A Winter's Night Read Free

even right there at Pra’ dei Monti? You’ve heard what they dug up there, haven’t you? The remains of an ancient settlement, with amulets, bracelets shaped like snakes, grotesque masks. And people say that it was there, almost two thousand years ago, that a great battle was fought and that thousands and thousands of dead bodies were left unburied in the swamps that covered this territory. Nothing happens by chance, my friend. There’s always a reason why certain things take place . . . And while we’re on the subject, what do you have to say about what happened here tonight? A ray of sun the color of blood piercing through the falling snow . . . Who’s ever seen something like that before?”
    Armando, the most easily spooked of the brothers, got to his feet. “Sorry, but I don’t like the turn things are taking here! I wish you all a good night. I’m going to sleep myself.”
    â€œGo, go,” said Cleto, and waited for Armando to leave so he could pick up where he had left off. “Well then? Since you say all this is just idle chatter, why don’t we go take a look? We’ll cover up well, put on our long-legged clogs and we’ll head out. We can be there in less than an hour.”
    â€œCome on now,” said Floti with a shrug. “You really think the golden goat will be waiting there for you? Aren’t sudden appearances supposed to be brief and unexpected? Me, I’m going to bed. Good night to everyone and you, Iofa, be careful getting home. You don’t want to meet up with the goat and get strung up on his horns!”
    Iofa made the sign of the cross, muttering: “It’s nothing to joke about. You should have seen that guy: he would have scared anyone.”
    Floti left and the other brothers behind him. Iofa lingered, as did Gaetano, who still had a few questions to ask Cleto. He’d always suspected that the man was something more than what he seemed: a wandering handyman who turned up every year at the first snowfall and left again at the end of February, sometimes without having mended a single umbrella. Every Saturday without fail Cleto would wash his stockings, drawers and undershirt and put them to dry near the mouth of the oven where the bread had been baked; not your usual beggar. The Brunis took him in year after year, just as they did with anyone who knocked at their door asking for a place to rest for the night and a bowl of soup. In exchange he told stories of distant lands and extraordinary events that farming men in a small village couldn’t even begin to imagine.
    â€œTell me the truth, now that there are only the three of us here: do you believe those things that Don Massimino said?” he demanded.
    â€œI do. And you should believe them as well, Gaetano. Your brother is a bit stubborn at times; he’s convinced that there’s a simple reason behind everything. He’s wrong. Many things have no explanation. There’s a whole world around us that we can’t see or hear, but it exists and it can change our lives from one moment to the next. What’s more, it’s best not to challenge certain . . . forces.”
    â€œThen why were you trying to convince Floti to go to Pra’ dei Monti with you?”
    â€œWalking in the dead of night under the falling snow on a country road towards an abandoned place where an ancient legend was born . . . would help your brother to understand that we are surrounded by mystery.”
    Gaetano wasn’t sure he grasped what the umbrella mender was getting at, but he felt a chill run down his spine. Iofa’s eyes were wide and white and full of fear; Gaetano took one look at him and said:
    â€œWhy don’t you sleep here, tonight? Tomorrow you can give me a hand with the milking and then we’ll have breakfast together: eggs and pancetta and a glass of the new wine.”
    â€œWell I’ll be sincere,” Iofa replied eagerly, “with