To lay the table Martina had unpacked some linen cloths she kept in a chest and which had not seen the light of day since she had bought them.

The baptism was to take place at eleven o’clock on a freezing cold, foggy morning. Thick white mist hung from the sky, enveloping the village, whose deserted streets were dotted with frozen puddles. A strange silence reigned over the open space in front of the Dejas’ house, where the almond tree’s naked branches stood out black against the fog.

Suddenly the yard came to life as a swarm of urchins burst in, bundled up in skins and rags, and wearing red fringed caps and overlarge shoes. After them came groups of shivering women, coughing and sneezing and smelling of smoke and soot.

The baptismal procession set forth from Martina’s house. It was led by two children who, with an air of grave importance, bore two large wax candles adorned with red ribbons. Then came a woman carrying the new-born baby wrapped in a shawl and a brocade cloth, green like Saint Costantino’s banner. The godfather followed in his cloak and a black and white shawl from which his pink face emerged smiling beatifically. The godmother, who was so tall she looked like a shadow at sunset, had to bend down to speak to him. Beside her walked Brontu, shaven and happy, followed by his relatives and friends who tramped by, sounding like a troop of horses. Finally, freezing cold, with a tray under her arm, her hands in the slit of her skirt, and now and again sticking out her tongue to lick a drop of water that fell from her purple nose, came the godmother’s little maid.

The urchins flanked the procession, watching the godfather eagerly. He smiled and joked with them. ‘Come along, come along. What are you waiting for, you little winter grubs?’

‘He’s a cripple,’ one boy said.

‘Shut up,’ said another.

The procession passed. The boys’ faces lengthened. Some grew angry, others stood crying.

‘Hey!’ shouted one, but before he could go on the godfather threw a fistful of copper coins into the air. All the urchins hurled themselves, shouting, onto the money. Some fell, trampling the little maid, who started to curse and kick and punch. The copper rain, and the onslaughts of urchins, which grew ever more numerous, continued until the procession reached the little church, where Father Elias waited, chatting to the sacristan, in his red cassock. Afraid that Father Elias, who was well-known for his leniency, would go back to the baby’s home after the ceremony, the sacristan was urging him to be strict with Brontu Dejas and his whole family.

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘you won’t go back to the baby’s home, will you? It’s almost a bastard. It should not receive honours.’

‘Go and see if they’re coming,’ said the priest.