Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part one, chapter 4

Blasco from Castiglione went back to the inn of the Messinese with his head in turmoil. The sorrowful history of the mother had evoked from the remote bottom of her memory remorseless and forgotten images and some of them associated themselves with the narration of the friar and, probably because of it, was better lightened in his mind.

There was no image left of the earthquake; his brain was too small to understand all the fearsome greatness of the immense disaster; but now, suddenly, the image of the ancestor had appeared to him, with a turquoise jacket and a white cap that more than the face appeared to him in his memory. And now his mother saw her again; she saw more than any other the great black eyes and the mouth, the rest seemed weaker to him; then, behold, the dead, pale, with her eyes closed, leaped before his eyes...

But these images were mixed up with ideas and facts, which he represented: the two friars, Francesco Giorlanda, the hunt, the window adorned with carnations, the baron. Ah, the baron! It was his father!... Who was he and how was his father? Tall? Blond? And was he a valiant, bold, generous man?... Now, when the first burst of indignation had ceased, he felt a certain regret that he had not met his father: now he would evoke his image. But perhaps there was a portrait in the palace; it was necessary for Father Bonaventura to reveal his name, so that he could trace it.

All these ideas, these images, these regrets, these desires thickened in his spirit, while at a hasty pace, perhaps out of need of rest and recollection, he went to the inn.

When he came to you he found the innkeeper with a filthy hunch in his hand and a goose pen: who saw him, he came to meet him, saying, "Excuse me, sir, will you please your name?"

Blasco told him.

The innkeeper bowed to his ear, giving him a tin bulb, oiled, asked him: "Tell me, did you make any big ones? They came looking for you. If you want advice, saddle the horse and leave."

Blasco looked at him amazed. What did those words mean and why did he have to leave? Who Did you come looking for him? He knew no one in Palermo, except Father Bonaventura, who had left at the time. There had to be some misunderstanding.

"But no," the host insisted, "they were looking for you, Mr. Blasco from Castiglione..."

"What kind of people were they?..."

"You don't understand? The birri."

"The birri? Me? Bah!..."

He made a bike of carelessness and began to climb the wooden ladder that led from the ground floor to the first floor; but at that point the tavern was invaded by a group of noisy people, who turned the innkeeper and Blasco.

The innkeeper murmured: "Here they are!... There is no more time!..."

The corporal with the bullying and hateful birro pick cried out: "Well, where is this forester?."

Blasco, preventing the innkeeper, went down the two steps and asked with a quiet and curious voice: "But is it me you are looking for?..."

The birro squadred him, and with the same villainous and violent act: "If you are the nominated Blasco from Castiglione, let us look for you."

And when he nodded to his men, he added, "Bind him."

But Blasco quickly threw himself towards the corner of the staircase, unclosing his sword and answering: "This, my friend, is another pair of sleeves."

The speed of the move, that formidable blade, the safe and firm guard, the appearance of the young man, instinctively turned back the corporal and the four birri. Blasco took advantage of it to better lay down his guard.

"Dear Corporal," he argued, "you happen to me at a time when I am far from beating you and your mammals.

Tie me up? Do you think I'm a salami, a dog, a bad boy? Who sent you?"

But the corporal recovered and was ashamed of that first uncertainty or more of the young man's air, incited his: "What are you doing there? Get him. And you, take care of yourselves! It is an order of the city captain..."

Say goodbye to him for my part, and tell him that he will come if he will; for as for you, you will take him!

Conscious that the birri tried to surround him, but that because of the narrowness of the space they could not use spades, Blasco dropped on their heads, their shoulders, on their arms a fury so learned of platoons, with such a flash of flashes to the eyes, with such an unpredictable and incredible speed, that those felt overwhelmed, wavered, withdrew, threw themselves out of the door, with the corporal to the head, shamefully fleeing, chased by the impetuous hammering, stormy of the platoons and by the laughter of Blasco, to which the innkeeper echoed, from the top of the ladder where he had taken refuge. But outside the door she had gathered people, attracted by the noise and the poor birri were greeted by a save of whistles, screams, slaps, whirlwinds, which was ventured if they could escape.

When he saw them flee, Blasco quietly drew his sword and came back.

"Now let's go to sleep."

But the innkeeper stopped him: "Do you think so? You want to make yourself look like a rat? Those will return more numerous, they will rush everything a regiment... Get to safety. For Saint Anthony, a man of your merit must not let himself be caught... I tell you, they will surround the inn, they will attack you in twenty, in thirty, in hundred, I know them... you will see that they are able to come with drums, the spoilers, and they almost won't carry the cannons! Go away: if you want I'll tell you where.. I'll send the horse back tomorrow."!

The innkeeper was right. People who came in out of curiosity and to admire that beautiful young man, who had done such a fine gesture, were refreshing. It was better to look for another accommodation for that evening; there at the Lattarini there were other inns, other foundations.

A little man who looked like a craftsman observed: "Inns are not safe. I'll find him a shelter if he wants."

"Yes, yes," said some voices and the innkeeper himself: "Go with him, young man, go with him."

Blasco let himself be persuaded and followed the little man, who led him through an alleyway, crossed the Piazza della Fieravecchia entered the alley of St. Charles, and opening a small door he said to the young man: "Here is the congregation of St. Bonomo, and it will not come to the head of anyone to come looking for you. Moreover, it is a sacred place."

"Thank you, dear man. Tell me now who you are, so that I know at least who I owe gratitude to..."

"I am a tailor: Michele Barabino; at your commands, if you ever need anything."

"Thank you, maestro, thank you..."

"We need to make the best of you tonight. I will bring you a mattress and you will fix it on the benches of the church: tomorrow it will be better. I'll come and see you in the morning."

He took on the one altar a candle, lit it, placed it on the table of the superior, placed at the bottom of the church, and repeated a greeting, he left, leaving Blasco alone, in that little naked church, immersed in the shadow, in which Christ took a fantastic and frightening look.

Sleep didn't have any. He sat on the high chair of the superior, wide and comfortable, sinking his gaze into the shadows as if to follow the wave of thoughts that had taken him back. But it was too dark. Why wouldn't he light the other candles? And there were twelve on the altar: and he rose up, and kindled them all, and there were twelve on the altar. small church of the maestranza of the tailors lit up with great satisfaction of Blasco.

Having nothing to do, he began to examine everything: the fixed benches on the walls around, the pictures of the Way of the Cross, the confessional, a black and monstrous painting representing perhaps St. Bonomus, the notation of the "dead confreres," that of the living; and in this he searched for the name of his guest, so to speak: he was there, at the top: Master Michele Barabino "conjoint with the right hand," dignity which, almost equivalent to a vice-presidency, gave him the government of the fraternity. Then he began to read the tables of the gospels on the horns of the altar. Sleep didn't come and Master Michael didn't come back. We had to spend time somehow. When he had nothing more to see and examine, he took up his seat in the high chair, stretching his legs and leaning his hands on the edge of the sword.

Gradually his thoughts resumed him. The birri? What did they want with him? Because it was him they were looking for. How did they know that he had arrived and was in the inn of Messinese? Actually since he had landed in Trapani, semi-dirty, filthy, nothing had happened to him... nothing!... He remade his stages: from Trapani to Alcamo, from Alcamo to the village of Partinico, from here, up the mountains, to Monreale, from Monreale to... There he had a little fight with two gentlemen, to whom he had said his name and surname, and given the name of the inn... Ah! for a beak!... Was it them, then? Two knights?... Now he remembered their threat... Instead of sending a challenge sign, they sent the Corporal and the birri: oh, gosh!...

The discovery disdained him; a flash lit his face: that was a worse offense than any other.

"Ah, is that how they mean their duty, gentlemen? But he's fine!... but I'll find you, I'll slap you, I'll stick you like two lards on the spit!"

He accompanied the words with the gesture. Certainly that was not conducted by knights. Who did they think they were busy with? So they believed him to be so vile that he was not worthy to cross his sword with theirs? But who were they? Here is a question that was asked for the first time; who were they? how would he find them and tell them what they deserved? Palermo was so great; there were so many people and the gentlemen were so numerous!... Meanwhile, there he is with birri on the slopes, like a bandit, like an evildoer, without having committed anything!... As a beak, there was a slap in the world! What an adventure! And to think that he, after all, was a noble and perhaps of ancient and glorious nobility, while those two haughty knights could well be two gay men who had bought a manor with wear and tear...

"But, I don't give a damn!" he concluded by raising his shoulders and giving another start to his thoughts.

The screaming of a key in the little door for which he had entered raised it. Did they come looking for him there? Was the tailor a spy?

He stood up ready for the defense: but he saw the master coming in, who, thrown over a bench a big vulture, ran to blow out the candles, shouting, "Are you crazy? This luminary, at this hour, will bring people in!"

"Oh, what's wrong with that?"

"There is that the neighbors, seeing from the window so bright, thought that perhaps the church was burning: and if they didn't meet me, that I invented I don't know what story, went to St. Charles to sound flocked; they would have brought people, soldiers and birri, and you would have been caught like a mouse in the cage. What a beastly thing! What a beastly thing!..."

"You're right," murmured Blasco confused.

"Here I brought you blankets... you have to be happy with these... for one night, then..."

"Oh, I slept on the floor!..."

"Tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow" interrupted Blasco "before coming here, do me a favor to go to St. Francis, to look for Father Bonaventura from Licodia and tell him what happens to me, and that I cannot explain myself; and beg him to find the way or to come here, or, that is better, to let me out..."

"I'll serve you. But be careful. Sleep well and good night."

"By the way, what time is it?"

"It will be two and a half hours at night. Enjoy your rest."

Blasco spread the blankets over a large bench, rolling them from one head to make the origliare; he lay there, throwing another blanket on himself and fell asleep deeply.