Mentre soffia il levante

An ancient Sardinian legend holds that the bodies of men born on Christmas Eve will never decay until the end of the ages.

What can we do with the body, after we're dead?

And when the Last Judgment comes, won't it be a beautiful thing to find one's own body intact?

You'll go to bed! — shouted the father in a harsh voice.

And the family respected him and feared him.

In her father's presence Maria Franzisca did not even dare sit beside her Predu (besides, the custom of the village required that engaged couples keep a respectful distance), and she contented herself with flirting with him from afar, bewitching him with the movements of her lovely, blooming figure inside her picturesque dress of scarlet or of orbace, and above all with the glances of her ardent eyes of a greenish blue, big as two ripe almonds.

It seemed as though beyond the mountains, on whose slopes the cold winter grass grew green, and beyond the valley, where the almond trees, too early in bloom, shook themselves, flinging their petals to the wind as if in spite, white as flakes of snow, a great fire were burning, whose flames could not be seen, but whose heat arrived all the same.

And the clouds that appeared over the mountain peaks and rose and spread ceaselessly across the sky seemed made of the smoke of that invisible fire.

The bells were ringing out in festival; the people, made a little strange by the levante, wandered through the streets and houses, thinking of ways to gather together to celebrate Christmas; families exchanged gifts of suckling pigs, of autumn lambs, of meat, of sweets, of dried fruit; the shepherds brought their masters the first milk of the cows, and the mistress of the house sent back to the shepherd the container full of vegetables or something else, taking care never to send it back empty, so as not to wish ill on the livestock.

And the fiancée gave a silver crown to the woman who brought the gift, and inside the basket she placed a sweet of almonds and honey.

She blushed, laughed with pleasure, withdrew her hand: and in her hand, still warm from the loving clasp, she found a gold coin.

Pietro wore his fine, still medieval costume — the doublet of deep blue velvet and the short black cloak of orbace and finely quilted velvet; and he had a leather belt worked with embroidery and buttons of filigreed gold.

He was handsome and fresh as a rustic god.

— May the Lord grant you a hundred Christmases.

How are you getting on?

And he recited those famous verses:

— said uncle Diddinu, striking his stick on the hearthstone.

— As long as the Holy Vigil lasts it must be respected: Our Lady suffers the pains of childbirth and we must neither sing nor eat meat.

Oh, good evening, Mattia Portolu!

sit down there and tell me who else is coming.

Maria Franzisca, something to drink!

Bring something to drink for these little lambs.

Meanwhile the newcomer was naming the friends who were still to arrive.

On one side sat the men; on the other the women were cooking: on a long spit was already skewered half the suckling pig given by Predu Tasca; and a light, fragrant smoke of cooking food spread through the kitchen.

Two other old relatives came, two brothers who had never wished to marry, so as not to divide their inheritance; they looked like two patriarchs, with long curly hair falling over their flowing white beards; then came a young blind man who felt and brushed the walls with a slender oleander cane.

Why do you stay as far apart as the stars?

Hold each other's hands, then, embrace….

They'll find a way well enough to advise each other! — answered the old man.

Something to drink, Maria Franzisca!

One can't sing or eat, nor anything else….

But can one drink?

— Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will.

Only Pietro barely wet his lips on the rim of the glass.

Outside the bells were ringing; shouts and songs could be heard drifting on the wind.

Toward eleven everyone rose to go to midnight Mass; in the house there remained only the very old grandmother, who in her youth had heard it said that the dead return on Christmas night to visit the houses of their kin.

So she practiced an old rite: she prepared a plate of food and a jug of wine for the dead.

That night too, as soon as she was alone she rose, took the wine and the food, and set them on an outside stairway that climbed from the courtyard to the upper rooms of the house.