‘I’ve been sentenced, Modesta. The doctor gave me five or six years at the most. But I thank God for these years that He has still granted me because I know that they will be enough to mould you and make your vocation blossom from your soul. I can tell you keep it hidden in your breast like a precious jewel. I will close my eyes only when I see you wearing this habit that I, too, wear. Because you should know that my entire trousseau as Christ’s bride will go to you when I die. A costly trousseau, which fits you perfectly, as though it were a sign from God. When I was your age, I was the same size as you.’
Did you hear that? There’s more:
‘Don’t be frightened, Modesta. You’re frightened because you don’t yet know the blissful sweetness of renunciation and humility. Your youthful fibre is still too full of animal vitality, of physical well-being. In fact, I spoke to Sister Costanza about it. We would like you, please, to decrease your food intake, at least in the evening. By now you are all grown up and healthy. Any denial at the table can only help you pray. Starting tomorrow, your supper will be bread and milk like the lay sisters. But, as I said, don’t be frightened. I won’t force you, and to prove it to you, I would like you to read a copy of my will. The original has been entrusted to a notary in Modica, for safekeeping … You see? It says that you will receive this annuity even if God does not grant you the grace to become part of His ranks. And so sincere is my desire to do nothing but honour your wishes that, here, attached to the will, is a document signed by the doctor confirming that you lost your virginity due to causes … but never mind. I don’t want to remind you of all those terrible things, that infernal suffering. The important thing is that if after my death you would prefer to re-enter the world, this document will be of help to you, since you must know that no man will wed a girl unless he is assured of her physical and moral integrity.’
And on and on for days, for months. Here’s more, even if you no longer care to listen:
‘Don’t be afraid, these documents are proof that I do not wish to force you to do anything, and that, whether I am dead or alive, you will only take your vows when and if you are ready. But I also know that God will not call me to Him before I have carried out this charge. Perhaps all my suffering had only this as its purpose: to lead you to Him.’
Whether because of this steady stream day after day, or the supper of bread and milk that made me wake up hungry and tired, the effect of that hatred deserted me. The doctor had given her five or six years, at least. And what if the illness that was buoying her up was so powerful that it might actually sustain her until she completed her mission? Oh, no! That was too many years, even if I had achieved the power of hate and the cunning of prudence. Indeed, it was precisely because of these achievements that I now recognized the fragility of my nature and all natures. I was afraid I would not be able to keep up the lie for such a long time. No! Even just five or six years were too many. I either had to run away from here or be fortunate enough to have her God call her back to His eternal side as soon as possible.
16
Running away was unthinkable. Where could she go? Even if she were able to get across the lava wall that surrounded the convent, which wouldn’t be easy, Mimmo said it took five or six hours to reach the town on foot … what was its name? To her dismay, she realized that in all those years she had studied French, even Latin, but she had not spoken to anyone who wasn’t a nun or a priest. She sensed that their language was different from the one she would have to speak outside, in the world. With Mimmo it was different. Like it or not, he was part of the convent.
Thinking about these things, the hatred left her, giving way to a lassitude that spread through her chest and arms, forcing her to lie down on the sun-warmed bench. Was hate deserting her? Or was all that milk they made her drink in the evening diluting the strong feeling that had earlier sustained her? Even if she wanted to dream, like in a novel, once she reached the town, would she be able to elude the carabinieri? Could she find a position as a maid — how charming she would look with her apron and starched white cap — in a house where she would meet an officer, a friend of the family — or better yet, why not? the son himself — who, beguiled by her charm, would ask her to marry him? Where had she read all this? Ah yes! It was that pathetic Annina, the lay sister, who was punished endlessly for reading that drivel. But even if that officer asked her to be his wife, she wouldn’t be able to marry him. Men don’t marry women who have lost their virginity. Mother Leonora had me in her grip. There was no way out. If only I had that certificate! Then too, if I ran away I would lose the inheritance I had worked so hard to come by. Maybe it was better to stay. On the whole, Mother Leonora was kind to me; she had forgiven me, after all. And perhaps in time she would become gentle again, like before …
Mimmo’s face, blurred by the sun, appears against the sky, up there among the vine leaves …
‘You shouldn’t give in to the lure of the sun like that, princess. Being poor is a venom that weakens us; the lack of food muddles the brain. I have to agree with Giovanni on this. He says that the poor fancy the rich as being kind and generous so that they won’t feel even more humiliated at having to kowtow and revere them.’
Mimmo was right, that sun was harmful. It had muddled my thinking. It was only my awareness of being poor that made Mother Leonora seem kind and beautiful to me … I shouldn’t fall asleep in the sun; it had happened once before and I fell into the well. My eyes snapped open. How long had I slept? Mimmo wasn’t there, yet I had heard his voice. Had I been dreaming? I was about to get up — the bench beneath me had lost its warmth and shivers were running down my arms — when Mimmo’s voice once more pinned me to the chilly surface. Mimmo had spoken, but not to me, and now his lilting voice was trying to persuade someone there behind the hedge. Something told me I should listen. You could tell from the way they spoke that they hadn’t seen me. Plus, the hedge that separated us was tall and dense. I closed my eyes again, pretending to be asleep.
‘Voscenza will forgive me, Mother Leonora, for being so bold as to contradict you. For once, listen to an old man who, though ignorant, knows about these things. That balustrade you lean on at night is rotted. It should be replaced.’
‘But it’s made of iron, and besides it’s very old. As long as I’m alive I won’t allow that masterpiece to be replaced by that horrible railing the village blacksmith made.’
‘But the blacksmith is a fine craftsman, Mother, if I may say so, and he made it to look like the other one in every detail.’
‘How can you say that! You can tell it’s an imitation, and a poor one at that.’
‘True, Mother. But what harm is there? We’re only going to remove it; it’s not like we’re discarding it. We’ll remove it carefully and put it someplace else, where you can see it whenever you like. But do me this favour, Mother. I don’t like to think of you going around that tower, leaning here and there.’
‘But it’s made of iron, Mimmo!’
‘Iron, yes, but corroded, eaten away by age and bad weather. In some places — just yesterday I went to check — there are spots that look like they’ve been sawn. Sawn, I swear to God! With all due respect, Voscenza, I wouldn’t want to see you go tumbling down some night…’
The voice went on imploring, but I’d stopped listening. That sawn reinspired the lost hate that had been drowned in all that milk they made me drink in the evening. Besides, I never liked milk.