sect:Bitensors} are not defined if their arguments lie on conjugate hyperplanes. Despite this, expansions for ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ obtained above may be used to understand how $\sigma(p,p')$ and $\Delta(p,p')$ behave near conjugate hyperplanes.
First consider $\sigma(p,p')$ if the $u$ coordinate of $p$ is close (but not equal) to some $\tau_n(u') \in T(u')$ associated with degenerate conjugate points. In this region, the unbounded matrix ${\mathbf B}^{-1}(u,u')$ almost always dominates in \eqref{SigmaGen}. Using that equation together with \eqref{BDotDeg} and \eqref{InvBDeg},
\begin{equation}
\sigma(p,p') \sim - \frac{1}{2} \left( \frac{\tau_n-u'}{\tau_n-u} \right) |{\mathbf x} - \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n \mathbf{x'} |^2 .
\label{SigmaDeg}
\end{equation}
As before, $\hat{{\mathbf A}}_n := {\mathbf A}(\tau_n,u')$. It follows that $\sigma$ diverges as one approaches a degenerate conjugate hyperplane except if the approach is at the special spatial coordinates ${\mathbf x} = \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n \mathbf{x'}$. Recalling \eqref{xFocusDeg}, these are the coordinates to which all geodesics emanating from $p'$ are focused to on $S_{\tau_n}$.
The behavior of the van Vleck determinant near a degenerate conjugate hyperplane is easily found using \eqref{vanVleck} and \eqref{DetBDeg}:
\begin{equation}
\Delta(p,p') \sim \left( \frac{\tau_n-u'}{\tau_n-u} \right)^2 \det \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n .
\label{VanVleckDeg}
\end{equation}
$\det \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n$ cannot vanish, so $\Delta$ always diverges like $(\tau_n-u)^{-2}$ as $u \rightarrow \tau_n$. Also note that the van Vleck determinant retains its sign before and after the singularity.
Similar equations may be derived if $\tau_n$ is associated with a non-degenerate conjugate point. First note that in this case, \eqref{Abel}, \eqref{nDotB}, and the symmetry of ${\mathbf B} (\partial_u {\mathbf B})^{-1}$ imply that
\begin{equation}
(\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n \otimes \hat{\mathbf{q}}_n ) \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n = (\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n \otimes \hat{\mathbf{q}}_n ) [(\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1}]^\intercal,
\end{equation}
where $\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n$ is defined by \eqref{nDef}. Using this identity together with \eqref{SigmaGen} and \eqref{BInvDiag} establishes that
\begin{align}
\sigma(p,p') \sim - \frac{1}{2} \left(\frac{ \tau_n-u' }{\tau_n - u} \right) [ \hat{\mathbf{q}}_n \cdot ( {\mathbf x} - \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}' ) ]^2 .
\label{SigmaSimp}
\end{align}
It is clear from this equation and \eqref{nmOrtho} that $\sigma$ diverges as $u \rightarrow \tau_n$ unless ${\mathbf x}$ satisfies \eqref{xFocusSimp}. This is analogous to what occured in the case of degenerate point: $\sigma$ diverges as one attempts to approach pairs of points that are not connected by any geodesics.
The behavior of the van Vleck determinant near a non-degenerate conjugate point is easily determined using \eqref{DetBSimp} and \eqref{vanVleck}:
\begin{align}
\Delta(p,p') \sim - \frac{ (\tau_n - u)^{-1} (\tau_n-u')^2 }{ \mathrm{Tr} [ \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n)^{-1} ] \det (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n) }.
\label{VanVleckSimp}
\end{align}
Note that this diverges more slowly as $u \rightarrow \tau_n$ than in the case of degenerate conjugate hyperplanes (as expected due to the weaker focusing). It is also evident that $\Delta$ switches sign after passing through a non-degenerate conjugate hyperplane.
\subsection{Causal structure}
\label{Sect:Causality}
Plane wave spacetimes are not globally hyperbolic \cite{PenrosePlane}. This is easily confirmed by considering two points $p$ and $p'$ that are conjugate along some causal geodesic with initial spatial velocity $\dot{\mathbf{z}}'$. As argued in Sect. \ref{Sect:Geodesics}, such points are connected by an infinite number of geodesics. Indeed, they are connected by an infinite number of \textit{causal} geodesics. $p$ and $p'$ are conjugate on all of them.
This may be seen by considering a causal geodesic connecting two points $p$ and $p'$. Suppose that $u(p)=\tau_n(u')$. If the affine parameter of the connecting geodesic is identified with $u$, consider a new geodesic (with the same affine parameter) where the initial data is shifted such that
\begin{align}
\dot{\mathbf{z}}' &\rightarrow \dot{\mathbf{z}}' + t \bm{\lambda},
\\
\varepsilon &\rightarrow \varepsilon + \frac{t}{2} \left( \frac{ \mathbf{z}' \cdot \bm{\lambda} - \mathbf{z} \cdot (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n \bm{\lambda} ) }{ \tau_n-u' } \right).
\end{align}
Here, $\bm{\lambda}$ is any vector satisfying $\hat{{\mathbf B}}_n \bm{\lambda} = 0$ and $t \in \mathbb{R}$. $\varepsilon$ denotes the constant defined by \eqref{EpsilonDef}. It is easily verified that the resulting geodesic still passes through $p$ and $p'$. Indeed, varying $t$ produces a 1-parameter family of geodesics passing through these points. It is clear that $t$ may be increased without bound in at least one direction while retaining the causal nature of the geodesics (implied by $\varepsilon \geq 0$). There therefore exist causal geodesics connecting $p$ and $p'$ with arbitrarily large initial velocities.
Recall that ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ has maximal rank when $u \notin T(u')$. It then follows from \eqref{GeodesicJacobi} and the unboundedness of $| \dot{\mathbf{z}}'|$ that there exist causal geodesics connecting $p$ and $p'$ that reach arbitrarily large values of $|{\mathbf x}|$ between these points. If $p$ is in the future of $p'$, $(\mathrm{causal \, past \, of} \, p) \cap (\mathrm{causal \, future \, of} \, p')$ is therefore unbounded. Global hyperbolicity requires that all such sets be compact, so plane waves with conjugate points cannot be globally hyperbolic.
One consequence of this is that causally-connected points can fail to be connected by any causal geodesics. Certain pairs of points connected by spacelike geodesics (and not by any other types of geodesic) may also be connected by accelerated curves that are everywhere causal. Avez and Seifert have shown that this cannot happen in globally hyperbolic spacetimes \cite{Avez, Seifert}.
To see that this does indeed occur in plane wave spacetimes, consider two points $p$ and $p'$ that do not lie on conjugate hyperplanes. Suppose that $u>u'$, and that there exists exactly one $\tau_n(u') \in T(u')$ that lies between $u$ and $u'$. The discussion in Sect. \ref{Sect:Geodesics} implies that $p$ and $p'$ are connected by a unique geodesic. That geodesic is spacelike whenever
\begin{equation}
\sigma(p,p') > 0.
\label{SpacelikeSep}
\end{equation}
Choose a third point $p''$, where $u'' \neq \tau_n$ lies between $u$ and $u'$. Consider a curve constructed by stitching together the unique geodesic connecting $p'$ to $p''$ with the unique geodesic connecting $p''$ to $p$. We now show that it is possible to choose $p''$ such that, despite \eqref{SpacelikeSep}, both of these geodesics are causal:
\begin{equation}
\sigma(p',p'') \leq 0, \; \qquad \sigma(p'',p) \leq 0.
\label{PiecewiseCausal}
\end{equation}
Suppose for definiteness that $u'' = \tau_n - \epsilon$ for some $\epsilon>0$. If the ${\mathbf x}''$ are not spatial coordinates to which geodesics starting at ${\mathbf x}'$ must focus to as $u \rightarrow \tau_n$, the expansions \eqref{SigmaDeg} and \eqref{SigmaSimp} show that $\sigma(p',p'')$ can be made arbitrarily negative by choosing $\epsilon$ to be sufficiently small. Essentially any geodesic from $p'$ to $p''$ can therefore be made timelike by placing $u''$ sufficiently close to (but less than) $\tau_n$. One then needs to choose $v''$ and ${\mathbf x}''$ such that $\sigma(p'',p) \leq 0$. $v''$ is entirely free, while ${\mathbf x}''$ is only constrained not to equal \eqref{xFocusDeg} or \eqref{xFocusSimp} (with ${\mathbf x} \rightarrow {\mathbf x}''$). These parameters can always be adjusted to ensure that the geodesic from $p''$ to $p$ is causal. It follows that all pairs of points separated by exactly one conjugate hyperplane are causally connected. This is true despite that some such pairs are not connected by any causal geodesics.
This argument may be extended to points separated by multiple conjugate hyperplanes using curves constructed by stitching together increasing numbers of geodesic segments. The result is the same: \textit{Any two points separated by at least one conjugate hyperplane are in causal contact}. More discussion of causality in plane wave -- and more generally, pp-wave -- spacetimes may be found in \cite{Causalpp}.
\subsection{Examples}
\label{Sect:Examples}
We now illustrate the concepts just discussed by considering three examples of plane wave spacetimes.
\subsubsection{Symmetric electromagnetic plane wave}
The simplest nontrivial plane wave spacetime is a symmetric conformally-flat geometry whose associated stress-energy tensor satisfies the weak energy condition. Following the discussion in Sect. \ref{Sect:Plane}, the profile $\mathbf{H}(u)$ of such a wave is given by $\mathbf{H}(u) = - h^2 \bm{\delta}$ for some constant $h^2 > 0$. Rescaling the $u$ and $v$ coordinates, there is no loss of generality in setting $h = 1$:
\begin{equation}
\mathbf{H} = - \bm{\delta}.
\end{equation}
Hence,
\begin{equation}
{\rm d} s^2 = - 2 {\rm d} u {\rm d} v - |{\mathbf x}|^2 {\rm d} u^2 + |{\rm d} {\mathbf x} |^2.
\label{BrinkmannConfFlatEx}
\end{equation}
Recalling \eqref{EMField}, this metric may be interpreted as the geometry associated with the electromagnetic field
\begin{equation}
F_{ab} = 2 \nabla_{[a} u \nabla_{b]} x^1.
\end{equation}
A timelike geodesic observer at the spatial origin ${\mathbf x} = 0$ and with the unit 4-velocity
\begin{equation}
\dot{z}^a = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} \left( \frac{\partial}{\partial u} + \frac{\partial}{\partial v} \right)^a
\end{equation}
would view $F_{ab}$ as being composed of crossed electric and magnetic fields with constant (and equal) magnitude lying in the $x^1$-$x^2$ plane:
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
E_a := F_{ab} \dot{z}^b &= - \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} ({\rm d} x^1)_a ,
\\
B^a := - \frac{1}{2} \epsilon^{abcd} \dot{z}_b F_{cd} &= - \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} \left( \frac{\partial}{\partial x^2} \right)^a.
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
Also note that $F_{ab}$ is covariantly constant everywhere.
Regardless of interpretation, it follows from \eqref{JacobiSpatial} and \eqref{ABboundary} that the spatial components of the Jacobi propagators are
\begin{subequations}
\label{BEx1}
\begin{align}
{\mathbf A}(u,u') = \bm{\delta} \cos (u-u') ,
\\
{\mathbf B}(u,u') = \bm{\delta} \sin (u-u') .
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
It is evident from \eqref{ZeroDet} that the conjugate hyperplanes are equally spaced and occur at the $u$ coordinates
\begin{equation}
\tau_n(u') = u' + n \pi ,
\label{TauEx}
\end{equation}
where $n$ is any nonzero integer. In these spacetimes, there are an infinite number of conjugate points along any (inextendible) geodesic satisfying $\ell_a \dot{z}^a \neq 0$. All of these conjugate points have multiplicity $2$. Regardless of initial velocity, all geodesics with initial spatial coordinates $\mathbf{z}(u')$ on $S_{u'}$ have spatial coordinates $(-1)^n \mathbf{z}(u')$ on $S_{\tau_n(u')}$.
The van Vleck determinant is easily computed using \eqref{vanVleck} and \eqref{BEx1}:
\begin{equation}
\Delta(p,p') = \left[ \frac{ ( u-u' ) }{ \sin (u-u') } \right]^2.
\label{VVConfFlat}
\end{equation}
As expected from the discussion in Sect. \ref{Sect:CausticGeo}, $\Delta(p,p')$ is positive everywhere it is defined and diverges like $(\tau_n - u)^{-2}$ if $u \rightarrow \tau_n (u')$.
For reference, Synge's function may be computed using \eqref{SigmaGen} and \eqref{BEx1}:
\begin{align}
\sigma = \frac{1}{2} (u-u') \Big[ -2 (v-v') + \cot (u-u')
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \left( | {\mathbf x}|^2 + | {\mathbf x}'|^2 - 2 {\mathbf x} \cdot {\mathbf x}' \sec (u-u') \right)\Big].
\label{SigConfFlat}
\end{align}
In terms of the Rosen coordinates $(U,V,\mathbf{X})$ discussed at the end of Sect. \ref{Sect:Plane}, the metric of a homogeneous conformally-flat plane wave may be written in the form \eqref{RosenMetric} with, e.g.,
\begin{equation}
\bm{\mathcal{H}}(U) = {\mathbf A}^\intercal(U,U') {\mathbf A}(U,U') = \bm{\delta} \cos^2 (U-U').
\label{HRosenConfFlat}
\end{equation}
Here, $U'$ is interpreted as an arbitrary parameter. It is evident that (no matter the choice of $U'$), there exist values of $U$ where $\bm{\mathcal{H}}(U) = 0$. The Rosen metric is singular at these points even though the Brinkmann metric \eqref{BrinkmannConfFlatEx} is everywhere well-defined.
\subsubsection{Symmetric gravitational plane wave}
The simplest example of a plane wave admitting non-degenerate conjugate points is the linearly polarized and symmetric gravitational wave described by
\begin{equation}
\mathbf{H}(u) = \left(
\begin{matrix}
1 & 0 \\
0 & -1
\end{matrix}
\right) .
\label{HGravWave}
\end{equation}
This has vanishing trace, so the resulting spacetime satisfies the vacuum Einstein equation. The geometry represents a ``pure'' gravitational wave.
It is easily verified that
\begin{equation}
{\mathbf A}(u,u') = \left(
\begin{matrix}
\cosh (u-u') & 0 \\
0 & \cos (u-u')
\end{matrix}
\right),
\label{AGravWave}
\end{equation}
and
\begin{equation}
{\mathbf B}(u,u') = \left(
\begin{matrix}
\sinh (u-u') & 0 \\
0 & \sin (u-u')
\end{matrix}
\right).
\label{BGravWave}
\end{equation}
The conjugate hyperplanes are again given by \eqref{TauEx}. Unlike in the previous example, however, the associated conjugate points all have multiplicity 1: Focusing occurs only in the $x^2$-direction.
The van Vleck determinant for this spacetime is
\begin{equation}
\Delta(p,p') = \frac{ (u-u')^2 }{ \sin (u-u') \sinh (u-u')}.
\label{VVRiccFlat}
\end{equation}
Following the general trends derived in Sect. \ref{Sect:CausticGeo}, $\Delta(p,p')$ diverges like $(\tau_n-u)^{-1}$ if $u \rightarrow \tau_n (u')$; a slower growth than occurs in the degenerate example \eqref{VVConfFlat}. It is also clear that the van Vleck determinant switches sign on passing through each conjugate hyperplane in this example.
A plane wave spacetime with $\mathbf{H}(u)$ given by \eqref{HGravWave} may be written in Rosen coordinates \eqref{RosenMetric} using, e.g.,
\begin{equation}
\bm{\mathcal{H}}(U) = \left(
\begin{matrix}
\cosh^2 (U-U') & 0 \\
0 & \cos^2 (U-U')
\end{matrix}
\right).
\label{HRosenGravWave}
\end{equation}
Once again, the Rosen coordinates become singular while the Brinkmann coordinates do not.
\subsubsection{A more realistic example}
Although very simple, neither \eqref{HRosenConfFlat} nor \eqref{HRosenGravWave} look very much like ``ordinary'' oscillating waves. Consider instead a linearly polarized vacuum plane wave with the profile
\begin{align}
\mathbf{H}(u) = \frac{h}{2} \left(
\begin{matrix}
1 & 0 \\
0 & -1
\end{matrix}
\right) \cos u.
\label{HGravWaveReal}
\end{align}
Here, $0 < h <1$ is a constant. In this case, ${\mathbf A}(u,u')$ and ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ are linear combinations of Mathieu functions.
Properties of these functions are not particularly well-known, so it is instructive to consider perturbative solutions when $h \ll 1$. One such solution of \eqref{EDef} is
\begin{align}
\mathbf{E}(U) & = \bm{\delta} - \frac{h}{2}
\left(
\begin{matrix}
1 & 0 \\
0 & -1
\end{matrix}
\right)
\cos U + O(h^2).
\end{align}
Substituting this into \eqref{RosenMetric} and \eqref{RosenH}, the metric may be written in Rosen coordinates as
\begin{align}
{\rm d} s^2 & = -2 {\rm d} U {\rm d} V + |{\rm d} \mathbf{X}|^2
\nonumber
\\
& ~ - h [ ({\rm d} X^1)^2 - ({\rm d} X^2)^2 ] \cos U + O(h^2).
\end{align}
This can be recognized as the line element of a polarized monochromatic gravitational plane wave as one would expect from linearized general relativity in transverse-traceless gauge.
Continuing to assume that $h$ is small, the spatial Jacobi propagators are approximately given by
\begin{align}
& {\mathbf A} (u,u') = \bm{\delta} - \frac{ h }{2} \left(
\begin{matrix}
1 & 0 \\
0 & -1
\end{matrix}
\right)
\nonumber
\\
& ~ \times \big[ (\cos u - \cos u') + (u-u') \sin u' \big]
+ O(h^2)
\end{align}
and
\begin{align}
{\mathbf B}(u,u')& = (u-u') \bm{\delta} + h \left(
\begin{matrix}
1 & 0 \\
0 & -1
\end{matrix}
\right) \big[ (\sin u - \sin u')
\nonumber
\\
& ~ - \frac{1}{2} (u-u') (\cos u + \cos u') \big] + O(h^2).
\end{align}
Hence,
\begin{equation}
\det {\mathbf B}(u,u') = (u-u')^2 + O(h^2)
\end{equation}
and
\begin{equation}
\Delta(p,p') = 1 + O(h^2).
\end{equation}
It follows that there are no conjugate points in this approximation.
Exact solutions for ${\mathbf A}$ and ${\mathbf B}$ in terms of Mathieu functions display much more interesting behavior. Conjugate points occur generically. Indeed, $\det {\mathbf B}(u,u')$ is an approximately sinusoidal function of $u$:
\begin{equation}
\det {\mathbf B}(u,u') \approx (\mathrm{const.}) \times [ 1 - \cos \nu(h) (u-u') ].
\end{equation}
This heuristic approximation rapidly improves as $h \rightarrow 0$. See Fig. \ref{Fig:Mathieu} for a case where it starts to break down ($h = 2/3$). The period of the oscillations in $\det {\mathbf B}$ is determined by the Mathieu characteristic exponent $\nu(h)$, and is always greater than $2 \pi$. It is roughly given by
\begin{equation}
\frac{2 \pi}{ \nu(h) } \approx \frac{ 2.82 \pi }{ h}
\end{equation}
if $h$ is not too large (the relative error in this estimate for the period is approximately $10 \%$ if $h = 2/3$). As illustrated in Fig. \ref{Fig:Mathieu}, conjugate points generically (but not universally) occur in closely-spaced pairs separated by roughly $2 \pi/\nu(h)$. Such points have multiplicity $1$. It is possible for there to exist conjugate points of multiplicity $2$ -- which do not occur in pairs -- although this requires finely-tuned values of $h$.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width= .9 \linewidth]{detB2_3}
\caption{$\det {\mathbf B}(u,0)$ for a plane wave spacetime with $\mathbf{H}(u)$ given by \eqref{HGravWaveReal} and $h = 2/3$. The zeros correspond to locations of conjugate hyperplanes. They occur in closely-spaced pairs separated by approximately $3.8 \pi$. Note that $\mathbf{H}(u)$ has the shorter period $2 \pi$.}
\label{Fig:Mathieu}
\end{figure}
\section{Green functions in plane wave spacetimes}
\label{Sect:Green}
Consider a massless scalar field $\Phi$ propagating (without gravitational backreaction) in a plane wave spacetime. Allowing for a scalar charge density $\rho$, such a field satisfies the wave equation
\begin{align}
- 4 \pi \rho =& \, \nabla^{a} \nabla_{a} \Phi
\nonumber
\\
=& \, [- 2 \partial_u \partial_v - H_{ij}(u) x^i x^j \partial_v^2 + \nabla^2] \Phi.
\label{WaveEqScalar}
\end{align}
Significant insight into the solutions of this equation may be obtained by computing an associated Green function $G(p,p')$. Green functions are defined here to be any distributional solutions to the wave equation with (zeroth-order) sources localized to a single spacetime point:
\begin{equation}
\nabla^{a} \nabla_{a} G(p,p') = - 4 \pi \delta(p,p').
\label{BoxGAbstr}
\end{equation}
There are, of course, many solutions to this equation. Any one of them may be used to obtain some solution
\begin{equation}
\Phi_\rho(p) := \int \rho(p') G(p,p') {\rm d} V'
\end{equation}
to \eqref{WaveEqScalar} (at least if $\rho$ satisfies certain constraints). More general solutions can be built by adding to $\Phi_\rho$ an appropriate homogeneous solution $\Phi_0$ satisfying $\nabla^a \nabla_a \Phi_0 =0$. Alternatively, appropriate Green functions together with initial data may be used to convert the wave equation into a Kirchhoff-type integral equation \cite{PoissonRev, FriedlanderWaves}.
If $p$ and $p'$ are sufficiently close, one particular solution to \eqref{BoxGAbstr} is the ``retarded\footnote{\label{Foot:AdvRet}Notions of ``advanced'' and ``retarded'' used here are quasi-local. They refer only to the causal properties of a solution when its arguments are sufficiently close together. No claims are made regarding the behavior of, e.g., $G_\mathrm{ret}$ at infinity [where expressions like \eqref{GretGeneral} are not valid]. Additionally, it should be noted that we derive \textit{particular} solutions that look retarded or advanced when their arguments remain close. They are not unique. See Sect. \ref{Sect:NonUnique}.} solution'' \eqref{GretGeneral} \cite{PoissonRev, FriedlanderWaves}. The bitensors $\mathcal{U}(p,p')$ and $\mathcal{V}(p,p')$ appearing in that formula are known for the four-dimensional plane wave spacetimes considered here \cite{FriedlanderWaves,Huygens}. In such cases, the tail of the Green function $\mathcal{V}(p,p')$ vanishes and the direct portion $\mathcal{U}(p,p')$ is determined by the van Vleck determinant described in Sect. \ref{Sect:Bitensors}:
\begin{equation}
\mathcal{U}(p,p') = \sqrt{\Delta(p,p')}.
\end{equation}
It follows that
\begin{equation}
G_{\mathrm{ret}}(p,p') = \theta(p \geq p') \sqrt{\Delta(p,p')} \delta \big( \sigma(p,p') \big) .
\label{Hadamard}
\end{equation}
The advanced solution $G_{\mathrm{adv}}(p,p')$ is the same with the obvious replacement $\theta(p \geq p') \rightarrow \theta( p' \geq p)$. We mainly focus on the ``symmetric Green function''
\begin{equation}
G_{\mathrm{S}}(p,p') := \frac{1}{2} [ G_\mathrm{ret}(p,p') + G_\mathrm{adv}(p,p')],
\end{equation}
from which the advanced and retarded solutions are easily extracted. If $p$ and $p'$ are sufficiently close, it is clear from \eqref{Hadamard} that
\begin{equation}
G_\mathrm{S}(p,p') = \frac{1}{2} \sqrt{\Delta(p,p')} \delta \big( \sigma(p,p') \big) .
\label{HadamardSym}
\end{equation}
At least for short distances, \eqref{Hadamard} implies that disturbances in $\Phi$ are propagated only \textit{on} -- and not inside -- the light cones of those disturbances. Signals from sources that turn on and off sharply are themselves sharp. This ``Huygens' principle'' is a very special property of massless scalar fields in four-dimensional plane wave spacetimes. In almost all other cases, retarded Green functions have support inside the light cone [i.e., $\mathcal{V}(p,p') \neq 0$ in \eqref{GretGeneral}] \cite{FriedlanderWaves, Huygens}. Even for massless scalar fields in plane wave spacetimes, Huygens' principle is not necessarily valid globally. It is shown below that the appropriate extension of \eqref{Hadamard} fails to be everywhere sharp if there exist non-degenerate (i.e., multiplicity 1) conjugate hyperplanes.
It is evident from the discussion in Sect. \ref{Sect:CausticGeo} that the form \eqref{HadamardSym} for the symmetric Green function becomes problematic if $p$ and $p'$ are too widely separated. If a plane wave spacetime admits conjugate hyperplanes, there exist pairs of points for which the bitensors $\sigma(p,p')$ and $\Delta(p,p')$ appearing in that formula fail to be defined. One can therefore expect \eqref{Hadamard} to be valid only for $p$ in a neighborhood of $p'$ that does not intersect any hyperplanes conjugate to $S_{u'}$. The largest such neighborhood is the set $\mathcal{N}_0(u')$ defined by \eqref{NormalNeighborhood} and illustrated in Fig. \ref{Fig:Normal}. Eqs. \eqref{Hadamard} and \eqref{HadamardSym} are indeed valid solutions to \eqref{BoxGAbstr} throughout
\begin{equation}
\{ p, p' \in M : p \in \mathcal{N}_0(u(p')) \}.
\label{NormalNeighb0}
\end{equation}
Our strategy for constructing a global Green function $G_\mathrm{S}(\cdot,p')$ first demands that \eqref{HadamardSym} hold throughout the ``zeroth normal neighborhood'' $\mathcal{N}_0(u')$. Sect. \ref{Sect:GreenInNormal} then derives similar formulae in all of the remaining $\mathcal{N}_n(u')$ [where $\sigma(\cdot, p')$ and $\Delta(\cdot, p')$ remain well-defined]. The result involves two free parameters for each $n$, and is a valid solution to \eqref{BoxGAbstr} throughout the generalized normal neighborhood $\mathcal{N}(u')$. Sect. \ref{Sect:GreenOnConj} demonstrates how to extend this solution through the conjugate hyperplanes that separate the disjoint components $\mathcal{N}_n(u')$ of $\mathcal{N}(u')$. Enforcing the wave equation \textit{on} conjugate hyperplanes relates the various free parameters to each other in a simple way. This fixes the singularity structure of $G_\mathrm{S}(\cdot,p')$ along almost all null geodesics passing through $p'$.
It is important to emphasize that our construction produces only one of many possible Green functions. We essentially state that a solution to \eqref{BoxGAbstr} is known in some region, and extend this using ``initial data'' on the boundary of that region. Here, the relevant boundaries are hypersurfaces of constant $u$. Even in flat spacetime, initial data imposed in this way does not yield a unique solution to a wave equation. Unlike flat spacetime, however, plane wave geometries do not admit appropriate Cauchy surfaces that can be used instead of constant-$u$ hypersurfaces. As explained in Sect. \ref{Sect:Causality}, plane waves are not globally hyperbolic. That the Green function we construct fails to be unique is shown in Sect. \ref{Sect:Penrose} to provide an important freedom if the leading order singularity structure of Green functions in generic spacetimes is to be determined by plane wave Green functions.
\subsection{Green functions in the generalized normal neighborhood}
\label{Sect:GreenInNormal}
Outside of the normal neighborhood \eqref{NormalNeighb0}, the symmetric Green function $G_\mathrm{S}(p,p')$ must be a solution to the homogeneous wave equation
\begin{equation}
\nabla^a \nabla_a G_\mathrm{S} (p,p') = 0.
\label{BoxGHom}
\end{equation}
Although the Hadamard form \eqref{HadamardSym} breaks down outside of \eqref{NormalNeighb0}, one might still consider a ``Hadamard-like'' ansatz
\begin{equation}
G_{\mathrm{S}}(p,p') = \frac{1}{2} \sqrt{|\Delta(p,p')|} g_n\big( \sigma(p,p') \big)
\label{GAnsatz}
\end{equation}
for all $p \in \mathcal{N}_n(u')$ and $p' \in M$. Here, $g_n(\sigma)$ is some as-yet undetermined distribution (for $n \neq 0$). Recall that the bitensors $\sigma(p,p')$ and $\Delta(p,p')$ appearing in \eqref{GAnsatz} are well-defined throughout the region where that equation is valid. Also note that, as shown in Sect. \ref{Sect:Bitensors}, $\Delta(p,p')$ is finite and nonzero everywhere it is defined. This biscalar may be negative, however, which necessitates the absolute value appearing in \eqref{GAnsatz}.
Substituting \eqref{GAnsatz} into \eqref{BoxGHom} yields the ordinary differential equation
\begin{equation}
\sigma \frac{{\rm d}^2 g_n}{{\rm d} \sigma^2} + 2 \frac{ {\rm d} g_n}{{\rm d} \sigma} = 0.
\end{equation}
The general distributional solution of this is
\begin{equation}
g_n(\sigma) = \alpha_n \delta(\sigma) + \mathrm{pv} \, (\beta_n /\sigma) + \gamma_n,
\label{FGeneral}
\end{equation}
where $\alpha_n$, $\beta_n$, and $\gamma_n$ are arbitrary constants and ``$\mathrm{pv}$'' denotes the Cauchy principal value. The term involving $\gamma_n$ is not interesting, so we discard it at this point\footnote{The term involving $\gamma_n$ adds to the Green function something which depends only on $u$ and $u'$. All distributions in these variables are solutions to the homogeneous equation \eqref{BoxGHom}, and may therefore be freely added or removed from a particular Green function.}.
It follows that for any $p \in \mathcal{N}_n(u')$ (with $n$ possibly vanishing),
\begin{align}
G_\mathrm{S}(p,p') = \frac{1}{2} \sqrt{|\Delta(p,p')|} \Big[\alpha_n \delta\big( \sigma(p,p') \big)
\nonumber
\\
~ + \mathrm{pv} \big( \beta_n / \sigma(p,p') \big) \Big].
\label{GAnsatz2}
\end{align}
Comparison with \eqref{HadamardSym} shows that
\begin{equation}
\alpha_{0} = 1, \qquad \beta_{0} = 0.
\label{InitData}
\end{equation}
Eq. \eqref{GAnsatz2} provides a class of possible forms for $G_{\mathrm{S}}(p,p')$ for all $p$ in the generalized normal neighborhood $\mathcal{N}(u')$. The coefficients $\alpha_n, \beta_n$ are undetermined at this point (for $n \neq 0$), which reflects the fact that the wave equation \eqref{BoxGAbstr} has been not been solved everywhere. In particular, it has not been solved on the conjugate hyperplanes $S_{\tau_n}$ separating the disconnected components of $\mathcal{N}$. Demanding that the wave equation be solved everywhere provides algebraic matching conditions that relate $(\alpha_n, \beta_n)$ to $(\alpha_{n+1}, \beta_{n+1})$ or $(\alpha_{n-1}, \beta_{n-1})$. Using \eqref{InitData} as ``initial data,'' these matching conditions provide a unique prescription for all $\alpha_n, \beta_n$.
\subsection{Green functions on conjugate hyperplanes}
\label{Sect:GreenOnConj}
Demanding that the wave equation \eqref{BoxGAbstr} be satisfied on a boundary $\partial \mathcal{N}_n$ first requires defining what could possibly be meant by $G_{\mathrm{S}}(p,p')$ in such regions. Roughly speaking, one would like to define objects that behave like, e.g.,
\begin{subequations}
\label{FakeDistribution}
\begin{align}
\sqrt{|\Delta|} \delta(\sigma) \Theta(u - \tau_n),
\\
\mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{\sqrt{|\Delta|}}{\sigma} \right) \Theta(u - \tau_n).
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
$\Delta(p,p')$ and $\sigma(p,p')$ are both ill-behaved as $u \rightarrow \tau_n$, so it is not obvious that there is any way to define distributions of this type. Nevertheless, appropriate distributions may be guessed that are well-defined everywhere and ``look like'' \eqref{FakeDistribution} for all $u$ away from conjugate hyperplanes (where the meaning of those expressions is unambiguous).
To be more precise, we must now treat Green functions properly as distributions. They are linear functionals acting on an appropriate space of test functions.\footnote{Not every linear functional on test functions is a distribution. There must additionally be a certain sense in which the functional is continuous with respect to sequences of test functions. Equivalently, it must be possible to bound the action of a distribution on an arbitrary test function using certain semi-norm estimates. See, e.g., Appendix \ref{Sect:Distributions} or \cite{FriedlanderDistributions}.} Specifically, $G_{\mathrm{S}}(p,p')$ takes as input a source point $p' \in M$ as well as a test function $\varphi(p) : M \rightarrow \mathbb{R}$ that is in the space $C_0^\infty(M)$ of smooth scalar functions with compact support:
\begin{equation}
G_{\mathrm{S}} : C_0^\infty(M) \times M \rightarrow \mathbb{R}.
\end{equation}
Given any test function $\varphi \in C_0^\infty(M)$, the action of the Green function at $p'$ is denoted by
\begin{equation}
\langle G_{\mathrm{S}}(p,p') , \varphi(p) \rangle.
\end{equation}
It is also common to write this as
\begin{equation}
\int G_{\mathrm{S}}(p,p') \varphi(p) {\rm d} V,
\end{equation}
which is the notation we have already been using.
Differential equations like \eqref{BoxGAbstr} are really a type of shorthand notation. For every $\varphi \in C_0^\infty(M)$ and every $p' \in M$,
\begin{equation}
\langle G_{\mathrm{S}}(p,p'), \nabla^{a} \nabla_{a} \varphi(p) \rangle = - 4 \pi \varphi(p').
\label{BoxGWeak}
\end{equation}
Arguments given above already imply that this equation is satisfied by \eqref{GAnsatz2} if the support of $\varphi$ lies entirely in $\mathcal{N}(u')$. Equivalently, \eqref{GAnsatz2} is valid as long as $\varphi$ does not pass through any hyperplanes conjugate to $S_{u'}$.
We now proceed by providing an ansatz for $\langle G_{\mathrm{S}} (p,p'), \varphi(p) \rangle$ that applies for test functions with supports that do not lie entirely in $\mathcal{N}(u')$. By linearity, it suffices to consider test functions $\varphi_n$ (with $n \neq 0$) whose supports intersect at most one conjugate hyperplane; specifically $S_{\tau_n(u')}$. Denote by $\mathcal{T}_n(u')$ a connected open neighborhood of the hyperplane $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ that does not intersect any other conjugate hyperplanes (or, for technical reasons, $S_{u'}$). One could choose, for example,
\begin{equation}
\mathcal{T}_2 = \mathcal{N}_1 \cup \mathcal{N}_2 \cup S_{\tau_2}
\end{equation}
if $\tau_2$ exists. Regardless, use the notation $\varphi_n$ to denote test functions in $\mathcal{T}_n$:
\begin{equation}
\varphi_n \in C^{\infty}_0 \big( \mathcal{T}_n(u') \big).
\label{PhiN}
\end{equation}
The action of $G_{\mathrm{S}}(\cdot, p')$ on a general test function $\varphi \in C^\infty_0(M)$ may be obtained by summing its action on various $\varphi_n$ and, perhaps, on a test function with support only in $\mathcal{N}$.
We now introduce two new functionals $\mathcal{G}^{\sharp}_{n^\pm}(p,p')$ and $\mathcal{G}^{\flat}_{n^\pm}(p,p')$ that act on arbitrary $\varphi_n \in C^{\infty}_0 ( \mathcal{T}_n(u') )$:
\begin{subequations}
\label{DistEquiv}
\begin{align}
\mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm} := \lim_{\epsilon \rightarrow 0^+} \sqrt{|\Delta|} \delta(\sigma) \Theta\big( \pm (u-\tau_n) - \epsilon \big),
\\
\mathcal{G}^\flat_{n^\pm} := \lim_{\epsilon \rightarrow 0^+} \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{\sqrt{|\Delta|}}{ \sigma } \right) \Theta\big( \pm (u-\tau_n)- \epsilon \big).
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
The $\sharp$ notation on $\mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm}$ indicates that this functional is related to the ``sharp'' propagation of signals associated with $\delta$-functions. The $1/\sigma$-like behavior of $\mathcal{G}^\flat_{n^\pm}$ is, by comparison, rather ``flat.'' The $n^\pm$ subscripts on $\mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm}(p,p')$ and $\mathcal{G}^\flat_{n^\pm}(p,p')$ denote support either in the future (+) or past (-) of the $n$th hyperplane $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ conjugate to $S_{u'} \ni p'$.
The explicit coordinate representations of $\mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm}(p,p')$ and $\mathcal{G}^\flat_{n^\pm}(p,p')$ are
\begin{align}
\langle \mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm} , \varphi_n \rangle = \pm \lim_{\epsilon \rightarrow 0^+} \int_{\tau_n \pm \epsilon}^{\pm \infty} \! {\rm d} u \int_{\mathbb{R}^2} \! {\rm d}^2 {\mathbf x}
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \left( \frac{\sqrt{|\Delta|}}{|u-u'|} \right) \varphi_n (u, v'+\chi, {\mathbf x}),
\label{IdeltaDef}
\end{align}
and
\begin{align}
\langle \mathcal{G}^{\flat}_{n^\pm} , \varphi_n \rangle = \mp \lim_{\epsilon \rightarrow 0^+} \int_{\tau_n \pm \epsilon}^{\pm \infty} \! \! {\rm d} u \int_{\mathbb{R}^2} \! {\rm d}^2 {\mathbf x} \int_0^\infty \! {\rm d} \Sigma
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \Sigma^{-1} \left( \frac{ \sqrt{|\Delta|} }{ u-u' } \right) \big[ \varphi_n (u, v'+\chi+ \Sigma, {\mathbf x})
\nonumber
\\
~ - \varphi_n (u, v'+\chi - \Sigma, {\mathbf x}) \big] .
\label{IpvDef}
\end{align}
Here, the function $\chi(u,u';{\mathbf x},{\mathbf x}')$ is defined to be the value of $v-v'$ which ensures that $p$ is connected to $p'$ via a null geodesic:
\begin{equation}
\sigma \big(u, v'+\chi(u,u';{\mathbf x},{\mathbf x}'), {\mathbf x}; u', v', {\mathbf x}' \big) = 0.
\label{VDefSig}
\end{equation}
Referring to \eqref{SigmaGen2}, $\chi(u,u'; {\mathbf x}, {\mathbf x}')$ is given by
\begin{align}
\chi = \frac{1}{2} \big[{\mathbf x}^\intercal \partial_u {\mathbf B} {\mathbf B}^{-1} {\mathbf x} + {\mathbf x}'^\intercal {\mathbf B}^{-1} {\mathbf A} {\mathbf x}'
\nonumber
\\
\qquad \qquad \qquad ~ - 2 {\mathbf x}'^\intercal {\mathbf B}^{-1} {\mathbf x} \big]
\label{VDef}
\end{align}
in terms of the matrices ${\mathbf A}(u,u')$ and ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ defined by \eqref{JacobiSpatial} and \eqref{ABboundary}. It is shown in Appendix \ref{Sect:Distributions} that $\mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm}$ and $\mathcal{G}^\flat_{n^\pm}$ are well-defined distributions: All integrals in \eqref{IdeltaDef} and \eqref{IpvDef} converge and appropriate semi-norm estimates may be derived.
Given the form \eqref{GAnsatz2} for $G_\mathrm{S}$ as it would act on test functions confined to $\mathcal{N}_n$, \eqref{DistEquiv} can be used to guess a natural extension valid for all test functions $\varphi_n \in C^{\infty}_0 ( \mathcal{T}_n(u') )$. Suppose that
\begin{align}
\langle G_{\mathrm{S}}, \varphi_n \rangle = \frac{1}{2} \bigg( \alpha_{n-1} \langle \mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^-} , \varphi_n \rangle + \alpha_n \langle \mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^+} , \varphi_n \rangle
\nonumber
\\
~ + \beta_{n-1} \langle \mathcal{G}^{\flat}_{n^-} , \varphi_n \rangle + \beta_n \langle \mathcal{G}^{\flat}_{n^+} , \varphi_n \rangle \bigg)
\label{GAnsatz3}
\end{align}
if $n > 0$. The same expression holds with the replacements
\begin{equation}
( \alpha_{n-1} , \beta_{n-1} , \alpha_n, \beta_n ) \rightarrow ( \alpha_n , \beta_n , \alpha_{n+1}, \beta_{n+1} )
\end{equation}
if $n<0$. It is clear from \eqref{GAnsatz2} and \eqref{DistEquiv} that the form \eqref{GAnsatz3} for $G_\mathrm{S}$ satisfies the wave equation \eqref{BoxGWeak} if $\varphi_n$ has no support on $S_{\tau_n(u')}$. For more general test functions, $\langle G_{\mathrm{S}}, \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n \rangle \neq 0$ unless the $\alpha_n$ and $\beta_n$ are related in a particular way. We now compute $\langle \mathcal{G}_{n^\pm}^\sharp, \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n \rangle$ and $\langle \mathcal{G}_{n^\pm}^\flat, \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n \rangle$ in order to derive these relations.
Letting
\begin{align}
\bar{\varphi} := \varphi_n(u, v' + \chi(u,u';{\mathbf x}, {\mathbf x}'), {\mathbf x}),
\\
\bar{\varphi}' := \partial_v \varphi_n(u, v' + \chi(u,u';{\mathbf x}, {\mathbf x}'), {\mathbf x}),
\end{align}
note that
\begin{align}
&\frac{ \sqrt{|\Delta|} }{ |u-u'| } \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n (u,v'+\chi,{\mathbf x}) = - 2 \partial_u \left( \frac{ \sqrt{|\Delta|} }{ |u-u'| } \bar{\varphi}' \right)
\nonumber
\\
&~ + \nabla^2 \left( \frac{ \sqrt{|\Delta|} }{ |u-u'| } \bar{ \varphi } \right) - 2 \partial_i \left( \frac{ \sqrt{|\Delta|} }{ |u-u'| } \bar{\varphi}' \partial_i \chi \right).
\end{align}
This is easily verified using direct computation together with \eqref{JacobiSpatial}, \eqref{vanVleck}, \eqref{VDef}, \eqref{BASym} and the symmetry of the matrices $\partial_u {\mathbf A} {\mathbf A}^{-1}$ and $\partial_u {\mathbf B} {\mathbf B}^{-1}$ established in Appendix \ref{Sect:ABProperties}. Substitution into \eqref{IdeltaDef} shows that
\begin{align}
\langle \mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm} , \nabla^{a} \nabla_{a} \varphi_n \rangle = \pm 2 \lim_{u \rightarrow \tau_n^\pm } \int_{\mathbb{R}^2} \! {\rm d}^2 {\mathbf x} \left( \frac{ \sqrt{|\Delta|} }{ |u-u'| } \right)
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \partial_{v} \varphi_n(u,v'+\chi(u,u';{\mathbf x},{\mathbf x}'),{\mathbf x}).
\label{IDelta}
\end{align}
This measures the degree to which $\mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm}$ fails to satisfy the wave equation.
Using \eqref{IpvDef}, the equivalent expression for the $1/\sigma$-type distribution $\mathcal{G}^\flat_{n^\pm}$ is
\begin{align}
\langle \mathcal{G}^\flat_{n^\pm} , \nabla^{a} \nabla_{a} \varphi_n \rangle = \mp 2 \lim_{u \rightarrow \tau_n^\pm } \int_{\mathbb{R}^2} \! {\rm d}^2 {\mathbf x} \int_0^\infty {\rm d} \Sigma
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \Sigma^{-1} \left( \frac{ \sqrt{|\Delta|} }{ |u-u'| } \right) \big[ \partial_{v} \varphi_n(u,v'+\chi + \Sigma,{\mathbf x})
\nonumber
\\
~ - \partial_{v} \varphi_n(u,v'+\chi - \Sigma,{\mathbf x}) \big].
\label{Ipv}
\end{align}
Evaluating $\langle G_\mathrm{S}, \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n \rangle$ requires simplifying these two expressions and then applying \eqref{GAnsatz3}. The result depends on the multiplicity of the conjugate points associated with $\tau_n$, and requires the expansions derived in Sect. \ref{Sect:CausticGeo}.
\subsubsection{Degenerate conjugate points}
First consider the case where the conjugate hyperplanes associated with some $\tau_n(u') \in T(u')$ are related to degenerate (multiplicity 2) conjugate points. Applying \eqref{SigmaGen2} and \eqref{SigmaDeg} to \eqref{VDef} then shows that for all $p \in \mathcal{T}_n(u')$,
\begin{align}
\chi(u,u' ; {\mathbf x}, {\mathbf x}') = -\frac{1}{2} \frac{| {\mathbf x} - \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}'|^2}{\tau_n-u}
\nonumber
\\
~ + \chi_n(u, u' ; {\mathbf x}, {\mathbf x}') .
\label{VExpandDeg}
\end{align}
Here, $\hat{{\mathbf A}}_n(u') = {\mathbf A}( \tau_n(u'), u' )$ and $\chi_n(u,u'; {\mathbf x}, {\mathbf x}')$ is a function that is well-behaved in all of its arguments.
Substituting \eqref{VExpandDeg} into \eqref{IDelta} and using \eqref{VanVleckDeg} together with the change of variables
\begin{equation}
{\mathbf x} \rightarrow \bar{{\mathbf x}} := \frac{ {\mathbf x} - \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}' }{ \sqrt{|\tau_n - u|} }
\label{xBarDef}
\end{equation}
yields
\begin{align}
\langle \mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm} , \nabla^a \nabla_a & \varphi_n \rangle = \pm 2 \sqrt{ |\det \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n | } \int_{\mathbb{R}^2} {\rm d}^2 \bar{ {\mathbf x} }
\nonumber
\\
& \partial_v \varphi_n (\tau_n, v' \pm \frac{1}{2} |\bar{{\mathbf x}}|^2 + \chi_n, \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}' ) .
\label{IDeg}
\end{align}
Transforming into polar coordinates in the usual way, the integral on the right-hand side of this equation may be evaluated explicitly:
\begin{align}
\langle \mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm} & , \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n \rangle = - 4\pi \sqrt{ | \det \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n | }
\nonumber
\\
& ~ \times \varphi_n (\tau_n,v'+\chi_n (\tau_n, u'; \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}', {\mathbf x}'),\hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}').
\label{BoxGSharpDeg}
\end{align}
The discussion in Sect. \ref{Sect:CausticGeo} may be used to show that the argument of $\varphi_n$ appearing here is the point to which all null geodesics starting at $p'$ focus to on $S_{\tau_n(u')}$.
Using similar arguments together with \eqref{Ipv}, the wave operator acting on the $1/\sigma$ part of the Green function produces
\begin{align}
\langle \mathcal{G}^\flat_{n^\pm}, \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n \rangle = 4 \pi \sqrt{| \det \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n | } \int_0^\infty {\rm d} \Sigma
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \Sigma^{-1} \big[ \varphi_n (\tau_n, v' + \chi_n + \Sigma, \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}')
\nonumber
\\
~ -\varphi_n (\tau_n, v' + \chi_n - \Sigma, \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}') \big].
\label{BoxGFlatDeg}
\end{align}
This depends on $\varphi_n$ at all points on $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ that are connected to $p'$ by geodesics of any type. It is not proportional to $\langle \mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm}, \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n \rangle$ as given by \eqref{BoxGSharpDeg}.
Substituting \eqref{GAnsatz3}, \eqref{BoxGSharpDeg}, and \eqref{BoxGFlatDeg} into \eqref{BoxGWeak} shows that the wave equation can be satisfied on a degenerate conjugate hyperplane $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ if and only if
\begin{equation}
\alpha_n = - \alpha_{n-1} , \qquad \beta_n = - \beta_{n-1}
\label{MatchingDegPos}
\end{equation}
when $n>0$ or
\begin{equation}
\alpha_n = - \alpha_{n+1}, \qquad \beta_n = - \beta_{n+1}
\label{MatchingDegNeg}
\end{equation}
when $n<0$. If these relations are satisfied for a particular $n$, $\nabla^a \nabla_a G_\mathrm{S}(p,p') = 0$ throughout $\mathcal{T}_n(u')$. They imply that Green functions tend to switch sign on passing through degenerate conjugate hyperplanes.
\subsubsection{Non-degenerate conjugate points}
The non-degenerate (multiplicity 1) case is treated similarly. Choose a particular $\tau_n(u') \in T(u')$ associated with non-degenerate conjugate points. Eq. \eqref{SigmaSimp} then implies that if $u$ is sufficiently close to $\tau_n(u')$, $\chi(u,u';{\mathbf x},{\mathbf x}')$ has the form
\begin{align}
\chi(u,u';{\mathbf x}, {\mathbf x}') = - \frac{1}{2} \frac{ [ \hat{ \mathbf{q} }_n \cdot ( {\mathbf x} - \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}' ) ] ^2 }{ \tau_n - u }
\nonumber
\\
~ + \chi_n(u, u'; {\mathbf x},{\mathbf x}'),
\label{VExpandSimp}
\end{align}
where $\chi_n(u,u';{\mathbf x},{\mathbf x}')$ is smooth. Recall that the unit vector $\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n$ is associated with $\tau_n(u')$ as a solution to the eigenvector problem \eqref{nDef}.
The form of $\chi$ near a simple conjugate hyperplane suggests the coordinate transformation ${\mathbf x} \rightarrow \tilde{{\mathbf x}}$, where
\begin{subequations}
\label{XTilde}
\begin{align}
\tilde{x}^1 := \frac{\hat{ \mathbf{q} }_n \cdot ( {\mathbf x} - \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}' )}{ \sqrt{ | \tau_n - u| } },
\\
\tilde{x}^2 := \hat{ \mathbf{p} }_n \cdot ( {\mathbf x} - \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}' ).
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
Here, $\hat{ \mathbf{p} }_n$ is a unit vector satisfying $\hat{\mathbf{p}}_n \cdot \hat{\mathbf{q}}_n = 0$. The signs of $\hat{\mathbf{p}}_n$ and $\hat{\mathbf{q}}_n$ are to be chosen such that the ordered pair of coordinates $(\tilde{x}^1,\tilde{x}^2)$ has the same orientation as $(x^1, x^2)$. Using \eqref{VanVleckSimp} and \eqref{IDelta},
\begin{align}
\langle \mathcal{G}^\sharp_{n^\pm} , \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n \rangle = \frac{ \pm 2 }{ \sqrt{ |
\mathrm{Tr} [ \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{ \partial_u {\mathbf B} }_n )^{-1} ] \det (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n ) |} }
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \int_{\mathbb{R}^2} \! \! {\rm d}^2 \tilde{{\mathbf x}} \partial_v \varphi_n (\tau_n , v' \pm \frac{1}{2} ( \tilde{x}^1 )^2 + \chi_n, \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}' + \hat{\mathbf{p}}_n \tilde{x}^2 ).
\end{align}
Similar simplifications of \eqref{Ipv} result in
\begin{align}
\langle \mathcal{G}^\flat_{n^\pm}, \nabla^a \nabla_a \varphi_n \rangle = \frac{ 2 \pi }{ \sqrt{ |
\mathrm{Tr} [ \hat{{\mathbf B}}_n (\widehat{ \partial_u {\mathbf B} }_n )^{-1} ] \det (\widehat{\partial_u {\mathbf B}}_n) |} }
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \int_{\mathbb{R}^2} \! \! {\rm d}^2 \tilde{{\mathbf x}} \partial_v \varphi (\tau_n, v' \mp \frac{1}{2} (\tilde{x}^1)^2 + \chi_n, \hat{{\mathbf A}}_n {\mathbf x}' + \hat{\mathbf{p}}_n \tilde{x}^2 ).
\end{align}
Substituting these two equations into \eqref{GAnsatz3}, one sees that $G_{\mathrm{S}}(p,p')$ satisfies the wave equation throughout $\mathcal{T}_n(u')$ when
\begin{equation}
\alpha_n = - \pi \beta_{n-1} , \qquad \beta_n = \frac{ \alpha_{n-1} }{ \pi },
\label{MatchingSimpPos}
\end{equation}
if $n>0$ or
\begin{equation}
\alpha_n = \pi \beta_{n+1} , \qquad \beta_n = - \frac{ \alpha_{n+1} }{ \pi }
\label{MatchingSimpNeg}
\end{equation}
if $n<0$. Unlike in the degenerate case, these relations show that the qualitative character of a plane wave Green function changes on passing through a non-degenerate conjugate hyperplane. It switches from having a $\delta(\sigma)$-type singularity to a $1/\sigma$-type singularity (or vice-versa).
\subsection{A global solution}
\label{Sect:GlobalSoln}
We now have a recipe for constructing a global Green function associated with the massless scalar wave equation \eqref{WaveEqScalar}. Fixing $p'$, suppose that $\tau_{1}(u')$ and $\tau_{-1}(u')$ both exist. The symmetric Green function can then be written as
\begin{widetext}
\begin{align}
G_\mathrm{S} = \frac{1}{2} \lim_{ \epsilon \rightarrow 0^{+} } \sqrt{|\Delta|} \bigg\{ \lim_{\bar{\epsilon} \rightarrow 0^+} \delta(\sigma + \bar{\epsilon} ) \Theta (u - \tau_{-1} -\epsilon) \Theta (\tau_1 - \epsilon -u) + \bigg[ \alpha_{1} \delta(\sigma) + \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{\beta_{1}}{\sigma} \right) \bigg] \Theta( u-\tau_1 - \epsilon ) \Theta (\tau_{2} - \epsilon - u )
\nonumber
\\
~ + \bigg[ \alpha_{-1} \delta(\sigma) + \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{\beta_{-1}}{\sigma} \right) \bigg] \Theta( u-\tau_{-2} - \epsilon ) \Theta (\tau_{-1} - \epsilon - u ) + \ldots \bigg\}.
\label{GenG}
\end{align}
\end{widetext}
If $\tau_{2}(u')$ or $\tau_{-2}(u')$ does not exist, it is to be replaced by $\pm \infty$ here. Note that the three groups of step functions displayed in this equation confine various terms to $\mathcal{N}_0(u')$, $\mathcal{N}_1(u')$, and $\mathcal{N}_{-1}(u')$ [recall Fig. \ref{Fig:Normal} and the discussion surrounding \eqref{NormalNeighborhood} for definitions of these regions]. Terms in $\mathcal{N}_n(u')$ (with $|n|>1$) are also understood to be present if $\tau_n(u')$ exists. Roughly speaking, the limit $\epsilon \rightarrow 0$ ensures that $\Delta(p,p')$ and $\sigma(p,p')$ are only evaluated in regions where they are well-defined. The limit $\bar{\epsilon} \rightarrow 0$ present in the first term of \eqref{GenG} takes into account footnote \ref{Foot:Vertex}. It is necessary because $\delta(\sigma)$ is ill-defined in the coincidence limit $p \rightarrow p'$ (where $\nabla_a \sigma \rightarrow 0$).
The coefficients $\alpha_n$ and $\beta_n$ appearing in \eqref{GenG} are determined by the multiplicities of the various $\tau_n(u') \in T(u')$. $\alpha_0 = 1$ and $\beta_0 = 0$ are used as initial conditions for the matching equations \eqref{MatchingDegPos}-\eqref{MatchingDegNeg} and \eqref{MatchingSimpPos}-\eqref{MatchingSimpNeg} that fix $\alpha_n$ and $\beta_n$
when $n \neq 0$. Given some particular $n$, either $\alpha_n = \pm 1$ and $\beta_n = 0$ or $\beta_n = \pm 1/\pi$ and $\alpha_n=0$.
Consider an ``observer'' moving on some (not necessarily causal) curve starting at $p'$. After passing through a hyperplane $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ conjugate to $S_{u'}$, the matching conditions \eqref{MatchingDegPos}-\eqref{MatchingDegNeg} and \eqref{MatchingSimpPos}-\eqref{MatchingSimpNeg} imply that such an observer would see $G_\mathrm{S}(\cdot, p')$ change according to the rules (modulo an overall factor of $\sqrt{|\Delta|}$):
\begin{itemize}
\item If the conjugate pair $(S_{\tau_n(u')}, S_{u'})$ is associated with non-degenerate (multiplicity 1) conjugate points and $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ is traversed in a direction of increasing $u$, either
\begin{equation}
\pm \delta(\sigma) \rightarrow \pm \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{1}{\pi \sigma} \right)
\label{Rule1}
\end{equation}
or
\begin{equation}
\pm \mathrm{pv}\left( \frac{1}{\pi \sigma} \right) \rightarrow \mp \delta(\sigma).
\end{equation}
Signs on the right-hand sides of both of these replacement rules are reversed if traversing $S_{\tau_n(u')}$ in a direction of decreasing $u$.
\item When the conjugate pair $(S_{\tau_n(u')}, S_{u'})$ has multiplicity $2$, the form of the Green function switches sign:
\begin{align}
\pm \delta(\sigma) &\rightarrow \mp \delta(\sigma),
\\
\pm \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{1}{\pi \sigma} \right) &\rightarrow \mp \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{1}{\pi \sigma} \right).
\label{Rule4}
\end{align}
This is equivalent to the effect of two passes through distinct conjugate hyperplanes with multiplicity $1$.
\end{itemize}
When these rules are satisfied, expression \eqref{GenG} for $G_\mathrm{S}$ is everywhere a solution to \eqref{WaveEqScalar}. Retarded and advanced Green functions may easily be constructed from $G_\mathrm{S}$. For example,
\begin{widetext}
\begin{align}
G_\mathrm{ret} = \lim_{\epsilon \rightarrow 0^+} \sqrt{|\Delta|} \bigg\{ \lim_{\bar{\epsilon} \rightarrow 0^+} \delta( \sigma + \bar{\epsilon}) \Theta(u-u') \Theta(\tau_1 - \epsilon - u)
+ \sum_{n \geq 1} \bigg[ \alpha_n \delta(\sigma) + \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{ \beta_n }{ \sigma } \right) \bigg] \Theta (u-\tau_n-\epsilon) \Theta(\tau_{n+1} - u - \epsilon)
\bigg\}.
\label{GenGret}
\end{align}
\end{widetext}
This is a global solution to \eqref{WaveEqScalar}. It looks like a retarded Green function for $p$ near $p'$, but it is not the only solution with this property. See footnote \ref{Foot:AdvRet} and Sect. \ref{Sect:NonUnique}.
\subsubsection{Examples}
The simplest nontrivial examples of Green functions in specific plane wave spacetimes occur when all conjugate points are degenerate. In these cases, one finds from \eqref{MatchingDegPos} and \eqref{MatchingDegNeg} that $\alpha_n = (-1)^n$ and $\beta_n =0$. The retarded Green function is therefore given by
\begin{align}
G_{\mathrm{ret}}(p,p') = (-1)^n \sqrt{ | \Delta | } \delta (\sigma)
\label{GretDeg}
\end{align}
when $p \in \mathcal{N}_n (u')$ and $u(p)>u(p')$. The form of this Green function changes sign on each pass through a conjugate hyperplane. The singular structure of $G_\mathrm{ret}$ (or $G_\mathrm{S}$ or $G_\mathrm{adv}$) follows the 2-fold pattern \eqref{SingStruct2} when all conjugate points are degenerate.
Conjugate points associated with conformally-flat plane waves are always degenerate, so their retarded Green functions are given by \eqref{GretDeg}. In the symmetric case where the wave amplitude $h(u)$ in \eqref{PlaneWaveConfFlat} remains constant, it is shown in Sect. \ref{Sect:Examples} that there exist an infinite number of degenerate conjugate hyperplanes (for any $u'$) at locations given by \eqref{TauEx}. Using \eqref{VVConfFlat}, the retarded Green function for such a spacetime is
\begin{equation}
G_\mathrm{ret}(p,p') = \Theta(u-u') \left[ \frac{ (u-u') }{ \sin (u-u') } \right] \delta(\sigma)
\end{equation}
if $h=1$ and $u-u' \neq n \pi$ (for all nonzero integers $n$). Eq. \eqref{SigConfFlat} provides an explicit coordinate expression for $\sigma$ in this case.
If all conjugate points in a particular plane wave spacetime are \textit{non}-degenerate, the scalar Green function has the repeating 4-fold singularity structure \eqref{SingStruct4} rather than the 2-fold structure \eqref{SingStruct2} found in the purely degenerate case. Applying \eqref{MatchingSimpPos} and \eqref{MatchingSimpNeg} to \eqref{GenGret} for some $p \in \mathcal{N}_n(u')$, $u(p)>u(p')$,
\begin{align}
G_\mathrm{ret}(p,p') &= \sqrt{|\Delta|}
\nonumber
\\
&~ \times
\begin{cases}
(-1)^{ \frac{n}{2} } \delta(\sigma) & \text{if $n$ even} ,
\\
(-1)^{ \frac{n-1}{2} } \mathrm{pv} (1/\pi \sigma) & \text{if $n$ odd} .
\end{cases}
\label{Green4Fold}
\end{align}
This is, in a sense, the ``physically generic'' form for retarded Green functions in plane wave spacetimes. It is not correct if there exist degenerate conjugate hyperplanes\footnote{Degenerate and non-degenerate conjugate hyperplanes may exist in the same spacetime. Examples of this may be found by fine-tuning the parameter $h$ appearing in \eqref{HGravWaveReal}. The singular structure of the Green function in such cases deviates from the simple patterns \eqref{SingStruct4} and \eqref{SingStruct2}. Rules \eqref{Rule1}-\eqref{Rule4} must then be applied on a case-by-case basis.}, although such structures tend to be ``fragile.'' Consider, for example, a plane wave that initially possesses a degenerate conjugate hyperplane. If such a spacetime is perturbed by slightly changing $H_{ij}(u)$, the original degenerate hyperplane tends -- but is not guaranteed -- to split into two closely-spaced non-degenerate conjugate hyperplanes. Passing through one non-degenerate hyperplane might therefore be viewed as physically equivalent to quickly passing through two non-degenerate conjugate hyperplanes. Indeed, we have found that two passes through non-degenerate hyperplanes has the same effect on a scalar Green function as one pass through a degenerate conjugate hyperplane.
As a simple example of the 4-fold singularity structure exhibited in \eqref{Green4Fold}, consider a symmetric gravitational plane wave where the wave profile $H_{ij}(u)$ is given by \eqref{HGravWave}. Such spacetimes have an infinite number of non-degenerate conjugate hyperplanes at the locations \eqref{TauEx}. The retarded Green function in this case is explicitly
\begin{align}
G_\mathrm{ret}(p,p') = \left( \frac{ u-u' }{ \sqrt{ | \sin (u-u') | \sinh (u-u') } } \right)
\nonumber
\\
~ \times \begin{cases}
(-1)^{ \frac{n}{2} } \delta(\sigma) & \text{if $n$ even} ,
\\
(-1)^{ \frac{n-1}{2} } \mathrm{pv} (1/\pi \sigma) & \text{if $n$ odd} .
\end{cases}
\label{GGravWave}
\end{align}
It is assumed here that $u>u'$. Also note that $n$ is given by
\begin{equation}
n = \left\lfloor (u - u' ) /\pi \right\rfloor ,
\end{equation}
where $\lfloor \cdot \rfloor$ denotes the floor function. A coordinate expression for the $\sigma$ appearing here may be found by substituting \eqref{AGravWave} and \eqref{BGravWave} into \eqref{SigmaGen}.
\subsubsection{Some comments}
Before moving on, recall that two questions are posed in the introduction regarding the qualitative way in which a Green function may change its singular structure. First, how can a very localized distribution like $\delta(\sigma)$ ``smoothly transition'' into something as apparently spread out as $\mathrm{pv}(1/\sigma)$? In plane wave Green functions, this change occurs on $u= \mathrm{const.}$ hyperplanes. Furthermore, the discussion in Sect. \ref{Sect:CausticGeo} implies that $|\sigma| \rightarrow \infty$ on almost all (but not quite all) approaches to such surfaces. This means that like $\delta(\sigma)$, $\mathrm{pv}(1/\sigma)$ vanishes almost everywhere when approaching a conjugate hyperplane where it might transition into a $\delta$-function.
It is also asked in the introduction how a retarded Green function can involve a term proportional to $\mathrm{pv}(1/\sigma)$ when $\sigma(p,p')>0$ traditionally implies that the points $p$ and $p'$ are not in causal contact. In plane wave spacetimes, $\sigma(p,p') >0$ implies that the (only) geodesic connecting $p$ and $p'$ is spacelike. Despite this, the discussion of Sect. \ref{Sect:Causality} implies that such points are still in causal contact as long as there exists at least one hyperplane conjugate to $S_{u(p')}$ that cuts through the geodesic segment connecting $p$ and $p'$. It is only in this case that our Green function can have support in regions where $\sigma (p,p') >0$. All of the support of $G_\mathrm{ret}(\cdot,p')$ is therefore in causal contact with $p'$.
A somewhat weaker version of this argument holds in any spacetime (including those that are not plane waves). Consider a null geodesic satisfying $z(s') = p'$ and $z(s) = p$. It follows from theorem 9.3.8 of \cite{Wald} that if there exists at least one point conjugate to $p'$ on the geodesic segment between $p'$ and $p$, these two points may be connected by timelike curves. When this condition holds, it follows that $p$ is in the chronological past or future of $p'$. Furthermore, there exists an open neighborhood of every point in the chronological past or future of $p'$ that remains entirely in this set. It follows that an open neighborhood of $p$ lies entirely in causal contact with $p'$ if $p$ is connected to $p'$ by a null geodesic segment with at least one point conjugate to $p'$.
For plane wave spacetimes, this argument guarantees that two points $p$ and $p'$ satisfying $\sigma(p,p')>0$ and separated by at least one hyperplane conjugate to $S_{u(p')}$ are in causal contact at least if $\sigma$ is sufficiently small. It is a special property of plane wave spacetimes that this result continues to hold even when $\sigma$ is large.
In Sect. \ref{Sect:Penrose}, we show that some features of Green functions in generic spacetimes very near null geodesics are captured by appropriate plane wave Green functions. After a conjugate point, there is a sense in which a generic Green function may again be nonzero when $\sigma>0$. Here, $\sigma$ is interpreted as the world function of an associated plane wave spacetime. It acts like a coordinate for an infinitesimal region around the reference null geodesic. The argument above guarantees that terms like $\mathrm{pv}[1/\sigma(\cdot,p')]$ appearing in (say) retarded Green functions on generic spacetimes remain in causal contact with $p'$ near the reference geodesic.
\subsubsection{Non-uniqueness of plane wave Green functions}
\label{Sect:NonUnique}
Recall that we have constructed a ``retarded Green function'' $G_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$ by demanding that it solve \eqref{BoxGAbstr} everywhere and that it be equal to \eqref{Hadamard} for all $p \in \mathcal{N}_0(u')$. Other distributions also satisfy these constraints. One may consider, e.g.,
\begin{equation}
G_{\mathrm{ret}}(p,p') + \Gamma(p,p'),
\end{equation}
where $\Gamma(p,p')$ is some solution to $\nabla^a \nabla_a \Gamma(p,p') = 0$ that vanishes when $u<\tau_1(u')$. Any object of this form may reasonably be interpreted as a ``retarded Green function.'' Indeed, one might only require that $\nabla^a \nabla_a \Gamma(p,p') = 0$ and that $\Gamma(p,p')$ vanish when $u < u' + (\mbox{something positive})$.
Nontrivial distributions $\Gamma(p,p')$ always exist. Consider, for example, anything which depends purely on $u$ and $u'$ and that vanishes when, say, $u<\tau_1(u')$. As another possibility, suppose that $\Gamma(p,p')$ is, for fixed $p'$, concentrated on a constant-$u$ hypersurface $S_{t(u')}$. One such example is
\begin{equation}
\Gamma(p,p') = \delta(t(u')-u) \gamma({\mathbf x}, {\mathbf x}'),
\end{equation}
where $\gamma({\mathbf x},{\mathbf x}')$ is harmonic at least in its first argument: $\nabla^2 \gamma({\mathbf x},{\mathbf x}') = 0$.
\section{Green functions in general spacetimes}
\label{Sect:Penrose}
Up to this point, we have focused on the propagation of (test) scalar fields $\Phi$ on plane wave backgrounds. As outlined in the introduction, plane wave spacetimes have a number of mathematically attractive features. They are not, however, physically realistic on large scales. Plane wave geometries are not asymptotically flat, nor even globally hyperbolic. Despite this, one might hope that there is a sense in which our results remain ``essentially correct'' for physically realistic plane waves where the metric is adequately approximated by \eqref{PlaneWaveGen} only in some finite region\footnote{A somewhat more realistic model of a simple gravitational wave is a pp-wave where the profile function $H(u,{\mathbf x})$ appearing in \eqref{ppMetricGen} is quadratic in ${\mathbf x}$ in some finite region and subquadratic as $|{\mathbf x}| \rightarrow \infty$. Geometries of this type are discussed in, e.g., \cite{GenPPWave0,GenPPWave}. Their causal properties do not display the pathologies of ``pure'' plane wave spacetimes.}. We now argue for a significantly stronger result: The singular behavior of Green functions in \textit{generic} spacetimes is, to leading order, equivalent to the singular behavior of Green functions in appropriate plane wave spacetimes. This is similar to a statement proposed in \cite{QED1}.
The correspondence with plane wave spacetimes is motivated by two observations. First, general theorems regarding the propagation of singularities imply that the singular supports of generic Green functions lie on null geodesics \cite{BarFredenhagen}. Second, there is a sense in which the geometry ``near'' a null geodesic in any spacetime is equivalent -- via what is known as a Penrose limit -- to the geometry of an appropriate plane wave spacetime \cite{PenroseLimit, BlauPenrose, BlauNotes}. Furthermore, one might suppose that the behavior of a generic Green function near its singular support (i.e., near a null geodesic) could be at least partially understood using the geometry of that region. It would then appear to follow that some aspects of the singular structure of a Green function in a generic spacetime $(\check{M} ,\check{g}_{ab})$ near an affinely-parameterized null geodesic $\check{z}(u)$ might be understood by computing a Green function associated with a plane wave spacetime $(M,g_{ab})$ obtained from $(\check{M},\check{g}_{ab})$ and $\check{z}(u)$ using a Penrose limit.
Before establishing that this line of reasoning is correct, we first provide a review of Penrose limits in Sect. \ref{Sect:PenroseDef}. An appropriate notion of a Green function's ``leading order singular behavior'' is then defined in Sect. \ref{Sect:GenericGreen}. Near a given null geodesic, it is argued that this structure is reproduced by a Green function associated with an appropriate plane wave spacetime. The results of Sect. \ref{Sect:Green} are then applied to determine the singular structure of Green functions for scalar fields propagating in arbitrary four-dimensional spacetimes. Lastly, a similar argument is provided in Sect. \ref{Sect:TensorGeneralize} for the behavior of Green functions associated with wave equations involving fields of nonzero tensor rank.
\subsection{Penrose limits}
\label{Sect:PenroseDef}
As formulated in \cite{BlauPenrose}, the Penrose limit takes as input a null geodesic $\check{z}(u)$ in a spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$, and uses this to construct a null generalization of a Fermi normal coordinate system\footnote{A check mark is omitted on the symbol $u$ because this coordinate is not rescaled in \eqref{PenroseScale} below.} $(u,\check{v},\check{{\mathbf x}})$. Assume for simplicity that the reference geodesic $\check{z}(u)$ is defined for all $u \in \mathbb{R}$ and that $\check{g}_{ab}$ is smooth along this curve. Next, construct a tetrad $\{ e^a_\pm (u), e^a_i(u) \}$ on $\check{z}(u)$ that is parallel-propagated along $\check{z}(u)$ with respect to $\check{g}_{ab}$. Let the first element of this tetrad be the null tangent to the reference geodesic:
\begin{equation}
e^a_{+}(u) = \frac{{\rm d} \check{z}(u)}{{\rm d} u}.
\end{equation}
Let the second element $e^a_{-}(u)$ of the tetrad also be null, and suppose that it satisfies $\check{g}_{ab} e^a_{+} e^b_{-} = -1$. The final two elements $e^{a}_{i}(u)$ of the tetrad are to be spacelike and orthonormal. They are orthogonal to the two null vectors $e^a_{+}(u)$ and $e^a_{-}(u)$:
\begin{equation}
\check{g}_{ab} e^a_{+} e^b_{i} = \check{g}_{ab} e^a_{-} e^b_{i} = 0.
\end{equation}
Given some point $p \in \check{M}$ sufficiently near the reference geodesic $\check{z}(u)$, identify a $u$ coordinate associated with $p$ by solving the equation
\begin{equation}
e^a_{-}(u) \check{\nabla}_a \check{\sigma}(\check{z}(u),p) = 0.
\label{FermiNormal}
\end{equation}
Here, $\check{\sigma}(p,p')$ denotes Synge's function in the spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$. Once $u = u( p )$ has been fixed using \eqref{FermiNormal}, the remaining three coordinates of $p$ are determined by defining the tetrad components of the ``separation vector'' $- \check{\nabla}^a \check{\sigma} (\check{z}(u (p) ), p)$ to be the coordinates $\check{v}(p)$ and $\check{{\mathbf x}}(p)$:
\begin{equation}
-\check{\nabla}^a \check{\sigma} = \check{v} e^a_{-} + \check{x}^i e^a_i .
\end{equation}
Inverting this relation,
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
\check{v} (p) := e^a_{+}(u( p )) \check{\nabla}_a \check{\sigma}( \check{z}(u( p )), p ) ,
\\
\check{x}^i (\check{p}) := - \delta^{ij} e^a_{j}(u( p )) \check{\nabla}_a \check{\sigma}( \check{z}(u( p )), p ) .
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
Together, these equations and \eqref{FermiNormal} define a Fermi-like coordinate system $(u,\check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}})$ near the reference geodesic $\check{z}(u)$. Given any $u' \in \mathbb{R}$, the point $\check{z}(u')$ has coordinates $u=u'$ and $\check{v} = \check{{\mathbf x}} = 0$ in this chart.
The Penrose limit involves a 1-parameter family of transformations on the components $\check{g}_{\check{\mu} \check{\nu}}$ of the metric in the coordinates $(u,\check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}})$. Consider, in particular, the substitutions
\begin{equation}
u \rightarrow u, \quad \check{v} \rightarrow v := \lambda^{-2} \check{v}, \quad \check{{\mathbf x}} \rightarrow {\mathbf x} := \lambda^{-1} \check{{\mathbf x}}
\label{PenroseScale}
\end{equation}
for any $\lambda > 0$. In the limit $\lambda \rightarrow 0$, this transformation can be interpreted as ``zooming up'' on the reference geodesic $\check{z}(u)$ and then boosting along it by a similar factor. All components $\check{g}_{\mu\nu}$ of the metric in the coordinate system $(u,v,{\mathbf x})$ vanish as $\lambda \rightarrow 0$. Expanding the line element in powers of $\lambda$, the first non-vanishing term is proportional to $\lambda^2$ \cite{BlauPenrose}:
\begin{align}
{\rm d} \check{s}^2 = \lambda^2 \big[- 2 {\rm d} u {\rm d} v - \check{R}_{+i+j}(u) x^i x^j {\rm d} u^2 + |{\rm d} {\mathbf x}|^2 \big]
\nonumber
\\
~ + O(\lambda^3).
\label{PenroseExp}
\end{align}
Here, $\check{R}_{+i+j}(u)$ denotes the appropriate tetrad components of the Riemann tensor on the reference geodesic:
\begin{equation}
\check{R}_{+i+j}(u) := \check{R}_{abcd}(\check{z}(u)) e^a_{+}(u) e^b_{i}(u) e^c_{+}(u) e^d_{j}(u) .
\end{equation}
Comparing \eqref{PlaneWaveGen} and \eqref{PenroseExp}, it is clear that
\begin{equation}
g_{\mu\nu} := \lim_{\lambda \rightarrow 0} \lambda^{-2} \check{g}_{\mu\nu}
\label{PenroseMetric}
\end{equation}
is -- regardless of the original geometry -- the metric of a plane wave spacetime in Brinkmann coordinates with the amplitude and polarization profile
\begin{equation}
H_{ij} (u) = - \check{R}_{+i+j}(u).
\label{PenroseH}
\end{equation}
In this sense, the geometry near any\footnote{If the reference geodesic intersects a singularity and therefore cannot be extended to infinitely large values of its affine parameter, one can still perform a Penrose limit. The only difference is that the resulting plane wave spacetime is slightly different from the type described in Sects. \ref{Sect:ppGeometry} and \ref{Sect:Geometry}. In such cases, the coordinate $u$ would no longer take all values in $\mathbb{R}$ and $H_{ij}(u)$ may be unbounded for finite $u$.} null geodesic is equivalent to that of an appropriate plane wave spacetime.
\begin{figure}
\includegraphics[width=.95\linewidth]{PenroseConj}
\caption{Schematic illustrating that Penrose limits map conjugate points to conjugate points. The inset shows the reference null geodesic in the spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$ along with a number of nearby geodesics. The points $\check{z}(u')$ and $\check{z}(u'')$ are conjugate on the reference geodesic. They are mapped to the conjugate hyperplanes $S_{u'}$ and $S_{u''}$ in the associated plane wave spacetime.}
\label{Fig:PenroseConj}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}
\includegraphics[width=.95\linewidth]{PenroseNonConj}
\caption{The effect of a Penrose limit on a null curve which intersects the reference geodesic at the points $\check{z}(u')$ and $\check{z}(u'')$. Such a curve is mapped to null geodesics on the hyperplanes $S_{u'}$ and $S_{u''}$. Note that one continuous curve in the original spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$ is mapped into two disconnected curves in the associated plane wave spacetime $(M,g_{ab})$.}
\label{Fig:PenroseNonConj}
\end{figure}
For any choice of reference geodesic, the Penrose limit preserves various properties of the original spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$ in the associated plane wave spacetime $(M, g_{ab})$ \cite{GerochHereditary, BlauHereditary, BlauNotes}. For example, conformally-flat spacetimes are always mapped to conformally-flat plane waves. Similarly, vacuum (Ricci-flat) spacetimes are always mapped to vacuum plane waves. In general, the number of linearly independent Killing fields cannot decrease after taking a Penrose limit.
For every $u \in \mathbb{R}$, the Penrose limit maps the point $\check{z}(u') \in \check{M}$ on the reference geodesic into a point with Brinkmann coordinates $u=u'$ and $v={\mathbf x}=0$ in the associated plane wave spacetime. This implies that the reference curve -- which is a null geodesic in $(\check{M},\check{g}_{ab})$ -- is mapped into a null geodesic in $(M,g_{ab})$.
Crucially, the conjugate point structure of $\check{z}(u)$ is identical in both the original and plane wave spacetimes. If $\check{z}(u')$ and $\check{z}(u'')$ are two points that are conjugate along the reference geodesic in the original spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$, the hyperplanes $S_{u'}$ and $S_{u''}$ are conjugate in the associated plane wave spacetime $(M,g_{ab})$. The multiplicities of the conjugate pairs $( \check{z}(u'), \check{z}(u''))$ and $(S_{u'}, S_{u''})$ are identical. See Fig. \ref{Fig:PenroseConj}.
It is also important to note the effect of a Penrose limit on a smooth curve in the original spacetime which intersects the reference geodesic at, say, $\check{z}(u')$. It is straightforward to show from \eqref{PenroseScale} that all such trajectories (which are not infinitesimal deformations of the reference geodesic) are mapped to the $u=u'$ hyperplane $S_{u'}$. They are geodesics with respect to the plane wave metric $g_{ab}$, and are therefore straight lines in the coordinates $(v,{\mathbf x})$ which pass through $v = {\mathbf x} = 0$. Any curves which are null or timelike at the intersection point $\check{z}(u')$ (and some that are spacelike there) are mapped to the null geodesic with Brinkmann coordinates $u=u'$ and ${\mathbf x}=0$. See Fig. \ref{Fig:PenroseNonConj}.
\subsection{Singular structure of generic scalar Green functions}
\label{Sect:GenericGreen}
We now consider a Green function $\check{G}(p, p')$ associated with the scalar wave equation
\begin{equation}
\check{L} \check{\Phi} = - 4 \pi \check{\rho}
\label{WaveEqScalarGen}
\end{equation}
in an arbitrary spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$. As in \eqref{GenericWaveEqn}, the principal part of the linear differential operator $\check{L}$ is to be given by $\check{g}^{ab} \check{\nabla}_a \check{\nabla}_b$. Unlike in the plane wave field equation \eqref{WaveEqScalar}, we allow for additional terms involving at most one derivative (so fields with, e.g., mass or non-minimal coupling to the curvature may be considered). Any Green function associated with \eqref{WaveEqScalarGen} is required to satisfy
\begin{equation}
\langle \check{G}(p,p'), \check{L}^\dag \check{\varphi}(p) \rangle = - 4 \pi \check{\varphi}(p')
\label{WaveEqScalarGenGreen}
\end{equation}
for all test functions $\check{\varphi} \in C^\infty_0(\check{M})$. Here, $\check{L}^\dag$ denotes the adjoint of $\check{L}$.
Penrose limits can be thought of as zooming in on a particular null geodesic $\check{z}(u)$. It follows that a plane wave Green function $G(p,p')$ could only be expected to describe the action of a generic Green function $\check{G}(p,p')$ near $\check{z}(u)$. A more precise statement of this form is that we would like to consider the action of $\check{G}(p,p')$ on test functions $\varphi(u,v,{\mathbf x}) \in C^\infty_0(\mathbb{R}^4)$ that are fixed in the scaled coordinates $(u,v,{\mathbf x})$ related to the Fermi-like coordinates $(u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}})$ via \eqref{PenroseScale}. Given some $\varphi$, define a 1-parameter family of test functions $\check{\varphi}_\lambda$ such that
\begin{equation}
\check{\varphi}_\lambda (u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}} ) := \varphi ( u, \lambda^{-2} \check{v}, \lambda^{-1} \check{{\mathbf x}} )
\label{ScaledTest}
\end{equation}
for all $\lambda >0$. Test functions of this type always remain near $\check{z}(u)$ when $\lambda$ is sufficiently small.
The action of any smooth function -- call it $\check{\mathcal{V}}(p)$ -- on a test function $\check{\varphi}_\lambda$ of the form \eqref{ScaledTest} is given by
\begin{align}
\langle \check{\mathcal{V}} , \check{\varphi}_\lambda \rangle &= \int \! {\rm d} u {\rm d} \check{v} {\rm d}^2 \check{{\mathbf x}} \, \check{\mathcal{V}}(u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}}) \check{\varphi}_\lambda ( u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}} )
\nonumber
\\
&= \lambda^4 \int \! {\rm d} u {\rm d} v {\rm d}^2 {\mathbf x} \, \check{\mathcal{V}} (u, \lambda^2 v, \lambda {\mathbf x}) \varphi(u,v,{\mathbf x}).
\label{SmoothScaling}
\end{align}
This clearly scales like $\lambda^4$ as $\lambda \rightarrow 0$. One would therefore expect any tail terms in $\check{G}(p,p')$ to scale like $\lambda^4$ when acting on test functions $\check{\varphi}_\lambda$.
Portions of $\langle \check{G}(p,p'), \check{\varphi}_\lambda(p) \rangle$ depending on parts of $\check{G}(p,p')$ which are singular on $\check{z}(u)$ decrease more slowly than $\lambda^4$ in the Penrose limit $\lambda \rightarrow 0$. Consider, for example, Synge's function $\check{\sigma}(p,p')$ for pairs of points that are sufficiently close that the standard definition of this object remains well-defined. Then the definition \eqref{SigDef} and the Penrose limit metric $g_{ab}$ given by \eqref{PenroseMetric} suggest that
\begin{equation}
\sigma \sim \lambda^{-2} \check{\sigma}.
\end{equation}
Hence,
\begin{equation}
\delta( \check{\sigma} ) \sim \lambda^{-2} \delta(\sigma), \quad \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{1}{\check{\sigma}} \right) \sim \lambda^{-2} \mathrm{pv} \left( \frac{ 1 }{ \sigma } \right) .
\label{SingScale}
\end{equation}
These are the most singular terms that one would expect to find in $\check{G}(p,p')$. It is therefore reasonable to expect that $\langle \check{G}, \check{\varphi}_\lambda \rangle$ scales like $\lambda^4 \lambda^{-2} =\lambda^2$ as $\lambda \rightarrow 0$.
We now use this heuristic argument as motivation to \textit{define} the ``leading order singular portion'' of a generic scalar Green function $\check{G}(p,p')$. For any $p' = \check{z}(u') \in \check{M}$ lying on the reference geodesic and any test function $\check{\varphi}_\lambda$ that is, as described above, fixed in the scaled coordinates $(u,v,{\mathbf x})$, define a linear operator $G(p,p')$ by
\begin{equation}
\langle G(p,p'), \varphi(p) \rangle := \lim_{\lambda \rightarrow 0} \lambda^{-2} \langle \check{G}(p,p'), \check{\varphi}_\lambda (p) \rangle.
\label{PlaneGreenDef}
\end{equation}
The Hadamard form \eqref{Hadamard} and the estimates \eqref{SingScale} guarantee that this limit exists at least for test functions whose supports lie sufficiently close to $p'$. We assume, however, that the limit exists for \textit{all} test functions of the form \eqref{ScaledTest}.
The notation in \eqref{PlaneGreenDef} suggests that $G(p,p')$ is a Green function in an appropriate plane wave spacetime. To establish that this is indeed the case, consider families of test functions generated by $g^{ab} \nabla_a \nabla_b \varphi$, where $g^{ab}$ is the inverse of the Penrose limit metric \eqref{PenroseMetric} and $\nabla_a$ is the associated covariant derivative operator. Substitution into \eqref{PlaneGreenDef} and use of \eqref{WaveEqScalarGenGreen} shows that
\begin{align}
\langle G, g^{ab} \nabla_a \nabla_b \varphi \rangle = \lim_{\lambda \rightarrow 0} \langle \check{G}, \check{L}^\dag \check{\varphi}_\lambda \rangle = - 4 \pi \varphi (p')
\end{align}
for all $\varphi \in C^\infty_0 (\mathbb{R}^4)$. Comparison with \eqref{BoxGWeak} shows that the operator $G(p,p')$ is a Green function for a scalar field propagating on a plane wave spacetime with metric \eqref{PenroseMetric}. It follows that appropriate components of generic Green functions behave like plane wave Green functions near null geodesics. Properties of plane wave Green functions derived in Sect. \ref{Sect:Green} may therefore be used to understand some aspects of scalar Green functions in more general spacetimes.
To summarize, fix a background spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$ in which a scalar field $\check{\Phi}$ propagates according to \eqref{WaveEqScalarGen}. Fix a point $p' \in \check{M}$ corresponding to the location of some small disturbance in $\check{\Phi}$. The effect of such a disturbance may now be followed in a neighborhood of some affinely-parameterized null geodesic $\check{z}(u)$ which passes through $p' = \check{z}(u')$. Perform a Penrose limit using $\check{z}(u)$ and the metric $\check{g}_{ab}$. Such a limit requires a choice of tetrad $\{ e_{\pm}^a(u) , e^a_i (u) \}$ along the reference geodesic. This is to be constructed using the prescription described in Sect. \ref{Sect:PenroseDef}. Defining a Fermi-like coordinate system $(u,\check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}})$ and performing the scaling \eqref{PenroseScale} produces [via \eqref{PenroseMetric}] a plane wave metric in Brinkmann coordinates with the wave profile \eqref{PenroseH}.
The (say) retarded Green function $\check{G}_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$ associated with \eqref{WaveEqScalarGenGreen} is related to the retarded plane wave Green function $G_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$ constructed in Sect. \ref{Sect:GlobalSoln}. For any test function $\varphi \in C^\infty_0(\mathbb{R}^4)$, \eqref{ScaledTest} may be rewritten as
\begin{equation}
\lim_{\lambda \rightarrow 0} \lambda^{-2} \langle \check{G}_\mathrm{ret} , \check{\varphi}_\lambda \rangle = \langle G_\mathrm{ret}, \varphi \rangle + \langle \Gamma, \varphi \rangle.
\label{PenroseGreen}
\end{equation}
Here, $\Gamma(p,p')$ is an appropriate solution to the homogeneous wave equation
\begin{equation}
\langle \Gamma, g^{ab} \nabla_a \nabla_b \varphi \rangle = 0
\end{equation}
associated with the plane wave spacetime. $\Gamma(\cdot,p')$ vanishes in the Penrose limit of any normal neighborhood of $p'$ [as computed in the original spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$], but need not vanish globally. We return to this point shortly.
For the moment, consider only the first term on the right-hand side of \eqref{PenroseGreen}. It is clear from the discussion in Sect. \ref{Sect:GlobalSoln} that, fixing $p'$, $G_\mathrm{ret}(\cdot,p')$ is proportional either to $\delta(\sigma)$ or $\mathrm{pv}(1/\sigma)$. It can switch between these two possibilities and also switch sign. If there is nothing in $\Gamma(\cdot,p')$ that remains singular on curves where $\sigma(\cdot, p') = 0$, such terms provide a precise sense in which generic retarded Green functions $\check{G}_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$ have singularities that ``look like'' either $\delta(\sigma)$ or $\mathrm{pv}(1/\sigma)$ near null geodesics [where $\sigma(\cdot, p')=0$]. It is simple to determine which of these forms is appropriate by considering the points conjugate to $p'$ along $\check{z}(u)$. These may be found by first using \eqref{PenroseH} to construct $\mathbf{H}(u)$ from $\check{R}_{abc}{}^{d}(\check{z}(u))$. $\mathbf{H}(u)$ can then be used to compute the matrix ${\mathbf B}(u,u')$ defined by \eqref{JacobiSpatial} and \eqref{ABboundary}. A point $\check{z}(\tau_n)$ is conjugate to $\check{z}(u') = p'$ if and only if $\det {\mathbf B}(\tau_n, u') = 0$. The multiplicity of such a conjugate pair is equal to the nullity of ${\mathbf B}(\tau_n,u')$.
The discrete set of points conjugate to $\check{z}(u')$ on $\check{z}(u)$ generically divide the reference geodesic into a number of regions corresponding to the $\mathcal{N}_n(u')$ defined at the beginning of Sect. \ref{Sect:Geometry} (recall Fig. \ref{Fig:Normal}). Rules \eqref{Rule1}-\eqref{Rule4} may be used to find the leading order singular structure of $\check{G}_\mathrm{ret}(\cdot, p')$ in each of these regions using only the multiplicities of intervening conjugate points.
This argument takes into account only the contribution to $\check{G}_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$ from the first term on the right-hand side of \eqref{PenroseGreen}. In general, the second term on the right-hand side of this equation may also be important. It could be required if, as described in the introduction, null geodesics emanating from $p'$ later intersect $\check{z}(u)$ at a point that is not conjugate to $p'$. Such phenomena introduce new singularities in a neighborhood of the reference geodesic whose locations cannot be predicted using only the limited geometric information preserved in the Penrose limit. As illustrated in Fig. \ref{Fig:PenroseNonConj}, Penrose limits map any null geodesic in the full spacetime which intersects the reference geodesic at, say, $\check{z}(u')$ into a null geodesic in the plane wave spacetime confined to the hyperplane $S_{u'}$. One might therefore expect to take into account the singularities transported by such geodesics using an appropriate $\Gamma(p,p')$ in \eqref{PenroseGreen} that is singular when $u=u'$, $v \in \mathbb{R}$, and ${\mathbf x} = 0$. If there is a surface full of null geodesics that transversely intersect the reference geodesic, an appropriate $\Gamma(p,p')$ might be singular throughout $S_{u'}$. It is not, however, clear precisely what form $\Gamma(p,p')$ should take.
As a very simple model for this phenomenon, consider the field
\begin{equation}
\Phi(p) = \delta(\sigma(p,p')) + \alpha \delta (\sigma(p,p''))
\end{equation}
in flat spacetime with $\alpha$ an arbitrary constant and $\sigma(p', p'') \neq 0$. For $p$ different from $p'$ and $p''$, this satisfies the homogeneous equation $\nabla^a \nabla_a \Phi = 0$. It might be viewed as approximating a Green function in curved spacetime near some small segment of a null geodesic emanating from $p'$. The term proportional to $\alpha$ schematically represents the effect of a transversely intersecting null geodesic not associated with a conjugate point.
Consider a null geodesic starting at $p'$ and construct a Fermi-like coordinate system $(u,\check{v},\check{{\mathbf x}})$ as described above. Adjusting the origin of the $u$ coordinate appropriately, $\Phi(p)$ has the explicit form
\begin{align}
\Phi & (u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}} ) = \delta \Big( - u \check{v} + \frac{1}{2} | \check{{\mathbf x}} |^2 \Big)
\nonumber
\\
&~ + \alpha \delta \Big( -(u-u'') (\check{v}- \check{v}'') + \frac{1}{2} | \check{{\mathbf x}} - \check{{\mathbf x}}''|^2 \Big).
\end{align}
If the light cone of $p''$ intersects the reference geodesic somewhere, $\check{v}'' \neq 0$. Scaling the coordinates as in \eqref{PenroseScale} then results in
\begin{align}
\Phi = & ~ \lambda^{-2} \delta \Big( - u v + \frac{1}{2} | {\mathbf x} |^2 \Big)
\nonumber
\\
& ~ + \alpha \delta \Big( (u-u'') \check{v}'' + \frac{1}{2} | \check{{\mathbf x}}''|^2 \Big).
\end{align}
It is clear that the second line of this equation becomes negligible as $\lambda \rightarrow 0$. This suggests -- but does not prove -- that transverse intersections of the light cone not associated with conjugate points do not survive the Penrose limit at all [i.e., $\Gamma = 0$ in \eqref{PenroseGreen}]. It is possible that a different result might arise if, e.g., the intersection point were conjugate along some of the connecting geodesics, but not along the reference geodesic.
We can only conclude that there might exist cases where $\Gamma \neq 0$ in \eqref{PenroseGreen}. If so, the singular support of $\Gamma$ necessarily extends to $|v| \rightarrow \infty$. Such singularities appear quite different from those associated with $G_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$. There is a sense in which they are ``frozen'' at specific affine times on the reference geodesic.
\subsubsection*{Examples}
We now discuss some consequences of the above results. General statements are made regarding Green functions associated with conformally-flat spacetimes and an important class of vacuum spacetimes. Some more specific examples are also mentioned briefly.
The simplest general statement following from the argument of Sect. \ref{Sect:GenericGreen} concerns scalar Green functions in spacetimes whose metrics are conformally flat. As noted above, all Penrose limits of conformally-flat spacetimes are conformally-flat plane waves. Furthermore, all conformally-flat plane waves have metrics $g_{ab}$ with the form \eqref{PlaneWaveConfFlat}. It is evident from this together with \eqref{PlaneWaveGen} and \eqref{JacobiSpatial}-\eqref{ZeroDet} that all conjugate points in such spacetimes have multiplicity 2. The plane wave Green function $G_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$ is therefore given by \eqref{GretDeg}. Via \eqref{PenroseGreen}, a similar structure also appears in the Green function $\check{G}_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$ associated with the full spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$. This provides the sense in which the 2-fold singular structure \eqref{SingStruct2} is present in retarded scalar Green functions associated with all conformally-flat spacetimes.
For null geodesics passing through a vacuum (Ricci-flat) region of some spacetime $(\check{M},\check{g}_{ab})$, the associated Penrose limit is a vacuum plane wave with the metric \eqref{PlaneWaveRiccFlat}. The wave profile in such a case satisfies
\begin{equation}
\mathrm{Tr} \, \mathbf{H}(u) = \delta^{ij} \check{R}_{+i+j} (\check{z}(u))= 0.
\end{equation}
If
\begin{equation}
\check{R}_{+i+j} (\check{z}(u)) = h(u) \bar{H}_{ij}
\label{hRiemann}
\end{equation}
for some constant matrix $\bar{\mathbf{H}}$, the resulting plane wave is said to be linearly polarized. An appropriate rotation of the spatial components $e^a_i(u)$ of the tetrad used to perform the Penrose limit can then be used to set
\begin{equation}
\bar{\mathbf{H}} = \pm \left(
\begin{matrix}
1 & 0 \\
0 & -1
\end{matrix}
\right) .
\end{equation}
It follows that the $h(u)$ appearing in \eqref{hRiemann} can be identified (up to a sign) with the $h_{+}(u)$ in \eqref{PlaneWaveRiccFlat}. If $h(u)$ is either entirely non-negative or entirely non-positive, it is clear from \eqref{JacobiSpatial}-\eqref{ZeroDet} that any conjugate points which may exist must have multiplicity 1. $G_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$ then has the form \eqref{Green4Fold}. It follows from \eqref{PenroseGreen} that in the vacuum case where the Riemann tensor along the reference geodesic has the form \eqref{hRiemann} and the $h(u)$ appearing in that equation does not pass through zero (but may sometimes equal zero), $\check{G}_\mathrm{ret}(p,p')$ contains the repeating 4-fold pattern of singular structures \eqref{SingStruct4}.
Many of the explicit computations of four-dimensional Green functions found in the literature fall into one of the two classes of spacetimes just described. In the conformally-flat case, scalar Green functions have been computed in both the Einstein static universe and Bertotti-Robinson spacetimes \cite{MarcPrivate}. As expected from our argument using Penrose limits, the singular structures of retarded Green functions associated with both of these spacetimes have been found to have a 2-fold pattern with the form \eqref{SingStruct2}.
Another important example in the literature is the retarded scalar Green function associated with Schwarzschild spacetime. All Penrose limits of Schwarzschild\footnote{Some null geodesics of Schwarzschild intersect the central singularity. The associated Penrose limits are then singular plane waves. Before this point, however, all discussion above remains valid.} have the form \eqref{hRiemann} with $h(u) \geq 0$ \cite{BlauNotes,QED2}. We therefore predict that retarded Green functions in Schwarzschild possess the 4-fold singular structure \eqref{SingStruct4}. This is indeed what was observed in the explicit computations carried out in \cite{CausticsSchw}.
More generally, we may consider scalar Green functions associated with all Kerr spacetimes. Penrose limits of Kerr (and all other Petrov type D spacetimes) are discussed in \cite{QED2}. It is easily shown from this that Penrose limits of Kerr result in wave profiles with the form \eqref{hRiemann}. For a reference geodesic with specific angular momentum $l_z$ about the symmetry axis and Carter constant $q$, it is shown in \cite{QED2} that
\begin{equation}
h(u) = \frac{ 3 M [ (a-l_z)^2 + q ] }{ [ r^2(u) + a^2 \cos^2 \theta(u)]^{5/2} }.
\end{equation}
Here, $M$ and $a M$ are the mass and angular momentum associated with the Kerr background. $r(u)$ and $\theta(u)$ are the Boyer-Lindquist coordinates of the reference geodesic at the affine time $u$. It is clear that $h(u)$ cannot change sign, so we predict that retarded scalar Green functions in Kerr spacetime contain the 4-fold singular structure \eqref{SingStruct4}.
\subsection{Tensor Green functions}
\label{Sect:TensorGeneralize}
Thus far, we have considered only Green functions associated with the propagation of scalar fields. It is straightforward to partially extend our results to also allow for fields with nonzero tensor rank. In particular, we now show that the leading order singular structure of tensor Green functions in arbitrary spacetimes can be understood using appropriate plane wave Green functions. No attempt is made, however, to also derive the form of those plane wave Green functions as we have done in the scalar case.
As an example, consider a field $\check{A}_a$ propagating on a spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$ and satisfying
\begin{equation}
\check{L} \check{A}_a = - 4 \pi \rho_a.
\label{TensorWave}
\end{equation}
Here $\check{L}$ is any second-order linear differential operator whose principal part is equal to the d'Alembertian $\check{g}^{ab} \check{\nabla}_a \check{\nabla}_b$. The wave equation \eqref{TensorWave} is naturally associated with Green functions $\check{G}_{a}{}^{a'}(p,p')$ satisfying
\begin{equation}
\langle \check{G}_{a}{}^{a'} (p,p'), \check{L}^\dag \check{\varphi}^a(p) \rangle = - 4 \pi \check{\varphi}^{a'}(p')
\label{TensorWaveGreen}
\end{equation}
for all smooth vector fields $\check{\varphi}^a(p)$ with compact support.
Now choose a point $p' \in \check{M}$ and consider the behavior of $G_{a}{}^{a'}(\cdot, p')$ near a null geodesic $\check{z}(u)$ passing through $p' = \check{z}(u')$. As above, we choose a tetrad and construct a Fermi-like coordinate system $(u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}})$ in a neighborhood of $\check{z}(u)$. It is also useful to consider the scaled coordinates $(u,v,{\mathbf x})$ defined by \eqref{PenroseScale}.
We now seek an analog of \eqref{PlaneGreenDef}. This requires choosing an appropriate family of test functions similar to \eqref{ScaledTest}. Given an arbitrary test function $\varphi^\mu (u, v, {\mathbf x})$ in the plane wave spacetime which results from the Penrose limit of $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$ and $\check{z}(u)$, reverse the coordinate transformation \eqref{PenroseScale} to obtain
\begin{subequations}
\begin{align}
\check{\varphi}_\lambda^u (u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}} ) := \varphi^u (u, \lambda^{-2} \check{v}, \lambda^{-1} \check{{\mathbf x}} )
\\
\check{\varphi}_\lambda^{\check{v}} (u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}} ) := \lambda^2 \varphi^v (u, \lambda^{-2} \check{v}, \lambda^{-1} \check{{\mathbf x}} )
\\
\check{\varphi}_\lambda^{\check{i}} (u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}} ) := \lambda \varphi^i (u, \lambda^{-2} \check{v}, \lambda^{-1} \check{{\mathbf x}} )
\end{align}
\end{subequations}
in the unscaled coordinates $(u, \check{v}, \check{{\mathbf x}})$. Similarly, choose some covector $v_{\mu'}$ which remains fixed (for all $\lambda>0$) in the scaled coordinates $(u, v, {\mathbf x})$. Then define
\begin{equation}
\langle G_{\mu}{}^{\mu'}, \varphi^\mu v_{\mu'} \rangle := \lim_{\lambda \rightarrow 0} \lambda^{-2} \langle \check{G}_{\check{\mu}}{}^{\check{\mu}'} , \check{\varphi}_\lambda^{\check{\mu}} v_{\check{\mu}'} \rangle.
\end{equation}
Considering test functions of the form $g^{\nu \rho} \nabla_\nu \nabla_\rho \varphi^\mu$, where $g_{\mu\nu}$ denotes the Penrose limit metric \eqref{PenroseMetric}, it is straightforward to show using \eqref{TensorWaveGreen} that
\begin{equation}
\langle G_{\mu}{}^{\mu'} , v_{\mu'} g^{\nu \rho} \nabla_\nu \nabla_\rho \varphi^\mu \rangle = - 4 \pi \varphi^{\mu'}(p') v_{\mu'}.
\end{equation}
It follows that the operator $G_{\mu}{}^{\mu'}(p,p')$ is, as the notation suggests, a Green function associated with the plane wave spacetime obtained by taking a Penrose limit with $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$ and $\check{z}(u)$.
This argument carries through essentially without change for Green functions associated with all higher-rank tensor fields. We have thus established that there is a sense in which the leading order singular behavior of all tensor wave equations can be understood by considering appropriate plane wave Green functions.
\section{Discussion}
This paper discusses the transport of disturbances in scalar fields propagating on curved spacetimes. In particular, we study how light cone caustics affect the character of singularities appearing in the relevant Green functions. This problem is addressed in two steps. First, explicit Green functions are obtained for massless scalar fields propagating on all non-singular four-dimensional plane wave spacetimes. We then show in Sect. \ref{Sect:Penrose} that Penrose limits provide a sense in which certain aspects of these solutions are universal: The leading order singular structure of scalar Green functions associated with essentially all four-dimensional spacetimes can be described by appropriate plane wave Green functions.
The plane wave Green functions we obtain are summarized in Sect. \ref{Sect:GlobalSoln}. They are globally defined and fully explicit [up to the calculation of the $2 \times 2$ matrices ${\mathbf A}$ and ${\mathbf B}$ defined by \eqref{JacobiSpatial} and \eqref{ABboundary}]. Almost everywhere, plane wave Green functions are found to have a ``Hadamard-like'' component. Using $\sigma$ and $\Delta$ to denote Synge's function and the van Vleck determinant (which are well-defined almost everywhere in plane wave spacetimes), we find that there exist Green functions that switch between the forms $\pm \sqrt{|\Delta|} \delta(\sigma)$ and $\pm \sqrt{|\Delta|} \mathrm{pv} (1/\pi \sigma)$ after each pass through a conjugate hyperplane.
As described in Sect. \ref{Sect:GenericGreen}, there is a sense in which (say) retarded Green functions $\check{G}_\mathrm{ret}(\cdot, p')$ satisfying \eqref{WaveEqScalarGenGreen} in generic spacetimes contain similar Hadamard-like terms near any future-directed null geodesic emanating from $p'$. Fixing some point $p$ on such a null geodesic (that is not conjugate to $p'$), precisely which Hadamard form is appropriate depends only on the pattern of multiplicities of all points conjugate to $p'$ that lie between $p'$ and $p$. Following rules \eqref{Rule1}-\eqref{Rule4}, crossing a non-degenerate (multiplicity 1) conjugate point is found to change a Green function involving $\sqrt{|\Delta|} \delta(\sigma)$ into one involving $\sqrt{|\Delta|} \mathrm{pv} (1/\pi \sigma)$. Conversely, non-degenerate conjugate points transform Green functions proportional to $\sqrt{|\Delta|} \mathrm{pv} (1/\pi \sigma)$ into ones proportional to $- \sqrt{|\Delta|} \delta(\sigma)$. One pass through a conjugate point with multiplicity two is seen to have the same effect as two passes through conjugate points with multiplicity one. This merely reverses signs: $\sqrt{|\Delta|} \delta(\sigma) \rightarrow - \sqrt{|\Delta|} \delta(\sigma)$ or $\sqrt{|\Delta|} \mathrm{pv} (1/\pi \sigma) \rightarrow - \sqrt{|\Delta|} \mathrm{pv} (1/\pi \sigma)$.
In this way, we have derived and made significantly more precise Ori's comments \cite{Ori} regarding changes in the singularity structure of Green functions due to light cone caustics. The result is a simple universal rule that is -- unlike most results regarding caustics -- naturally stated in terms of distributions on the spacetime manifold (as opposed to statements involving Fourier transforms).
It is interesting to note that the object $\sigma$ appearing in the leading order singular structure of a generic Green function $\check{G}_\mathrm{ret}$ is not the world function $\check{\sigma}$ associated with the spacetime $(\check{M}, \check{g}_{ab})$. $\check{\sigma}$ is typically ill-defined when its arguments are widely separated. $\sigma$ is, instead, the world function of an appropriate plane wave spacetime obtained via a Penrose limit. This \textit{is} well-defined almost everywhere. Similar comments also apply to the van Vleck determinant $\Delta$, which effectively measures the ``strength'' of the leading order singular terms appearing in a generic retarded Green function. Explicit forms for both $\sigma$ and $\Delta$ are easily computed in arbitrary spacetimes using the results of Sects. \ref{Sect:Bitensors} and \ref{Sect:PenroseDef}.
The rules we derive for changes in a Green function's singular structure have a simple heuristic interpretation. One might think of degenerate conjugate points as events where bundles of light rays are perfectly focused in every direction. Sharp solutions involving $\delta(\sigma)$ might therefore be expected to remain sharp after passing through a degenerate conjugate point. Similarly, more diffuse solutions like $\mathrm{pv} (1/\sigma)$ might be expect to remain diffuse in such an encounter. Conjugate points with multiplicity 1 are different. They focus null geodesics in only one transverse direction. It is therefore reasonable to expect sharp solutions like $\delta(\sigma)$ to be ``blurred out'' by such structures. Somewhat less intuitive is that the nature of this blurring is always such that another pass through a non-degenerate conjugate point ``resharpens'' the field back into a form involving $\delta(\sigma)$.
An important special case of this work concerns the behavior of retarded Green functions associated with scalar fields in the Kerr spacetime. All conjugate points appearing on null geodesics of Kerr are non-degenerate. Scalar Green functions in Kerr therefore change singularity structure according to the 4-fold pattern \eqref{SingStruct4}. This result includes as a special case the 4-fold behavior observed by Dolan and Ottewill \cite{CausticsSchw} in Schwarzschild Green functions.
The problem of wave propagation in curved spacetime is a very general one with many applications. Our results may therefore be useful in a number of fields. One possible application concerns the computation of self-forces: What is the force exerted by a small object on itself in a curved spacetime? One may assume that the total field is the retarded solution and find the force that this exerts on a given body. In generic spacetimes, the result depends on the object's past history at least via the tail term $\mathcal{V}(p,p')$ appearing in \eqref{GretGeneral}. It has, however, been less clear precisely how light cone caustics in the distant past contribute to an object's self-field (see, e.g., \cite{CausticsNariai, CausticsSchw,Theo} for some related discussion). More generally, it is important to understand ``how much'' of a charge's past history influences its current self-field. Our results may be useful in answering this question.
Other applications could exist even in systems where the spacetime curvature is negligible. Wave equations on curved spacetimes are mathematically equivalent to various physically different problems in flat spacetime. For example, one might use the same equations to describe the propagation of acoustic waves in a moving fluid or electromagnetic waves in certain classes of permeable materials \cite{AnalogGrav, Analog2}. It would be interesting to translate the results of this paper to more readily apply to problems such as these. The physical meaning of the Penrose limit would be particularly interesting to understand in some of these ``analog gravity'' systems.
There are two additional ways in which this work could be extended. Most obviously, it would be extremely useful to generalize our results to apply to wave equations involving tensor fields with nonzero rank. The singularity structure of disturbances in, e.g., electromagnetic fields and metric perturbations could then be understood in a relatively simple way. We carry out one portion of this task in Sect. \ref{Sect:TensorGeneralize}, where Penrose limits are used to relate generic tensor Green functions to appropriate plane wave Green functions. Although there does not appear to be any significant obstacle to doing so, we have not made any attempt to compute plane wave Green functions for higher-rank tensor fields in this paper. A complete discussion of the leading order singularity structure of tensor Green functions must therefore wait for later work.
It might also be interesting to extend our work to higher numbers of dimensions. In the four-dimensional case considered here, the rules describing how Green functions transition between different singular structures suggest that passing through a conjugate point with multiplicity 2 is equivalent to two passes through conjugate points with multiplicity 1. While it appears likely that such a rule generalizes for larger multiplicities, it would be interesting to verify this directly. Is one pass through a conjugate point with multiplicity $n\geq 1$ in a spacetime with dimension $d \geq n+2$ equivalent to $n$ passes through conjugate points with multiplicity 1? Questions related to higher dimensions are perhaps not only of mathematical interest. Higher-dimensional plane wave spacetimes and Penrose limits have found extensive use in string theory and related subjects \cite{String1, String2, String3, BlauNotes}.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 5,703 |
Halloween: Resurrection ou Halloween : La Résurrection au Québec est un film d'horreur américain réalisé par Rick Rosenthal et sorti en 2002. Ce long-métrage fait partie de la série de films Halloween.
Le film met en scène Bianca Kajlich dans le rôle de Sara Moyer, Busta Rhymes dans celui de Freddie Harris et Jamie Lee Curtis reprenant le rôle de Laurie Strode. Les événements se déroulent trois ans après le précédent film, Halloween, 20 ans après.
Synopsis
Accroche
Enfermée dans un asile psychiatrique après s'être aperçue de son erreur en ayant décapité un innocent et non Michael Myers, Laurie Strode attend le retour de son frère. Encore une fois, sa crainte est justifiée. Bien décidée à ne plus fuir, elle engage une ultime fois la lutte contre son frère. Après ce prologue, on nous transporte à Haddonfield dans la demeure délabrée de Michael Myers, où s'organise un reality show à l'occasion d'Halloween. Les participants doivent rester toute la nuit dans la maison du tueur, ils portent sur eux des caméras en plus de celles disposées dans la maison. Mais alors qu'un faux Michael Myers entre en scène, le véritable tueur rentre chez lui. Difficile dans ce cas de distinguer le tueur de son imitateur…
Synopsis détaillé
Trois ans après les événements qui ont eu lieu en Californie, Laurie Strode a été envoyée dans un hôpital psychiatrique après avoir décapité un ambulancier au lieu de Michael Myers. Michael avait attaqué l'homme, lui avait écrasé le larynx de sorte qu'il ne puisse pas crier et mis son masque. Michael s'est ensuite caché pendant les trois années suivantes. Le , toujours en captivité, Laurie fait semblant d'être lourdement médicamentée en se comportant comme si elle avait un extrême trouble dissociatif. En fait, elle cache ses pilules et se prépare pour la confrontation inévitable avec Michael. Par ailleurs, un agent de sécurité nommé Willie trouve le corps décapité de son patron, la tête dans la machine à laver, et est ensuite tué par Michael. Quand Michael apparaît enfin, Laurie l'attire dans un piège. Alors qu'il ne lui reste plus qu'à prendre son temps pour tuer Michael, il feint d'être un homme horrifié qui tente d'enlever son masque. Laurie ne peut s'empêcher de vouloir s'assurer que c'est bien son frère cette fois-ci. Michael en tire profit, et la renverse sur le toit où ils basculent tous deux. Leur lutte finit à la verticale quand elle s'empale sur son couteau. Elle l'embrasse alors et dit : « Je te verrai en enfer ! » avant de tomber. Chasse terminée ou non, Michael rentre chez lui.
L'année suivante, le , Michael vit dans une section de tunnels sous sa maison d'enfance. Six étudiants, Bill Woodlake, Donna Chang, Jen Dantzig, Jim Morgan, Rudy Grimes et Sara Moyer gagnent un concours sur une émission de télé réalité diffusée sur Internet réalisée par Freddie Harris et son assistante, Nora Winston, dans lequel ils doivent passer la nuit dans la maison d'enfance de Michael Myers. Le but de l'émission est de découvrir ce qui l'a amené à tuer. Le jour d'Halloween, ils commencent à chercher dans toute la maison quelque chose qui pourrait fournir un indice sur le passé de Michael, et décident de se séparer en trois groupes pour couvrir plus de terrain. Ils ont tous des caméras accrochées à la tête qui filment ce qu'ils voient en direct. Le copain informaticien de Sara, Myles "Deckard" Barton, regarde l'émission lors d'une fête d'Halloween.
L'évènement tombe terriblement mal vu que Michael est rentré à la maison, et il tue le cameraman Charley en le poignardant dans le cou avec un trépied de caméra. Par la suite, Bill est poignardé dans la tête, Donna est empalée sur une pointe en métal, Jen est décapité, la tête de Jim est écrasée, Rudy est accroché à une porte par couteaux, et Nora est étranglée avec un cordon et poignardée dans l'estomac. Myles se rend compte que les décès sont réels tandis que le reste de la fête prétend qu'ils sont mis en scène. Lorsque Myles commence à aider Sara à sortir de la maison, Freddie tente de tuer Michael. Michael survit et poignarde Freddie. Quand Sara se bat contre Michael avec une tronçonneuse, elle coupe des fils électriques qui provoquent un incendie. Après cela, Freddie arrive tant bien que mal et se bat à nouveau contre Michael. Cette fois, il l'électrocute, et sauve la vie de Sara, coincée sous une des tables par des gros câbles. Le garage de Michael brûle tandis que Freddie et Sara s'enfuient.
Dans la scène finale du film, le corps de Michael est envoyé à la morgue. Alors qu'une femme ouvre le sac mortuaire, il ouvre les yeux avec un cri en fond sonore.
Fiche technique
Titre original et français : Halloween: Resurrection
Titre québécois : Halloween : La Résurrection
Réalisation : Rick Rosenthal
Scénario : Larry Brand et Sean Hood
Musique : Danny Lux
Direction artistique : David McLean
Décors : Johanna Mazur
Costumes : Brad Gough
Photographie : David Geddes
Montage : Robert A. Ferretti
Production : Moustapha Akkad, Paul Freeman, Malek Akkad (associé)
Sociétés de production : Dimension Films, Nightfall Productions, Trancas International Films
Sociétés de distribution :
Miramax Films (États-Unis)
TFM Distribution (France)
RCV Film Distribution (Belgique)
Alliance Vivafilm (Québec)
Budget : dollars US
Pays de production :
Langue originale : anglais
Format : couleur - 35 mm - 2,35:1 - son DTS - Dolby Digital - SDDS
Genre : horreur, slasher
Durée : 90 minutes
Dates de sortie :
États-Unis, Québec :
France, Belgique :
Classification :
États-Unis : , les moins de 17 ans doivent être accompagnés d'un adulte.
France : interdit aux moins de 12 ans
Belgique : interdit aux moins de 16 ans
Québec : les moins de 13 ans doivent être accompagnés d'un adulte
Distribution
Brad Loree : Michael Myers
Busta Rhymes ( : Christophe Peyroux ; : Daniel Lesourd) : Freddie Harris
Bianca Kajlich ( : Olivia Dalric ; : Valérie Gagné) : Sara Moyer
Sean Patrick Thomas ( : Xavier Thiam ; : Marc-André Bélanger) : Rudy Grimes
Daisy McCrackin ( : Caroline Delaunay ; : Catherine Allard) : Donna Chang
Katee Sackhoff ( : Manon Arsenault) : Jenna Danzig
Jamie Lee Curtis ( : Françoise Vallon ; : Madeleine Arsenault) : Laurie Strode
Tyra Banks ( : Géraldine Asselin ; : Joëlle Morin) : Nora Winston
Luke Kirby ( : Martin Watier) : Jim Morgan
Thomas Ian Nicholas ( : Sébastien Rajotte) : Bill Woodlake
Ryan Merriman ( : Hugolin Chevrette) : Myles Barton
Billy Kay ( : Dimitri Rougeul ; : Philippe Martin) : Scott
Brad Sihvon : Charley Albans
Brent Chapman ( : Pascal Casanova) : Franklin Munroe
Dan Joffre : Willie Haines
Gus Lynch : Harold Trumble
Haig Sutherland : Aron
Lorena Gale : Infirmière Wells
Marisa Rudiak : Infirmière Phillips
Ananda Thorson : coroner
Rick Rosenthal ( : Michel Fortin) : le professeur (caméo)
Version française réalisée par Alter Ego ; direction artistique : Christèle Wurmser ; adaptation des dialogues : Sylvie Caurier
Version québécoise réalisée par Cinélume ; direction artistique : Natalie Hamel-Roy ; adaptation des dialogues : Bérengère Rouard et Thibaud de Courrèges
Production
Après le succès d' Halloween, 20 ans après au box office, 73,000,000 de $ dans le monde, le studio Miramax et Moustapha Akkad envisagent de commencer la production d'une suite. En 1999, les producteurs ont alors l'idée de faire une suite sans Michael Myers, à l'image d'Halloween 3 : Le Sang du sorcier mais le producteur Moustapha Akkad refuse l'idée. Le titre de travail est alors Halloween H2K: Evil never dies puis changé en Halloween: The Homecoming en 2001 mais les producteurs veulent un titre qui explique clairement le retour de Michael Myers après la fin du film. Donc, en , le film est officiellement rebaptisé Halloween: Resurrection. Au départ le film doit sortir en octobre 2000 mais il est repoussé en 2001 puis finalement en .
Plusieurs réalisateurs sont approchés pour la réalisation, dont Dwight H. Little, déjà réalisateur du film Halloween 4 : Le Retour de Michael Myers, mais c'est finalement Rick Rosenthal, réalisateur d'Halloween 2, qui est choisi pour mettre en scène ce film. Les producteurs avaient envisagés d'offrir un rôle à Danielle Harris, qui avait joué Jamie Lloyd dans Halloween 4 et Halloween 5, mais ils ont finalement renoncé. Jamie Lee Curtis accepte ici de reprendre son rôle dans le but de le faire mourir définitivement. Pour le rôle de Sara, l'héroïne principale, Jacinda Barrett est alors approchée par la production mais c'est finalement Bianca Kajlich qui décroche le rôle. Néanmoins, l'actrice a de grandes difficultés à crier durant le tournage, elle est donc doublée pour les hurlements.
Accueil critique
Le film est très mal reçu par la critique. Sur le site Rotten Tomatoes, il y a seulement 11% d'avis favorables pour 65 votes. Pour Première c'est , pour Mcinéma c'est . Pour le New York Times c'est un film .
Commentaire
Le meurtre de Nora (Tyra Banks) a été supprimé du film, Mais la vidéo de son meurtre est disponible sur internet (Halloween Resurrection Nora's Death). Son meurtre dure que 38 secondes "Nora regarde les écrans quand Michael Myers se dirige derrière elle et l'étrangle avec un long câble de télévision".
Notes et références
Liens externes
Page du film sur halloweenmovies.com
Slasher
Film réalisé par Rick Rosenthal
Film d'horreur américain
Film Halloween
Film sur la téléréalité
Film se déroulant dans les années 2000
Film américain sorti en 2002
Film de Miramax
Film de Dimension Films
Suite de film américain
Film doublé au Québec | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 965 |
Gorzkie Pole ist ein Dorf der Gemeinde Pobiedziska im Powiat Poznański in der Woiwodschaft Großpolen im westlichen Zentral-Polen. Der Ort befindet sich etwa 5 km westlich von Pobiedziska und 20 km nordöstlich der Landeshauptstadt Poznań und gehört zum Schulzenamt Borowo-Młyn.
Geschichte
Mit der Besetzung durch Deutschland wurde der Ort unter dem Namen Gorzkiepole am 26. Oktober 1939 in Bitterfeld umbenannt.
In den Jahren 1975 bis 1998 gehörte der Ort zur Woiwodschaft Posen.
Einzelnachweise
Ort der Woiwodschaft Großpolen
Gmina Pobiedziska | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 6,434 |
O Tagora é um modelo de luxo da Talbot.
Tangora
Talbot Tagora | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 4,845 |
Q: How to prevent Tkinter root window from taking over focus? I'm writing a program where most of user interaction happens in Windows Command line, however I use Tkinter for some File and Directory selection dialogs.
When I start up program by clicking .py file (In IDLE the problem doesn't occur), command line is launched and when Tk root window is instantiated, it takes over the focus from command line, even if I withdraw it.
This behaviour requires extra action from user to focus back on command line window.
Here is some code sample to reproduce the problem.
from tkinter import Tk
root_window = Tk()
root_window.withdraw()
name = input("Enter your name:\n")
print("Nice to meet you, " + name)
How do I keep Windows Command line in focus?
A: Strange enough, now your example works for me in the intended way - even though, ten minutes ago, it showed the problem you have reported. The only other thing I tried out inbetween was to add a latency to the withdraw call:
root_window.after(1, lambda: root_window.withdraw())
It seemed to also work as intended with a latency argument of zero, but now I am not sure what exactly changed the behaviour.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 4,265 |
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