Giovanna had been prepared to expect thirty years so that, for an instant, twenty-seven seemed considerably less. But she quickly realised that three years in thirty meant nothing, and she had to bite her lips so as not to cry out. Her eyes clouded over. With a desperate effort of will she forced herself to look at Costantino and saw, or seemed to see, his face turn grey and aged, his eyes grow misted and confused. He did not look at her. He never gave her another glance. He was already cut off from her for ever. While still among the living, he was dead. They had killed him – those fat, self-satisfied men who sat there coolly awaiting their next victim. Her reason clouded over. Her wild cry echoed through the room. Someone took hold of her and dragged her out into the sunlit square. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Bachisia demanded, clutching her daughter’s arm. ‘Are you out of your mind? You were howling like a wild beast. What’s the point of doing that? There’s still the Court of Appeal, so, for the love of God, be quiet now.’
The witnesses, the defence lawyer, and Paolo Porru crowded round the two women and tried to console them. Giovanna wept tearlessly, sobbing in a heartbroken way. Disjointed words and phrases, tender for Costantino, threatening for the jurors, burst from her trembling lips. She begged to be allowed at least to see the condemned man led away. When he appeared pale, bent, sunken-eyed and prematurely aged, between two cold impassive guards, she rushed forward. The guards did not come to a stop so she started to walk backwards, smiling at Costantino, telling him the Court of Appeal would put everything right and that she would sell her last rag to save him. He gaped at her, his eyes full of shock, while the guards pushed him along. ‘Go away, woman,’ one of them told her. ‘Be patient and go, now.’
‘Go, Giovanna,’ Costantino said too. ‘Try to get permission to see me before I’m taken away. Bring the child and be brave.’
The girl and her mother returned to their hosts’ house, where Porredda embraced the two women and burst into tears. Then, furious at herself for breaking down, she set about to make amends, saying, ‘What are twenty-seven years? Suppose he’d been sentenced to thirty, wouldn’t that have been worse? You can’t go home now? Not in this heat? You must be crazy, both of you. I won’t let you go.’
‘We’ll go, now,’ Bachisia announced. ‘The others are going back too and they’ll keep us company. But if it won’t put you out too much Giovanna will return in a few days’ time with the baby.’
‘Bless you. Our house is yours.’