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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A yETTA TORE
255
VIII
A JETTATORE
In Catania there was once a man with “the evil
eye,” a jettatore. He was almost the most terrible
jettatore who had ever lived in Sicily. As soon as
he showed himself on the street people hastened to
bend their fingers to the protecting sign. Often
it did not help at all; whoever met him could
prepare himself for a miserable day; he would find
his dinner burned, and the beautiful old jelly-bowl
broken. He would hear that his banker had
suspended payments, and that the little note that he
had written to his friend’s wife had come into the
wrong hands.
Most often a jettatore is a tall, thin man, with
pale, shy eyes and a long nose, which overhangs and
hacks his upper lip. God has set the mark of a
parrot’s beak upon the jettatore. Yet all things are
variable; nothing is absolutely constant. This
jettatore was a little fellow with a nose like a San
Michele.
Thereby he did much more harm than an ordinary
jettatore. How much oftener is one pricked by a
rose than burned by a nettle!
A jettatore ought never to grow up. He is well
off only when he is a child. Then he still has his
little mamma, and she never sees the evil eye; she
never understands why she sticks the needle into
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