‘Yes, she wants money – urgently,’ Brontu replied in a low, happy voice. ‘I’m going back. Even if I had some here I’d go because this evening I can see Giovanna, I can go into her house. I’m going to speak at last. I’m going to do for myself what you, you fool, couldn’t do.’

‘You’ve lost your mind, man!’ exclaimed Giacobbe.

‘All right, I’ve lost my mind. Here, tighten these girths. You’re pushing out your stomach, little horse,’ he said to the animal. ‘Don’t you want an evening walk? How will you take it when the old woman’s sitting on your crupper?’

‘Her too?’ cried Giacobbe.

‘Her too, yes. So what? Isn’t she my mother-in-law?’

‘You’re going too fast, my chicken. Watch out you don’t break your neck,’ Gicacobbe gabbled. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? You want to marry that beggar, that married woman? You who could marry a flower of a young girl. Costantino Ledda is innocent. He’ll come back, I tell you. He’ll come back.’

‘Leave me alone, Giacobbe. Mind your own business. Put a saddlebag on the crupper. Bachisia?’

Giacobbe ran into the hut and told the woman to come out. ‘Shame on you,’ he said trembling with anger. ‘You’re worse than a beggar! I’ll tell Giovanna. I’ll tell her.’

‘You’re a madman,’ Bachisia replied and cursed him under her breath.

Shortly afterwards, she and Brontu left. Giacobbe watched them recede into the distance over the lonely fields, away along the winding path beyond the scrub, beyond the smoke of the burning heath. In a spasm of helpless fury, he snatched his cap from his head and hurled it away, then he picked it up and belaboured the dog, who began to howl, filling the quiet evening with anguish. The lament came echoing back like the despairing plaint of a phantom.

Giacobbe went and lay down on the pallet Brontu had just left.

He could smell the grappa. He found the master’s bottle and drank. Then he went to sleep, and he too felt a smouldering in his breast, flooding his heart, bubbling up into his head, burning his eyelids. His anger fell away and sadness settled over him. From the door of the hut he could see the blood-red light of the burning heath slowly conquering the last, blue glimmer of dusk. Mingled together, the two took on a purple tinge of indescribable sadness. From time to time the dog whimpered. Why had he beaten the poor dog? He was filled with the drunkard’s vague, tender remorse. At the same time the moaning irritated him, and he felt an urge take it out on the poor animal once again.