Giacobbe’s large feet emerged from the oven. At that moment the door of the house opened and a black figure appeared. It was Father Elias. Someone had gone to warn him about what was going on, and he had run to the widow’s house to prevent Giacobbe from being put into the oven. He was red and shaking, and his eyes flashed.

A woman screamed. Most of the others fell silent, but some tried to go on singing as Giacobbe came out of the oven.

‘Silence!’ ordered the priest in a trembling voice. ‘Have you no shame?’

None of them spoke. ‘Go,’ Father Elias went on. He threw open the door of the house and, holding it back with one hand, he pushed the women outside. When they had left, the priest caught sight of Isidoro and his eyes filled with sadness.

‘You too,’ he said reprovingly. ‘How could you? Don’t you realize you’ve hurt this poor man? How could you?’ he repeated, quietly. Then he pulled himself together. ‘Go and call the doctor, quickly. And you. To bed. At once.’

Giacobbe could have asked for nothing better. Shaking with fever, he could scarcely see. Isidoro went for the doctor. He felt humiliated. Despite his good sense, his wisdom, and his religious faith he could not understand what harm there was in trying to cure a tarantula bite by singing and playing the ancient rites that had come down from the fathers and forefathers of the village ever since the days when giants lived in the nuraghi2.

Out in the street the women drifted apart into groups of two or three and, gathering in the shadows, muttered together. They were extremely upset by what the priest had done. One girl clapped her hands and sang,

‘A thunderbolt has struck me

Oh, mother of the spider.’

It was the refrain they would have chanted round the sick man’s bed had Father Elias not arrived. One or two of them wanted to persuade Isidoro to let them continue, but he had gone striding off elsewhere, deep in thought.

XIV

The room where Giacobbe Dejas lay was unusually high and so huge that the oil lamp did little to light up the corners. The furniture, which was similarly massive, included a red wooden cupboard that reached up to the ceiling and loomed over the room with a grave, thoughtful air. There was a high, majestic-looking wooden bed, with a yellowish counterpane that hung down to the floor. It was a mysterious room with its dark corners and high, pale ceiling like a cloudy sky. Anna-Rosa’s tiny figure seemed lost in the vast expanse. She could hardly see over the edge of the bed.