In
Another Minute I Withdrew, Carrying Half A Sheet Of Note-Paper On
Which Were Scrawled In Pencil A Few
Words, followed by the proud
signature "Berlinghieri." When I had deciphered the scrawl, I found
it was an injunction to
Allow me to view a certain estate "senza
nulla toccare" - without touching anything. So a doubt still
lingered in the dignitary's mind.
Cotrone has no vehicle plying for hire - save that in which I
arrived at the hotel. I had to walk in search of the orange orchard,
all along the straight dusty road leading to the station. For a
considerable distance this road is bordered on both sides by
warehouses of singular appearance. They have only a ground floor,
and the front wall is not more than ten feet high, but their low
roofs, sloping to the ridge at an angle of about thirty degrees,
cover a great space. The windows are strongly barred, and the doors
show immense padlocks of elaborate construction. The goods
warehoused here are chiefly wine and oil, oranges and liquorice. (A
great deal of liquorice grows around the southern gulf.) At certain
moments, indicated by the markets at home or abroad, these stores
are conveyed to the harbour, and shipped away. For the greater part
of the year the houses stand as I saw them, locked, barred, and
forsaken: a street where any sign of life is exceptional; an odd
suggestion of the English Sunday in a land that knows not such
observance.
Crossing the Esaro, I lingered on the bridge to gaze at its green,
muddy water, not visibly flowing at all.
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