‘Earthquakes happen all the time,’ remarked Efes Maria, who didn’t know whether to side with his wife or his son. Perhaps at heart he agreed with his wife, but he did not want to lose his educated son’s esteem by admitting it.

Paolo fell silent, regretting what he had said. He was too fond of his mother to want to anger her pointlessly. Giovanna took her hands from her face and spoke with gentle humility. ‘God, who sees the circumstances of our lives, will not be offended.’

‘But He has punished you,’ said Porredda.

‘That’s to be seen,’ shouted Bachisia, beginning to spit venom. ‘Doesn’t it mean, on the contrary, that Giovanna’s punishment and mine is over if God is giving her the chance to marry a young man who loves her and can make her forget all her suffering?’

‘He’s rich too,’ observed Efes Maria. No one knew whether he was being serious or ironic.

Giovanna had lost the thread of the conversation but she tried to end it gently. ‘Dear Porredda,’ she said, in a humble voice. ‘You can’t know. God sees into our hearts. He will forgive me. Costantino might as well be dead. Elias Portolu, the priest from our village, is a good man, one of us. Do you know him? He talks like a saint and never gets angry. Although he said that only death can release you from marriage, he also said, go and be blessed then, if you do not know what is the right thing to do. We have to live, don’t we? What if you had nothing to live on, Porredda, no work, nothing at all? Tell me, Porredda, what if I were a different woman? Well, what then? It really would have been a mortal sin.’

‘Mortal sin and an old age spent in poverty,’ repeated Bachisia.

The maid brought the fruit, gleaming black grapes and wrinkled yellow pears like autumn leaves. The elderly mistress of the house took the basket of fruit to her elderly guest and watched her with compassion. All Porredda’s anger, her contempt, her scorn fell away before the frailty of the two poor women. ‘Good St Francis,’ she prayed. ‘Forgive them because they are ignorant. They are wild and primitive.’ Then she spoke in a gentler voice. ‘You and I are old, Bachisia Era, and you too, Giovanna Era, will become old. Tell me something. What happens after old age?’

‘Death.’

‘Death. Yes, indeed. But what comes after death?’

‘Eternity,’ said Paolo laughing, eating grapes like a greedy boy, pushing the fruit into his mouth and tearing the pips out with his teeth.

‘Eternity, of course. What do you say, Giovanna Era, is it eternity or not? Bachisia, yes or no?’

‘It is,’ answered the guests.

‘But you’re not thinking of eternity.’