“Yes, the color is different.” The fat man’s voice sounded both patient and tired. “Otherwise, same thing, carved bone, same price.”
Assunta straightened and turned to Gae. “Please tell the man I want to buy both.” She patted her right breast a little more energetically than was appropriate in public, not realizing she was letting everyone around her know where she kept her money. “We’ll come back for them in a minute.”
Stella and Cettina retreated with their mother to the closest alley, where, looking very suspicious, Assunta crouched to retrieve her wealth from between her bosoms and spread the coins in her palm for Stella to count. The two charms would cost almost all their money. On the other hand, wasn’t this what festivals were for, splurging on the things they couldn’t get every day?
They returned to the gold seller’s table, where Assunta handed her money to Gae, and Gae presented it to the fat man. The charms were strung on leather thongs before they were passed along to Assunta.
“Someday someone will buy you a real gold chain for this,” Assunta told her daughters. “Maybe me, maybe your husband.” She tied a charm around each of their necks, the white one for Stella, the black one for Cettina. “Remember, when the time comes, the big gold chain looks shinier, but the little chain actually has more gold in it, because there’s less space between the links. You’ll know you’ve found a good man if he buys you a very small chain.”
In the afternoon, the music took over, and the shopping gave way to singing, drinking, and dancing. Stella felt shy watching the other girls dancing at first, but also felt envious of their comeliness. It was impossible not to look at them with their smiling cheeks and swirling hair. Soon any shyness had melted away and Stella and Cettina joined the circle of laughing girls they had never met before, spinning on the bare balls of their feet to the sharp, endless music of the concertina and violin—that was the secret of the tarantella, to keep dancing so the spider had no chance to bite you. Stella especially enjoyed sneaking glances at the concertina player, a handsome and animated young man in his mid-twenties, with a friendly face and curling hair. The music he made with his hands stirred her blood and almost wiped away the tainted memory of her father that had been dogging her all day.
Stella was off her guard, indulging her warming thoughts, when a voice behind her said, “Hello,bella ragazza.”
If she hadn’t been so startled, she might have reacted differently—defensively, or sarcastically. Instead she whirled around, her eyes wide, and said, “Me?”
The young man who stood there behind her, close enough that she’d heard him over the music and laughter, was five inches taller than Stella, and maybe three years older. He had curling dark hair and unruddied skin. He lifted his black cap and bowed.
“Ah, I should have said beautifulgirls,” he corrected himself. Stella felt Cettina breathing heavily, excitedly at her shoulder. “Beautiful sisters?” Neither sister said anything to affirm or deny. “You’re not Nicastro girls. I would never forget your faces if I had seen them before. Where are you from?”
“Ievoli,” Cettina replied, and probably would have said more except Stella pinched the skin of her sister’s forearm hard enough to make her squeal.
“You don’t just tell strangers where you’re from,” Stella chided.
“Your sister is right,” the man said. Without looking, Stella knew Cettina’s eyes would be reddening with embarrassed tears. The man might have sensed it, too. “But anyway, I’m not a stranger, so you shouldn’t feel bad.” He indicated with his chin. Gae Felice, their chaperone, had somehow drifted into the conversation. Moments earlier he had been half thecorsoaway with a group of young men, but he must have been watching his mice like a hawk. “Are you related to this man? He is my friend.”
“Not relatives, but they are like sisters to me.” Gae stepped forward and clapped the dark-eyed man on the shoulder. “Stefano. How is it?”
“Oh, not too bad, Gae.” Stefano smiled at Stella, who felt goose bumps rise on the warm skin of her arms. He liked her, he was making no secret of it. He said to Gae, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your sisters here?”
Gae smacked Stefano’s chest—not gently—with the back of his hand. “Like sisters, I said. Let’s not go too far.” To Stella and Cettina,he said, “Ladies, allow me to present Stefano Morello, of Sambiase. You know Sambiase?” The girls shook their heads, and Gae pointed toward the far side of thechiazza,where the Nicastro road led toward the sea. “If you go on in that direction, it’s the nextpaese.”
“A pleasure,” Stella said, although since she didn’t know anything about this man she was careful not to sound too sincere.
Stefano removed his hat and bowed. “And may I ask the names of your mysterious lovely friends?” he asked Gae.
Gae did not answer immediately; he stared at Stefano, a territorial challenge. “Mariastella and Concettina Fortuna. And just over there”—he gestured to the rock where Assunta was leaning, clapping her hands to the music, happily unaware that young men were imperiling her daughters’ virtue—“is their mother, Signora Assunta Mascaro.”
“I look forward to being introduced,” Stefano said, unaggressive, confident. Under the pressure of his attention, Gae’s gentlemanly chaperoning had taken on a new flavor, a proprietorial one. Stella couldn’t decide whether the two men were good friends teasing each other or if there was something more at stake.
Gae and Stefano chatted for a few minutes while Stella and Cettina stole glances at each other, not quite communicating their opinions. It was impossible not to compare the two young men. Stella knew Gaetano was admired by all the Ievoli girls, but Stella rather preferred Stefano’s look, slender and clean and dark. His face was small and fine under the shaking array of black curls.
“Now,” Stefano said, and the music was shifting as if to help him along, “might I have the honor of a dance with youbelle?”
“We don’t dance with men,” Cettina said. The rules were one thing she was secure in.
“Oh, no,” Stefano said. His face was exaggerated chagrin, but he was not surprised. “Well, then, perhaps we can join your mother and enjoy the music together?”
That was what they did. Assunta was wary of the new man buthappy to be his friend the moment Gae, who was very high in her esteem, gave Stefano his endorsement. Stefano bought them a flask of wine, which they shared as Giuseppe ran among the dancers, madcap as a street cat with everywhere to be. As Stella relaxed, she decided she rather liked Stefano Morello, who was smart and smooth and who wasn’t chasing down other dance partners but was content to spend his holiday charming her mother. Would she want him to court her? To hold her hand, to kiss her? Her mind reeled away from that idea, and she focused on the music.
They stayed at thefhestauntil the bells rang for the six o’clock mass, then took communion in the cavernous Nicastro church and set out for home. As the Felice brothers escorted them up the mountain path, Mauri walking ahead of the cart with a lantern so the donkey didn’t take a turn off the road, Stella, who was exhausted and exhilarated all at once, dozed and awoke again. She had a song in her head, “Calabrisella Mia,” a song the musicians had sung twice that day. It was the story of a young man whose heart is broken by a beautiful dark-eyed girl who does not love him back.
You looked at me with such passionate eyes,the lyrics went,and I stole your beautiful handkerchief. My Calabrisella, let us make love. I am dying of desire.
It couldn’t have been the first time she had heard the song—it was the quintessential Calabrese folk song, sung in love or in jest by every wooing Calabrese boy to his every blushing or irritated lady target. But for the rest of her life Stella would think of this night when she heard the song, whose chorus filled her ears for days.
Tirulalleru lalleru lala! Sta Calabrisella muriri mi fa!
TWO WEEKS AFTER THEFHESTA,Stefano from Sambiase came all the way to Ievoli on Saturday afternoon. He must have traveled through the heat of the day to arrive for dinner. He stayed with the Felices and on Sunday morning, after attending mass at Santa MariaAddolorata, he knocked on the door of Assunta’s house and asked if he could visit with them for the afternoon.
