But To Have Clothed My Thoughts In Words During His Gracious Mood Would
Have Been Supremely Unethical.
I contented myself with the trite but
pregnant remark that things sometimes looked different in the morning,
which provoked a pagan fit of laughter; farewelled him "with the
Madonna!" and watched as he withdrew under the trees, lithe and buoyant,
like a flame that is swallowed up in the night.
Only then did the real business begin. I should be sorry to say into how
many houses and wine-shops the obliging owner of the local inn conducted
me, in search of a guide. We traversed all the lanes of this straggling
and fairly prosperous place, and even those of its suburb Paracorio,
evidently of Byzantine origin; the answer was everywhere the same: To
Montalto, yes; to Bova, no! Night drew on apace and, as a last resource,
he led the way to the dwelling of a gentleman of the old school - a
retired brigand, to wit, who, as I afterwards learned, had some ten or
twelve homicides to his account. Delianuova, and indeed the whole of
Aspromonte, has a bad reputation for crime.
It was our last remaining chance.
We found the patriarch sitting in a simple but tidy chamber, smoking his
pipe and playing with a baby; his daughter-in-law rose as we entered,
and discreetly moved into an adjoining room. The cheery cut-throat put
the baby down to crawl on the floor, and his eyes sparkled when he heard
of Bova.
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