Note: Translator Pauline Bancroft Flach died in 1966, less than 70 years ago. Therefore, this work is protected by copyright, restricting your legal rights to reproduce it. However, you are welcome to view it on screen, as you do now. Read more about copyright.
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THE SIROCCO 147
have shown him that those new teachings were
detestable and dangerous. But then love came. It
made her confused and stupid. She could not
answer him. She only sat and wondered that he
could talk.
She wondered if he was much handsomer now
than formerly. Formerly she had not been confused
at all when she saw him. She had never been
attracted to that extent. Or was it that he had
become a free, strong man? She was frightened
when she felt how he subdued her.
She dared not contradict him. She dared not
even speak, for fear of bursting into tears. Had she
dared to speak, she would not have talked of public
affairs. She would have told him what she had felt
the day the bells rang. Or she would have prayed
to be allowed to kiss his hand. She would have
told him how she had dreamed of him. She would
have said that if she had not had him to dream of
she could not have borne her life. She would have
begged to be allowed to kiss his hand in gratitude,
because he had given her life all these years.
If there was to be no uprising, why did he talk
socialism? What had socialism to do with them,
sitting alone in Donna Elisa’s garden? She sat
and looked along one of the paths. Luca had put
up wooden arches on both sides of it, and up these
climbed garlands of light rose-shoots, full of little
buds and flowers. One always wondered whither
one was coming when one went along that path.
And one came to a little weather-beaten cupid. Old
Luca understood things better than Gaetano.
While they sat there the sun set, and Etna grew
rosy-red. It was as if Etna flushed with anger at
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