presents for the girl and her family. He had learned that the girl's name was Apollonia
and every night he thought of her lovely face and her lovely name. He had to drink a
good deal of wine to get some sleep and orders were given to the old women servants
in the house to leave a chilled bottle at his bedside. He drank it empty every night.
On Sunday, to the tolling of church bells that covered all of Sicily, he drove the Alfa
Romeo to the village and parked it just outside the cafй. Calo and Fabrizzio were in the
back seat with their luparas and Michael told them they were to wait in the cafй, they
were not to come to the house. The cafй was closed but Vitelli was there waiting for
them, leaning against the railing of his empty terrace.
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They shook hands all around and Michael took the three packages, the presents, and
trudged (идти с трудом, устало тащиться) up the hill with Vitelli to his home. This
proved to be larger than the usual village hut, the Vitellis were not poverty-stricken.
Inside the house was familiar with statues of the Madonna entombed in glass, votive
(исполненный по обету; ['v∂utıv]) lights flickering redly at their feet. The two sons were
waiting, also dressed in their Sunday black. They were two sturdy young men just out of
their teens but looking older because of their hard work on the farm. The mother was a
vigorous woman, as stout as her husband. There was no sign of the girl.
After the introductions, which Michael did not even hear, they sat in the room that
might possibly have been a living room or just as easily the formal dining room. It was
cluttered with all kinds of furniture and not very large but for Sicily it was middle-class
splendor.
Michael gave Signor Vitelli and Signora Vitelli their presents. For the father it was a
gold cigar-cutter, for the mother a bolt (кусок, рулон /холста, шелковой материи/) of
the finest cloth purchasable in Palermo. He still had one package for the girl. His
presents were received with reserved thanks. The gifts were a little too premature, he
should not have given anything until his second visit.
The father said to him, in man-to-man country fashion, "Don't think we're so of no
account to welcome strangers into our house so easily. But Don Tommasino vouched
for you personally and nobody in this province would ever doubt the word of that good
man. And so we make you welcome. But I must tell you that if your intentions are
serious about my daughter, we will have to know a little more about you and your family.
You can understand, your family is from this country."
Michael nodded and said politely, "I will tell you anything you wish to know anytime."
Signor Vitelli held up a hand. "I'm not a nosy (носатый; любопытный) man. Let's see
if it's necessary first. Right now you're welcome in my house as a friend of Don
Tommasino."
Despite the drug painted inside his nose, Michael actually smelled the girl's presence
in the room. He turned and she was standing in the arched doorway that led to the back
of the house. The smell was of fresh flowers and lemon blossoms but she wore nothing
in her hair of jet black curls, nothing on her plain severe black dress, obviously her
Sunday best. She gave him a quick glance and a tiny smile before she cast her eyes
down demurely and sat down next to her mother.
Again Michael felt that shortness of breath, that flooding through his body of
something that was not so much desire as an insane possessiveness. He understood
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for the first time the classical jealousy of the Italian male. He was at that moment ready
to kill anyone who touched this girl, who tried to claim her, take her away from him. He
wanted to own her as wildly as a miser (скупец, скряга) wants to own gold coins, as
hungrily as a sharecropper (испольщик, издольщик) wants to own his own land.
Nothing was going to stop him from owning this girl, possessing her, locking her in a
house and keeping her prisoner only for himself. He didn't want anyone even to see her.
When she turned to smile at one of her brothers Michael gave that young man a
murderous look without even realizing it. The family could see it was a classical case of
the "thunderholt" and they were reassured. This young man would be putty (оконная
замазка; шпатлевка; послушное орудие, игрушка /в чьих-либо руках/) in their
daughter's hands until they were married. After that of course things would change but it
wouldn't matter.
Michael had bought himself some new clothes in Palermo and was no longer the
roughly dressed peasant, and it was obvious to the family that he was a Don of some
kind. His smashed face did not make him as evil-looking as he believed; because his
other profile was so handsome it made the disfigurement interesting even. And in any
case this was a land where to be called disfigured you had to compete with a host of
men who had suffered extreme physical misfortune.
Michael looked directly at the girl, the lovely ovals of her face. Her lips now he could
see were almost blue so dark was the blood pulsating in them. He said, not daring to
speak her name, "I saw you by the orange groves the other day. When you ran away. I
hope I didn't frighten you?"
The girl raised her eyes to him for just a fraction. She shook her head. But the
loveliness of those eyes had made Michael look away. The mother said tartly (tart –
кислый, терпкий, едкий; резкий, колкий /об ответе или возражении/), "Apollonia,
speak to the poor fellow, he's come miles to see you," but the girl's long jet lashes
remained closed like wings over her eyes. Michael handed her the present wrapped in
gold paper and the girl put it in her lap. The father said, "Open it, girl," but her hands did
not move. Her hands were small and brown, an urchin's hands (urchin – мальчишка,
пострел). The mother reached over and opened the package impatiently, yet careful
not to tear the precious paper. The red velvet jeweler's box gave ber pause, she had
never held such a thing in her hands and didn't know how to spring its catch (запор,
задвижка). But she got it open on pure instinct and then took out the present.
It was a heavy gold chain to be worn as a necklace, and it awed them not only
because of its obvious value but because a gift of gold in this society was also a
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statement of the most serious intentions. It was no less than a proposal of matrimony, or
rather the signal that there was the intention to propose matrimony. They could no
longer doubt the seriousness of this stranger. And they could not doubt his substance
(вещество, материя; имущество, состояние).
Apollonia still had not touched her present. Her mother held it up for her to see and
she raised those long lashes for a moment and then she looked directly at Michael, her
doelike brown eyes grave, and said, "Grazia." It was the first time he had heard her
voice.
It had all the velvety softness of youth and shyness and it set Michael's ears ringing.
He kept looking away from her and talking to the father and mother simply because
looking at her confused him so much. But he noticed that despite the conservative
looseness of her dress her body almost shone through the cloth with sheer sensuality.
And he noticed the darkening of her skin blushing, the dark creamy skin, going darker