Il vecchio servo

— No, Grandfather Ara, they won't rob me; dear grandfather, send me, — little Basilio pleaded, stroking his grandfather's cheek.

— All right, but don't pull my beard: you know a beard is only pulled on billy-goats.

— They won't rob me, there, I'm telling you, grandfather, — Basilio repeated, with a seriousness that made one laugh.

— Eh, it's not enough that you say so!

The little boy began to jump for joy, spurring and whipping an imaginary horse: then he went back over to his grandfather, seated in the shade of an oak, and leaned against his shoulder.

And as in certain Biblical illustrations, a long dog, stretched out in front of the hut, watched over the grazing flock; a tame crow ran now and then to peck at the flies that landed on the dog, and a reddish butterfly flew from the hut to the oak.

The green plain slept beneath the great May sun; out of the tall grass rose very tall yellow and violet flowers which, to Basilio, when he lay down on the grass, seemed to touch the sky: through the oaks appeared blue distances, fields gilded by the ripe barley, mountains reddened by the flowering of the moss.

— Basile, — said the grandfather, — go and call Sidru.

The little boy went off skipping.

— Listen, — said grandfather Ara, — from tomorrow we'll send the flock's takings with Basile; it's time the little chick made himself useful too.

The servant's eyes went wide, and anger set his blood on fire.

— There now, — he thought, — I have no teeth left, but I'm still a sinner; every evening, when I come back to the village with the flock's produce, before reaching my master's house I stop at the house of my ‘lady friend’, to whom I give a bit of milk and a bit of cheese.

— What are you saying, old fox? — the master shouted.

— Basile is too small, they'll rob him.

— Eh, don't break my legs now!

But the servant was used to being reminded of his sin at every turn, and he answered patiently:

— Do as you like, then, my master: I wash my hands of it.

And he turned his back.

— Yes, it's over, — the old man thought sadly: but the master called him back:

— Listen, old fox; you'll follow him from a distance, at least for some time.

— Ah, and is that how the chick will make himself useful, as you say?

— You keep quiet, jackass!

— Oh, fine!

— Sidru, you mangy thing, don't pester me!

— No, master; it's death who will break your legs, with his scythe.

And after this, master and servant lavished many more insults on each other; but without thinking much of it.

Toward sunset Sidru saddled the little horse — whose ears an enemy of the master had once cropped — and to the saddle he tied the gray wool saddlebag, in which sat the wooden molds holding the fresh cheese wrapped in asphodel leaves, and the ricotta, and the milk pail.

Then Sidru helped his little master mount the horse, and followed him at a distance, dragging his stick through the grass.

The old servant walked briskly and quickly, like a dog; sometimes, though, he had to run so as not to lose sight of Basile.

— Curse you, — he thought, — curse the lot of you!

Walking and walking, little master and servant reached the village: it was already evening; the new moon lit the black little houses of the village with a greenish twilight.

Sidru let the boy make his way to the Ara house, and he himself went in to see his ‘lady friend’.

He looked like a whipped dog, but ‘the lady friend’, an elderly woman who had a wayward son, welcomed him kindly and comforted him.

— We've been friends for twenty years, — she said, — and it isn't for a bit of milk and fresh cheese that I care for you.

— In a few days I'll bring you a lamb, — the servant promised all the same.

And the two old lovers parted better friends than before.

To reassure the old mistress, Sidru thought it wise to let himself be seen.

— You're coming after me, old fox? — he shouted, repeating his grandfather's insults.

— You go chase off your fleas, you poisonous little frog, — the servant answered calmly.

The old countrywoman, tall and stout, with the profile of a Roman matron, handed the old man the bread basket and signaled him to be quiet, so the ‘chick’ would not get any angrier.

*

And so that the ‘chick’ would not get any angrier, the masters decided that Sidru should keep watching over him, yes, but should not come back to the house, nor let himself be seen by Basilio in any way.

The boy did not demand to go back to the village every day, and the grandfather did not always grant his wish; but when it did happen, the ‘chick’ never forgot to turn around now and then, and one evening he made out the servant in the distance.

Blind with rage, he turned the horse, rode toward Sidru, and when he was close he lifted his foot to kick him in the face.

The old man barely had time to dodge aside: tears of anger and grief moistened his eyes.

— Why, why do you keep coming after me? — the little bully shouted.

Sidru had a strange idea: he raised his stick and, changing his voice, shouted:

— Hey there, who are you talking to, little gnat?

Basile, who was not as clever as he was overbearing, was somewhat puzzled: he looked at the servant's coat, his cap, his stick.

— Toothless old man, aren't you my servant?

— Your servant?