He asked to meet Isidoro, so Father Elias stopped the fisherman at the church door. Giacobbe watched, and seeing the old man’s firm friendship with the priests, he felt an inexplicable jealousy. He waited for Isidoro in the square. ‘I hope you get a bullet in your gaiters!’ he said. ‘What did they say to you?’

‘They invited me to supper with them,’ said Isidoro, not without a certain pride.

‘Oh, so they wanted you to have supper with them? You’ve become a personage of some standing, my chicken. Come with me instead.’

‘To the Dejas! Never,’ said Isidoro angrily.

‘Not there. Today I’m not going to eat the potato peelings thrown out by those scarecrows. I’m going to eat in my own house. Come on.’

He took Isidoro to his sister’s house. It was after midday. The sun scorched the little alleyways where the mud had dried and the trees steamed in the fierce blue of the sky, against the wild background. The people were going home. The shepherds’ heavy footsteps rang out on the cobbles, and children, dressed in their best, watched from the garden walls. Through open doors you could see the dark interiors of the kitchens with their copper saucepans that shone like huge medallions. Spirals of smoke twisted into the clear air. The sound of an accordion stole out from a courtyard that was usually empty, as if some ancient, sombre fairy were playing underground. The whole village had a holiday atmosphere, although there was also great sadness in those wide, open doors, those spirals of smoke, the children, awkward in their new clothes, the accordion music, the cottages unshaded in that hour of burning heat.

Giacobbe took the fisherman to his sister’s house, where all three of them ate together. A childless widow, the woman adored Giacobbe and still called him ‘little brother’. She knew nothing of evil and was terrified at the very thought of someone committing a sin. One of her greatest sorrows had been Giovanna’s new marriage and, although she had lent the girl the money for her trousseau, it was perhaps against her better judgement. Her brother kept teasing her.

‘Here’s our friend Isidoro,’ he told her. ‘He’s thinking of taking a wife and has come to ask your advice.’

‘Bless you, Isidoro Pane. Do you really want to get married?’

‘Get away with you,’ replied the fisherman good-humouredly.

‘Then you don’t want to get married?’ called out Giacobbe, his strong teeth tearing a piece of roast pork that he held in his fingers. ‘You filthy animal. He’s got lots of sweethearts, sister.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘God strike me dead if I tell a lie. I swear he has lovers who suck his blood.’

Isidoro and the woman laughed, for of course Giacobbe was referring to the leeches.