Italian Folktales (82 page)

 

(
Terra d'Otranto
)

131

There was once a husband and a wife, well-off tenant farmers, who managed the farm of the leading nobleman of the province, in the vicinity of Otranto. They had five sons, and the farmer's wife, after finishing her chores and putting supper on to cook for the men coming in from their work, would sit on the doorstep of their house each evening and say her rosary.

One evening as she was about to make the sign of the cross, she heard the owl call, “Farmer's wife, farmer's wife! When do you want wealth, in youth or in old age?”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed the farmer's wife, crossing herself in haste.

It was the hour when the men came in from the fields. They sat down to the table and ate quite heartily. That poor woman was a bit disturbed. “What's the matter?” asked her husband and sons. She replied that she didn't feel well.

The next evening when she began saying her rosary anew, she again heard the owl. “When do you want wealth, in youth or in old age?”

“Mother of God!” exclaimed the farmer's wife. “This is serious!” She went straight to her husband about it.

“Wife,” said the farmer, “if the same thing happens again, tell the owl that you want wealth in old age, since one always gets through youth somehow, but in old age a person can't have too many comforts.”

So when the owl called the third evening, the farmer's wife said, “You're back again? In old age I want it, is that clear?”

Time went by. One evening, fed up with eating the same vegetables all the time, the husband and sons said: “Mamma, tomorrow, God willing, make us a salad of mixed greens.”

In the morning the farmer's wife took her apron with the deep pocket and a knife, and went out for salad greens. The farm was on a promontory overlooking the sea, and the farther out she went, the nicer became the greens. “What fine greens!” she said. “This evening my sons and husband will have something to feast on!” She picked greens here, there, and yonder and wound up right on the seashore. And while she was bending over gathering a particular kind of chicory, some Turks sneaked up, seized her, dragged her off to a boat, and sped away over the sea. In vain did she scream and beg for mercy; not for the life of them would they let her go.

But let's leave her screaming her head off and turn to the poor husband and sons when they came in that evening. Instead of seeing the house open, as always, and supper ready, they found the door closed. They called, they knocked, and finally they broke the door down. When they had made sure she was nowhere in the house, they went around and asked the neighbors if any of them had seen her. “Yes,” said the farmers in the vicinity, “we saw her go out with her apron, but we didn't see her return.”

Just imagine the grief of those men! Night fell, and they lit lanterns and went out into the fields crying, “Mamma! Mamma!” They also peered down into the wells. Finally they gave up hope of finding her and returned home in tears.

Then they dressed in mourning and received callers for three days straight. But since everything in this world passes, they again returned to work in the fields as before.

Two years later it happened they had to plow a large field for sowing it in grain. The sons and the old man each took a team of oxen and started plowing. As he plowed, the old man's plow caught on something in the earth. Unable to get it loose by himself, he called his oldest son. They pulled and pulled and finally saw that it was caught in an iron ring. They tugged on the ring, and up came a large stone slab. Underneath it was a room.

“Oh, Papa!” said the son, “What do I see down there? May I go down?”

“No,” answered the old man. “Let's leave everything as it is. Tonight we'll come back and see what this is all about.” Thus they separated.

In the evening they took the farmhands aside and got them good and drunk. Once the men were snoring, the old man and his five sons took the lantern and returned to the stone slab. They raised it, descended to the underground vault, and found seven pots full of gold pieces. They stared at one another open-mouthed, at a loss for words, and with no idea what to do. “My sons,” said the old man, “don't just stand there like blockheads. Run get the cart and hurry back.”

The sons raced back with the cart, loaded on all the treasure, and took it off and hid it.

The next day—exactly two years and one month from the time of the disappearance of the poor farmer's wife—they went to the owner of the farm and said that they wouldn't stay at the farm any longer, their hearts were no longer in it. They turned the property back over to him, offered the farmhands a fine feast, and set out for Naples. Arriving there, they took off their country clothes and donned fine new ones. They bought a palace and called in schoolmasters and language teachers to
teach them the ways of gentlemen. Then they went to the theater and other similar things. The old man grew a pigtail, as was the custom in those days. They took up speaking like the Neapolitans, and even changed their names; it was no longer Renzo, or Cola, but
Don
Pietrino,
Don
Saveruccio; every nice name they heard, they latched onto it. Nobody they used to know would have recognized them any more.

One day all five brothers happened to be together in the square of the Immacolatella, where a slave market was being held, with both dark Moorish girls and white girls for sale. Among the white girls stood out one who was especially beautiful. The minute the boys got back home they cried, “Father, Father!” (They no longer said “Papa.”)

“What is it, my sons?”

“We saw any number of beautiful slave girls. Shall we buy one?”

“What!” said the father. “You want to bring a slut into the house? Indeed you won't! If there's an old woman among them, we'll take her.”

He went to the square himself, looked the slaves over, and spotted an old one among them—rather, she looked old just then from all the knocks she had taken and all the work forced on her, poor soul. “How much do you want for her?” the father asked the slave dealer.

“One hundred ducats.”

He paid, and they took her home. It wrung one's heart watching that poor soul moving about in rags, so they bought her new clothes and put her in charge of the house.

In the evening, as always, the sons attended the theater. But the old man never went out. When the poor woman saw the five brothers leave, she would sigh and weep. One evening after lighting the young gentlemen down the stairs, she came back up weeping, and the old gentleman closed the book he was reading and called to her.

“Why do you always sigh and weep when you see my sons?”

“Sir,” replied the slave woman, “if you knew what was in my heart you wouldn't ask me!”

“Sit down and tell me,” said the old man.

“Well, I have never been the slave you bought me for. I was married to a farmer and had five sons like Your Honor's . . . ” and she went on with her story. When she came to the part about going out for salad greens and being kidnapped by the Turks, the old man rose, embraced her, and covered her with kisses. “My wife, my wife, I am that very farmer, and the five boys are your own sons. One day, after years of suffering, since we thought you were dead, we came upon a fortune while plowing the field. So what the owl told you has come true.”

Just imagine the good woman's joy over miraculously finding her husband and sons after seventeen years of slavery. As they clasped one
another relating past woes, their sons returned from the theater. Seeing the two old people lavishing so many caresses on one another, they said, “And he didn't want us to buy a young woman!”

“No, my sons,” said the father, “this is your mother, whom we mourned for so many years.”

Just imagine the sons! Over and over they embraced and kissed her, saying, “Mamma, you've worked and suffered quite enough. From now on you will command and enjoy every luxury.”

Maids and servants came and dressed her as the great lady she actually was, with a muff for winter and a fan for summer.

Thus they lived in peace and contentment, spending their old age in the lap of luxury.

 

(
Terra d'Otranto
)

132

There was once a beautiful woman married to a mariner. This mariner used to sail off and stay for years at a time and once, while he was away, a king of the region fell in love with his wife and finally persuaded her to run away with him. When the mariner got back, he found the house empty. Time passed, and the king tired of the woman and dismissed her. Repentant, she returned to her husband and begged his forgiveness on bended knee.

Although he still loved her as much as ever, the mariner was so offended by her faithlessness that he turned his back on her, saying, “I'll never forgive you. You'll get the punishment you deserve. Prepare to die.”

Tearing her hair, the woman begged and pleaded with him, but all to no avail. The mariner had the fathless wife loaded onto his ship as though she were a sack of grain, weighed anchor, and sailed off.

Reaching the high seas, he said, “Your time has come.” At that, he picked her up by the hair and threw her into the waves. “I am now avenged,” he said, changing course and sailing back into port.

The wife sank to the floor of the sea, right where the Sirens congregated.

“Look what a beautiful young woman they've thrown into the sea,” said the Sirens. “The idea of such a lovely creature being eaten up by the fish! Let's rescue her and take her in with us!”

So they took the wife by the hand and led her to their underwater palace which was all lit up and glowing. And one Siren combed her black hair, another perfumed her arms and bosom, another put a coral necklace around her neck, still another slipped emerald rings on her fingers. The wife was too amazed for words. “Froth!” she heard them call her. “Froth, come along with us!” She realized that would be her name among the Sirens. She entered the grand hall of their palace and found it full of women and handsome youths who were dancing, and she too began dancing.

What with so many comforts and celebrations, the wife's days flew by in joy. But the memory of her husband would often return to haunt her and make her sad.

“Aren't you happy here with us, Froth?” asked the Sirens. “Why are you so quiet and downcast?”

“Nothing at all is wrong, I assure you,” she would answer, but she was unable to force a smile.

“Come, we'll teach you to sing.” They taught her those songs of theirs which make sailors dive into the sea when they hear them. So Froth took her place in the Sirens' choir, which rose to the surface to sing on moonlight nights.

One night the Sirens saw a vessel approaching full sail. “Come on, Froth, we're going up to sing!” said the Sirens and began their song:

 

“This is the song of the full moon,

Of the moon so round and here so soon;

Is it the comely Siren you wish to see?

Then, jump, O sailor, into the sea!”

 

At that, a man was seen leaning over the railing of the ship, bewitched by the music, and next thing you knew, he flung himself into the waves. By the light of the moon, Froth had recognized him: it was her husband.

“This one we'll turn into coral!” the Sirens were already saying.

“Or into white crystal! Or else shell!”

“Wait! Please wait!” exclaimed Froth. “Don't kill him! Don't work any more magic on him!”

“But why are you showing so much pity for him?” asked her companions.

“I don't know . . . I'd like to work a spell over him myself . . . in my own way, you'll see . . . . Please, let him live for twenty-four hours more.”

After seeing her so sad all the time, the Sirens didn't have the heart to say no, and shut the mariner up in a white palace on the floor of the sea. It was now day, and the Sirens went off to sleep. Froth approached the white palace and sang a song that went like this:

 

“This is the song of the moon when it's full,

I knew you in life and you were ungrateful,

Now I've become a Siren

You I will save and me they will condemn.”

 

The mariner pricked up his ears and realized that the one singing could be none other than his wife. He grew hopeful, realizing deep down that he had already forgiven her and regretted drowning her.

Now the Sirens slept in the daytime and went about the sea at night spreading their nets for sailors. Froth waited until night, opened the white palace and was reunited with her husband. “Be quiet,” she told him. “The Sirens have just gone off and can still hear us! Hold on to me and let me carry you.” Like that she swam and swam for hours until they came in sight of a large ship.

“Cry to the sailors for help!” said Froth.

“Here, down here! Help! Help!”

A rowboat was lowered from the ship. They rowed toward the survivor and pulled him on board.

“The Siren . . . ” he said. “The Siren . . . The Siren, my wife . . . ”

“He's gone crazy in the water,” said the rescuers. “Now, now, calm down, friend, you're safe. There's no siren around here!”

The mariner made it back to his town, but all he could think of from then on was his siren wife, and he was unhappy. “I drowned her and now she has saved my life,” he thought. “I will go sailing until I find her. I will save her, or else drown myself.”

And thinking those thoughts, he penetrated a forest up to a walnut tree where the fairies were said to gather.

“My good lad, why are you so sad?” said a voice next to him. He turned around and there stood an old woman.