‘What sort of manners are these?’ he ranted at his mother. ‘You treat people as if they were animals. Today was a holiday. So we got drunk. What does it matter to you?’

‘I’m drunk with poison,’ Giacobbe said.

‘With poison, yes. Me too,’ said Brontu. ‘I’ve had enough of mothers, wives, everyone. I’m going. I’m going to stay in Giacobbe’s mansion. After all, we’re cousins.’

‘That’s what you think,’ shouted Giacobbe. ‘You’re relying on my heredity.’ He started to howl with fiendish, sinister laughter. Brontu too began to laugh, trying to copy the shepherd’s howl, but his guffaws were more like the joyful yelps of an animal in the month of May.

Giovanna grew more and more scared of the gathering darkness, the loneliness weighing on the yard, and the two men that the wine had turned into violent, disgusting beasts. She saw excommunication descending on them all, the shepherd who turned against his master, the son who insulted his mother, and on her, Giovanna, who hated them all.

Martina went into the kitchen, and lit the lamp. Giovanna followed her and prepared the supper. They all ate together and, for a little while, a calm fell over them. Brontu told the women how he had watched the procession from the window of Giacobbe’s house and he made Martina smile at his foolishness. Then he wanted to kiss his wife. But Giovanna’s heart was full of bile. For her the holiday had been even gloomier than an ordinary day. She had worked, she had not been to church, nor had she even changed her clothes. As soon as she allowed herself to go to her mother’s house, they had called her back like a dog to its kennel.

She shook off Brontu’s caresses and told him he was drunk. Giacobbe began to laugh again but his ill-mannered laughter annoyed Giovanna and further offended Brontu.

‘Why are you laughing, you filthy dog?’ the young man said.

‘I could reply that your filth is worse, much worse, than mine. But all I’m going to say is that I’m laughing because I want to.’

‘Then I’ll laugh too.’

‘Half-wits,’ Giovanna said, scornfully. ‘You make me sick.’

Unable to bear her coldness any longer, Brontu exploded. ‘What’s the matter? You’re getting on my nerves. I caress you and you insult me. You should kiss the ground I tread on. Do you understand?’

Giovanna went pale. ‘Why?’ she snarled. ‘Isn’t it enough that I wait on you? I’m the servant here.’

‘Yes, the servant. Go on being the servant then. What more do you want, woman?’