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Narrated by Cristiana Melli
NeeraUnabridged — 6 hours, 19 minutes
Narrated by Cristiana Melli
NeeraUnabridged — 6 hours, 19 minutes
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NOTA: I proventi di questo audiolibro saranno interamente destinati a opere benefiche e ad associazioni culturali o umanitarie del terzo settore.
¿- Coraggio, figliuoli, coraggio.
- Ne abbiamo, signor sindaco, ma la faccenda è brutta assai; temo l'abbia da andar male per tutti.
Chi rispondeva così alla grande autorità del paese, era il vecchio Toni, l'anziano dei barcaiuoli, che di piene ne aveva vedute parecchie, e crollava il testone grigio arruffato, sul quale stava in permanenza il tradizionale berretto rosso dei paroni del Po.
- Noi facciamo il nostro dovere, Toni, e il resto alla provvidenza.
Toni non rispose; si rimise al lavoro, insieme agli altri barcaiuoli e operai; tutti intenti a trasportare fascine, sacchi di terra, cocci, mattoni, ciottoli per far argine al fiume.
An excellent translation renders this dramatic feminist classic easy to read, a poignant psychological study of a conflicted young woman.” —Publishers Weekly “A quietly told story that gradually accumulates great power, rich in local color, memorable characterizations, and devastating dramatic irony.” —Kirkus Reviews
Chapter One
"Keep up the good work, men."
"We will, Signor Mayor, but it's terrible, and I'm afraid it's going to get worse."
Speaking to the great town authority was old Tony, the elderly boatman who had seen many floods, and he shook his large disheveled gray head permanently capped by the traditional red beret of Po boatmen.
"We'll do our duty, Tony, and leave the rest to Providence."
Tony didn't reply but went back to work with the other boatmen and the helpers; everyone was busy carrying branches, bags of dirt, broken crockery, bricks, stones to shore up the river.
"Holy God!" exclaimed the mayor, in a half curse, half prayer, as he looked at the rapidly rising river.
The night was black with a threatening sky heavy with rain. It had rained all day, just as it had for thirty-four days.
The stone marking the levels of previous inundations was already covered. The river rose at a slow, relentless pace, with the fierce calm of a monster sure of its prey. It had invaded the low embankment; now it touched the edge of the higher embankment, foaming with a dull roar.
The big danger was water destroying the embankment from underneath.
For forty-eight hours it had labored relentlessly, knocking down the trees and old houses closest to the river, those in greatest peril. The inhabitants of these cottages, almost all poor, fled with household goods--and they were not yet on safe ground when the pickaxes of the masons couldbe heard on the walls, making the debris rebound in the dim light of the lanterns held by boys.
An octogenarian, whose bed was being carried to a more secure place, went up to the men who were holding that poor worm-eaten piece of furniture and said to them with tears in her eyes: "Throw it in, too. Anyway, I won't be able to sleep there tomorrow."
"Yes, throw it in," the mayor said. "I'll get this poor woman another one."
The old woman's bed immediately disappeared into the greedy waves that kept rising.
The subprefect and the lieutenant of the carabinieri came from the woods where they had gone to inspect the safety of the banks.
"What do you think?" the mayor asked as soon as he saw them.
"No danger for the moment. How is it here? Are they afraid?"
"There was a bit of commotion when we ordered them not to go to bed tonight, and to be ready when they hear the bell."
"Of course!"
The subprefect--a handsome, elegant Southerner, with the face of a romantic--ran his right hand through his hair, rearranging it with a habitual drawing room gesture. At the same time he looked at the dark mass of people, almost all gathered beside the embankment, forming various fantastic, anxious groups, among which resin torches ran like will-o'-the-wisps. Then he leaned closer to the lieutenant and murmured in his ear, with lively gestures:
"But tell me if it was sensible to build a town in this position, with water above it! Behind the embankment the ground slopes at a frightening angle, and down there, that hole where they've built their damned town seems just like a glass ready to drink a toast."
The lieutenant, a calm Piedmontese, was struck dumb. Unsure how to reply to the brilliant but inopportune observations of his superior, he confined himself to a noncommittal, "Uh-huh!"
People ran in every direction, whimpering, cursing, questioning each other, bumping into each other, pushing ahead without apology, without regard for each other.
The two engineers sent by the government were besieged with questions, opinions, suggestions.
They answered, "Yes, yes," quickly, leaning over the river, testing with their feet the resistance of the river at the weakest points.
"What level do we have, Tony?"
"It's come up another half inch," the boatman replied, bending his large gray head and holding a match over the stone.
A discouraged moan snaked through the crowd. Someone who had not understood demanded: "What? What?"
"It's come up another half inch."
A group of women surrounded the mayor: "Signor Mayor, if you would allow a procession in honor of San Giovanni Nepomuceno who watches over water and has performed miracles ..."
The subprefect interrupted: "What are these women doing here? No women here. Go home. And children? Children too? No children here. Go away, away, away. Go home."
The mayor calmed him down by saying quietly: "What can they do in their houses? They can't even lie down this wretched night!"
"That's true. That's true. But I can't stand women. They make me nervous."
"Ooh! ..."
"In certain cases, I mean, like this." He took his secretary by the arm. "Luzzi, send Minister S.E. a telegram immediately. Tell him money's needed because the river keeps rising and the people are demoralized."
The secretary took off running.
"Luzzi!" He called him, back. "Add that the authorities are on duty, giving encouragement and help."
A small man, shoulder high to the mayor and the subprefect, dressed in black and wearing a leather skullcap, approached the authorities.
"The monsignor sent me to see if his presence is required ... to tell the truth his rheumatism is bothering him ..."
"Tell the monsignor to stay where he is!" the subprefect replied. "He should take care of his rheumatism. We need strong arms here more than prayers."
"Yes," agreed the mayor in a conciliatory tone. "It's useless for him to endanger his health. Give him my respects and tell him to pray for everyone."
"And listen for the bell!"
The little man in black disappeared into the crowd.
"Who was that?" one of the engineers asked the lieutenant.
"He's the monsignor's servant."
"And the monsignor?"
"He's Monsignor Capperi, the bishop who heads our clergy, the one who officiates at solemn feasts."
"How many officials there are in this town!" the engineer remarked sarcastically, and went back to watching the water-washed embankment, the menacing water, and the town stretched out like a condemned man on his death bed.
A cracked voice shouted: "The train track is flooded near Cremona, the trains aren't running."
Everyone looked at the speaker. He was Signor Caccia, the tax collector, a tall, red-faced man with thick shoulders, a strange head with ringlets around his ears, and two arched eyebrows making him look a little like a portrait of Goldoni, but a surly Goldoni.
"Is that right, Signor Caccia? How do you know?"
"I heard the news from my brother-in-law, who arrived from Piadena about two hours ago."
"Yes? And what does he say?"
"It's awful. An entire family drowned on a farm near Bosco: the father, mother, five children, and the wife of one of their sons. They couldn't save anyone."
"Madonna!"
"Marchese d'Arco's land is flooded, the wheat ruined, not to mention the grapes. Fifty farmers' families won't have anything to eat this winter!
"That's not all. Others on the farm would like to know what they'll be eating this winter, too."
A woman asked the collector quietly: "And your wife, Signor Caccia, tell me, how's your wife?"
"You can imagine! ... She's been in pain all day long."
Someone overhearing asked in turn: "Is your wife ill?"
Signor Caccia arched his eyebrows even more, and murmured, "Uh-huh."
Then the woman remembered. She colored slightly and said grimly, "Poor thing, and on a night like tonight!"
Signor Caccia searched the crowd for the long thin shape of Doctor Tavecchia, and finding him speaking animatedly with the judge, said: "If you can, for a moment, make a brief visit at my house ... as a friend, you know? ... For my wife, just to reassure her."
"I'll go, I'll go ..."
"Oh, it's not urgent. Just for a moment."
Then when he saw Caramella, the cripple who sold cooked apples and pears, pass by on his way to town, he took him by the sleeve. "Are you going home, Caramella?"
"Yes, Signor Tax Collector. Do you need something?"
"Yes, I do. As you pass by my house, go in and tell my wife there's no danger at the moment, she should stay calm; Doctor Tavecchia will come see her ... Tell her I have to stay here a little longer, just to see how things go."
Caramella limped away.
Suddenly general attention was turned to a black mass flowing down the river by the bank.
"It's dead wood."
"It's a plank."
Something was seen moving, perhaps some poor shipwrecked people driven from their homes, going toward certain death.
"It's a boat," Tony shouted.
"A boat? Impossible. Who could be guiding it?"
"No one. It's adrift."
"Then it's empty."
"No."
"Yes."
Attention became so concentrated no one spoke. They all fought to get in front to see better. The engineers went up the embankment with lanterns, the subprefect and the mayor following them, like everyone else--fearful, curious, trembling. A few women recited the rosary quietly, holding their kerchiefs under their chins, not daring to go too close.
"It's really a boat."
"Call out to it."
"Hey! You there!"
Not one, but a hundred voices repeated: "Hey! You there!"
And all the while the boat came down at breakneck speed. At once ropes and grapples were fixed to help the rowboat, a crude fishing boat, reach the shore.
"Who is that madman?" the subprefect quietly asked the lieutenant of the carabinieri, who shrugged his shoulders.
A man's shape could be distinguished standing in the middle of the boat, struggling fiercely with his oars to keep off the tree trunks the current dragged in its vortex; and all around the river roared, throwing up a turbid yellowish foam to the surface, where rags, pieces of wood, broken furniture, animal cadavers, floated.
"Doesn't anyone know him?" the subprefect turned to ask.
"Yes ... I think," answered the mayor, hesitating, not entirely sure.
A voice from among the boatmen shouted, "It's Orlandi."
"It's Orlandi, it's Orlandi," they repeated in turn, amazed, full of admiration.
"I thought as much," murmured the mayor, "it could only be him! ..."
"Orlandi? Someone from town?"
"No, he's from Parma. But everyone here knows him. A complete fool ..."
"That's obvious."
While the authorities made their uncomplimentary remarks, the fellow's reckless boldness was acclaimed by the enthusiastic bystanders. When the boat touched ground and a soaked Orlandi got out of it, clothes disheveled and hands torn, as jaunty as if he had been on a pleasure cruise, all the boatmen surrounded him, overwhelming him with questions.
Before answering, Orlandi took a bundle wrapped in a woolen blanket from the bottom of the boat and laid it in the arms of the first woman he saw.
"Here's a baby that arrived without your labor."
"Santa Vergine!" the woman exclaimed and gently uncovered the little body.
The women huddled around, kissing him, caressing him, warming his stiff little fingers. Orlandi said he had saved him by a miracle, from a miserable hovel everyone, made cruel and crazy by terror, had abandoned.
"But you, dear Orlandi, do you have such little regard for your life as to endanger it on the river on a night like this?" the mayor questioned him as he came forward.
"I didn't have time to think about it, I can tell you that," answered Orlandi, shaking his proud head and smiling so that in the dim light the whiteness of his teeth could be seen under his little black mustache.
"I've been going around for three days, delivering relief supplies that came in slower than molasses. Never mind, we do what we can. I was down there in the Arese woods when the river broke over the bank and there was no way out. I took this boat, tossed the baby in, and put myself in the hands of God or the devil!"
"Don't curse," the woman who had taken the child dared to say. "It's turned out well, and you must thank Providence ..."
Orlandi paid no more attention, intent on looking at the terrible flood damage and the men working to shore up the bank.
"Seems it won't go higher tonight."
"God willing!"
The groups began to thin out. The women and old people urged one another to return to their homes. Signor Caccia set off behind the doctor.
The authorities were obliged to remain; and strong young men, including Orlandi, also stayed, inebriated by danger and fatigue. They helped carry sacks, hold torches, and gave a hand with the masons' picks until dawn grew white over the woods, illuminating their pale, dejected faces and the still menacing river. And behind the town, the rising sun also outlined gutted houses that looked like huge, incurable sores.
