‘Yes,’ replied Costantino, raising terrified eyes. On the man’s fat, pink hand a ring with a purple stone could be seen, and between the finger and thumb the tip of a black pen. Not knowing where to look, in his bewilderment, Costantino fixed his eyes on the pen. He felt as if he were in a dream, where a terrible disaster awaited him.

‘Why did you not have a religious ceremony?’ the man went on.

‘Because we were poor, and we needed money for the wedding feast. When finally we had enough, on the very eve of the wedding, this catastrophe happened. Now I’m waiting until I’m set free. I’m still waiting. We could have the wedding with me inside here, but it’s better to wait.’

Even without glancing at his torturer, he thought he detected a smile in the man’s eyes.

‘Is that so,’ the torturer said. ‘Well, we have a letter from your mayor, who has taken on the task of informing you, on behalf of your wife, and in anticipation of the divorce law, that she intends to contract a religious marriage with a certain Brontu Dejas. What do you wish to do about it? Why, what’s the matter?’

Costantino slid to the ground like a rag doll.

IX

In the Porrus’ guest room, Giovanna was sorting out some materials she’d bought that day in Nuoro. She was plumper and had lost a little of her girlish air, but she was still beautiful.

She inspected the linens and cottons closely, turning them over and feeling them with a preoccupied air, as if unsatisfied with the choice she had made. Then she folded them carefully, wrapped them in paper, and placed them in a saddlebag. She was preparing her trousseau. Having obtained legal separation from Costantino, Giovanna had agreed to marry Brontu, who had promised to find a way of marrying her in a church.

Giovanna and her mother had come to Nuoro with the specific purpose of retaining the lawyer Porru in the ensuing divorce case, but also to do some shopping. They had borrowed the money secretly from Anna-Rosa Dejas, Giacobbe’s sister, a lady who was fond of Giovanna, having helped Bachisia out by fostering the girl as a child.

It was the dead of winter. But the two women had boldly undertaken the hardships of the journey to Nuoro in order to lay in a stock of linen, cottons, kerchieves and woollen materials.

The wedding was to take place even more discreetly than the marriage of a widow but it did not matter. Bachisia wanted her daughter to go to her new home fully provided for, like a young bride from a good family.