Murder In Matera by Helene Stapinski

Author:Helene Stapinski
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-04-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

WITH SNOW YOU GET BREAD, WITH RAIN YOU GET HUNGER

And you, ugly, obscure cloud

Why have you come? . . .

No! Go away to your obscure places

Where the cock doesn’t crow

And there are no horse hoof prints

I BROWSED THROUGH MY BOOK ON MAGIC IN THE SOUTH DURING Pisticci’s five-hour siesta and came across a whole chapter just about storms. Specific spells could undo an approaching storm that threatened the harvest. After the chant, a circle would be drawn on the ground with a sickle, which was then raised in the direction of the threatening clouds. It was the opposite of a rain dance.

I thought about Giuseppe’s grain harvest and wondered if it would turn out all right. His wheat was standing tall somewhere out there in the distance. And I knew a hard rain could destroy it. “There is an Italian saying about the wheat my mother used to say,” Giuseppe had told me. “With snow you get bread, with rain you get hunger.”

Just as I was thinking this, I heard thunder. I thought I was imagining it. It had been sunny and stiflingly hot just an hour ago. But the clouds had since gathered and the humidity was about to break. It hadn’t rained since I’d arrived.

Thunder cracked again, this time louder, and closer. I realized I should go out and witness the real thing and maybe throw a chant or two Giuseppe’s way. So I put down the book, grabbed my small umbrella, the thunderclaps getting closer and closer, and headed to my favorite spot in Pisticci.

It overlooked the Dirupo, the part of town on the edge of Pisticci that had fallen off many times in landslides. The most famous was the landslide of 1688 and the most recent, 1976. There was a scientific explanation for why this land kept sliding off the cliff—the erosion of the Pliocene clay that made up the calanchi. But some superstitious townspeople still blamed the devil.

Grillaio falcons and rondini, small black swallows with white breasts, were here each and every afternoon flying in manic circles around and around as the sun set. Horses galloped on the farms below, proud roosters crowed, and sheep bleated like crying babies in the distance. I wondered if Vita had stood here as well, staring down with her two sons. I wondered if she felt more free here than she had in Bernalda. And more peaceful.

It wasn’t raining yet. But the rain was on its way. In the distance was a huge black mass of clouds with a white shaft—the falling rain. It looked like a mushroom cloud and was heading straight toward Pisticci and eventually Marconia, toward Giuseppe’s farm. The lightning was maybe a mile away, and every thirty seconds or so I would see its jagged jolt rip through the sky, over the small farmhouses and olive trees in the distance. The falcons and rondini were flying in mad circles over the Dirupo, just like they did during sunset.

I silently said an Our Father and asked that the storm bypass Giuseppe’s farm.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.