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114 228 . the miracles of antichrist
bello, Signor Alfredo loses more and more laborers.
Soon he is almost alone at his work.
• •••••
There are not many people who have seen the
great quarry out on Etna. They have learned to
shun it, because Falco Falcone lives there. They
have kept away beyond range of his rifle.
They have not seen the great chasm in Mongibello’s
side out of which their forefathers, the Greeks, took
stone in times long gone by. They have not seen
the brilliantly shaded walls and the huge rocks which
resemble pillars ready to fall. And perhaps they
do not know that at the bottom of the quarry
stand flowers more magnificent than in a
conservatory.
It is no longer Sicily, it is India.
In the quarry stand mandarin-trees, so golden
with fruit that one believes them to be immense
sunflowers, and there the camellias become as large as
tambourines. And on the ground between the trees
lie masses of costly king figs and hairy peaches
embedded on fallen rose-leaves.
One evening Falco sits alone in the quarry. Falco
is at work making a wreath, and before him lies a
mass of flowers. String he has as thick as rope ; he
keeps his foot on the ball that it may not roll away
from him. He wears spectacles, but they glide
continually too far down on the bent nose.
Falco swears badly, for his hands are stiff with
callosities, which have grown from constantly
handling his rifle, and he cannot manage flowers very easily.
The fingers grip them as hard as iron tongs. Falco
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