The Fertile Rock E-Book

alastair macleod

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

"Don Petrosile sighed. Such a woman had never entered his ambit or if she had, he had been asleep, his antennae had not been working, he had not picked up on the flaming desire that Aldo had described. “In the full moon she is molta scaldata.” “Truly? It affects her like that?” “Si”, said Aldo. Don Petrosile began now to wonder if this woman was all in the mind of Aldo, a product of his imagination. Aldo was the spazzino, the street sweeper of Acireale. He swept and he talked; mostly he talked. “She passes this way each day,” continued Aldo. “Around 8.30, she is heading for work, I think,” he said, lifting his brush onto his cart. Tucking this morsel of information into his mindfile, Don Petrosile bid Aldo a “Buon' journata,” and went on his way."

Leseprobe

alastair macleod

The Fertile Rock

Una Femina Scaldata

to Mount Etna and the life she createsBookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

The Fertile Rock

“Era una femina scaldata” said Aldo . “She has amber eyes that glow in the dark, eyelashes that flicker, the long wild hair.”

“A primitive woman from the hills with primitive ideas?” said Don Petrosile.

“Si”, continued Aldo, “but there is more; she is longing for un bambino; like the cow she is seeking the bull.”

Don Petrosile sighed. Such a woman had never entered his ambit or if she had, he had been asleep, his antennae had not been working, he had not picked up on the flaming desire that Aldo had described.

“In the full moon she is molta scaldata.”

“Truly? It affects her like that?”

“Si”, said Aldo.

Don Petrosile began now to wonder if this woman was all in the mind of Aldo, a product of his imagination.

Aldo was the spazzino, the street sweeper of Acireale. He swept and he talked; mostly he talked.

“She passes this way each day,” continued Aldo. “Around 8.30, she is heading for work I think,” he said, lifting his brush onto his cart.

Tucking this morsel of information into his mindfile, Don Petrosile bid Aldo a “Buon’ journata,” and went on his way.

Petrosile was a man of sophisticated tastes, an architect, a balancer of forces, a player with light, a savourer of nuance.

But he increasingly felt bound; by regulations, by lack of space, and by his childless marriage.

His last project had been a new house in an old part of town.

The weight of the local architecture pressed on him. There were many rules for this site. It was in a conservation area so he was limited with materials and form.

Form. He longed for more freedom of form.