La Poverta E-Book

alastair macleod

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

"The neighbours soon knew about her husband's disappearance. And they were not slow in offering opinions of him. “Best without him,” said Roberta from the flat above. “Too lazy.” “What a pity, to lose such a handsome man, “ said Alessandra Cavaletto, who had always had an eye for her husband. “You will get another," said Laura Finotelli, “You are good cook.” Maria was known as good cook but was that all she was acclaimed for? And what did she have to cook for now that she not only had no husband to earn, but just no husband? At school Guiseppa too was finding it hard with the questions of the other girls, "What's he gone to America for? “Where in America? “I have an uncle in New York," “I have a cousin in Miami," Their questions made her and her sister dizzy. She asked her mum the same questions,but her mother did not know. Guiseppa began to fantasise that her mother knew why her Papa had left, that she was holding a secret"

Leseprobe

alastair macleod

La Poverta

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

La Poverta

La Poverta

a sicilian story

To work at the Café Admirale was now the ambition of Guiseppa Veronese; ever since she had been taken there one summer by papa.

The smiling barrista had brought her a spremuta, the orange juice so fresh she could still taste it. There had been red table cloths, with a white one put on top set diagonally. In the middle was a glass vase with a silk orchid set into coloured sand; just four chairs to a table. She had sat there, happy as a clam, looking at her papa, his handsome masculine face and his dark hair. Her eyes had roamed all over the café. It jutted out into the street and was contained like a bower, in lattice work. Potted plants stood in the corners and creepers curled up the supports.

A glass screen kept away the draughts from the sea front traffic and a large canvas awning prevented the sun from burning the guests. That day Papa had drunk an espresso in little sips, slowly smoking a cigarette, making it last. He seemed to want to say something but couldn‘t.

His daughter was twelve now, a pretty girl, dark like all the Veronese. She wore her hair long like her mother.

But Papa had left. He had gone to America it seemed, overnight; they heard nothing. He sent no money or letters.

When his wife Maria missed him the first night, she called his mother. Signora Veronese had been crying.

“He could not stand the shame of not being able to feed his family,” she said.

“I too am ashamed at what he has done. But it is a man’s way some times to run, the women stay for the children.” She would help where she could she added.

Guiseppa had another sister Carla, younger by a year and little brother, Alberto, just two.

Before he left Papa had been at home for nearly a year. He could get no work. The fishing fleet needed less men now; the boats were bigger, more automated. The family subsisted on state aid and some help from his brother. Although the family had been regular attenders, the church gave very little, a few clothes, some tinned food.

Signora Veronese, his mother, was in her eighties now and was not so mobile and she tired quickly. But yes, thought Maria of the older woman, she would help as she had always done through Maria’s pregnancies and the other little crises that are normal in married life.

The Veronese household was a two bedroom flat, an appartmento in the Via Garibaldi, a street in the old district near the port of the town. The housing was all flats, joined continuously along the street, five stories high, of smooth rendered walls with shuttered windows. Each flat had a small washing festooned balcony. There was no garden, no outside space except the street. The neighbours could be heard through the walls and floors. Most balconies sported a bit of greenery, a potted plant; some even hung bird cages outside in the sun.