Vendetta !sx .sx by Brian Cleeve .sx THEY faced each other in the lamplit room , her hands pale against the black of her dress , clasped together , as if she was afraid of what he would say to her , or of what she would answer .sx " Tell me what really happened , " he whispered .sx " How did your father die ?sx " He saw the hands twist , the fingers clench with the effort of holding the words in .sx " Was he killed ?sx " he said .sx She lifted one hand , pressed its knuckles against her mouth .sx " Yes , " she breathed .sx " They killed him .sx . " She turned away , towards the deep , narrow window that looked out on the valley , and Mount Tamborene .sx There was no moon yet , and the stars were heavy as gold coins in the South Italian sky .sx " And your brother ?sx Silvio ?sx " " What do you think ?sx " she said , trying to keep the bitterness from her voice .sx " He is carrying on the vendetta .sx Like a hero of the old times .sx " She leant her forehead against the cool plaster of the wall , beside the window .sx " He is up there , on the mountain .sx Stealing their sheep .sx Burning their shepherds' huts .sx While we stay here .sx . " She was crying now , with a quiet despair that was worse than if she had screamed aloud .sx He was afraid to touch her :sx afraid of many things , perhaps most of all to wake the thing that he had tried to forget after all the years in the North , since he left this house .sx Seven years .sx Seven years ago , stealing out of the house on a night as dark as this .sx Running away , a boy's dream in his mind that one day he would come back with a fortune , to dazzle this family that had taken him in as an orphan , saved his life- and exacted the fullest price for it that they could .sx He had been seven years old when they found him , a piece of wartime flotsam cast up in a Calabrian valley from God knew where .sx Starving , remembering nothing but his name , Ettore , and a mind-picture of buildings lit by a fantastic glare , tumbling , falling , while a woman screamed .sx And the Feltri , the richest family in the valley , had let him sleep in a corner of their yard , and fed him scraps in return for work ; drawing water , minding the goats and chickens , seeing that this girl beside him didn't stray out of the courtyard .sx She had been five then , small and dark and supple as a kitten ; running away from him , laughing at him , hiding , while he ran after her in despair , calling " Ginevra , Ginevra , " terrified that he would be beaten or left without food for not minding her properly .sx There had been Silvio too , almost his own age , but already a young prince , slender and arrogant .sx It had been Silvio who gave him his new name , Orfano .sx Ettore the Orphan .sx He had grown up to carry the name with a kind of sullen pride .sx But for that name he might truly have become one of the family .sx They were kind enough to him , as far as they understood what kindness was .sx After the first year or so , they didn't beat him any more .sx They gave him his place in life against the world , as they gave it to their dogs , their shepherds , the women who worked in the house , the peasants who worked on their olive terraces .sx He belonged to them , to their faction , opposing the other faction in the village , that of the Crespi , bitter enemies of the Feltri for more than a hundred years .sx He might have grown up to be like Silvio's true brother , or cousin , but for that name , Orfano .sx The children in the village shrieked it after him , " the orphan , the orphan !sx " Sometimes at night he prayed , " When I wake up tomorrow , let me remember my real name .sx " But he never did .sx Only the buildings falling , burning , the woman screaming .sx The only person that he was really close to was Ginevra ; protecting her from her brother ; bringing her new-born chicks in his cap for an Easter gift .sx He pretended to himself that both she and he were orphans ; that they were the brother and sister , not she and Silvio .sx He gave her all the love that he would have given his whole family , if he had had one .sx . Until quite suddenly , between one day and the next , he realised that it had become a different kind of love .sx For a week he had held the knowledge inside himself , half ecstasy , half terror , like a pleasure so unbearable that it becomes agony .sx Then , one evening , when both of them were drawing water by the well , he had told her what he felt ; had taken her hands , held them against his heart , drawn her close to him , so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his mouth .sx . " Ettore ?sx " she had breathed , afraid of what she saw in his face , what she felt stirring in herself .sx " Ettore .sx . " And he had kissed her ; not wanting to , holding himself back as if it was a sacrilege , and yet drawn down to her .sx And then they had really kissed , and it was like drunkenness , like falling , like fire in the mouth , and they both leaned against the well , sick and dizzy , hardly able to see one another .sx But her father had seen .sx He came out from the house , shouting curses .sx He knocked Ettore to the ground and beat him with a harness strap until he was barely conscious .sx That night Ettore ran away .sx He had known that there was no chance of his being allowed even to speak to Ginevra again .sx He ran away , to make his fortune .sx In a year he would be back , with a motor car and a sack of gold , and he would pour the gold on the great kitchen table in front of all of them .sx When he told them that he had come back to marry Ginevra , they would go down on their knees to him in gratitude .sx But that dream had faded very soon , as he begged his way north , picking up what work he could in Rome , in Bologna , in Milan , Turin .sx Until eventually in Turin the police picked him up as a vagabond , found that he was due for his military service , and shipped him off to the barracks instead of the gaol .sx He thrived as a soldier .sx He was drafted into the engineers , showed promise and intelligence , and was trained as a road surveyor .sx When he finished his service , one of his officers found him a job with a road construction company , and for two years he was working in the Alps .sx Calabria , the Feltri- even Ginevra- seemed to belong to another world .sx He felt that it was better like that .sx It would do him no good to carry useless regret through life .sx He tried never to think of her .sx . And then the construction company was granted a contract in Calabria .sx Ettore Orfano was assigned to it because he knew the dialect , and would get on with the local workmen .sx And suddenly he found himself within twenty miles of Tamborene , and the house which for ten years of his life had been his home .sx FOR a month he debated in his mind whether to go back , then whether to write first , or simply to arrive .sx Finally he compromised .sx A week's leave was due to him , and he simply wrote that he was coming , and followed his letter so closely that there would be no time for a reply .sx He spent the hour-long journey in the bus trying over a dozen different speeches for his arrival , wondering how they would receive him , nursing the little pile of gifts in his lap :sx a pipe for Giovanni Feltri ; silk scarves for the women ; a box of cheroots for Silvio .sx He was half-eager to walk into the great kitchen with its smoke-blackened timbers , its huge table , its massive chairs and cavernous hearth ; to show himself to them in his suit from Milan , his town shoes ; to show them what he had become ; a man on the rungs of a skilled professional career , educated , self-assured .sx And yet also half-afraid .sx Of what ?sx Nothing .sx He could imagine the clamour of welcome .sx Even old Giovanni would welcome him , the cuffs , the beatings , the brutalities and the last quarrel forgotten .sx Ginevra would surely be married now .sx Perhaps she would have children .sx Would she have called one of them Ettore ?sx Whom would she have married ?sx One of the Crespi ?sx Not very likely .sx And yet who else had there been for her to marry ?sx Perhaps she had healed the century-old vendetta between the families .sx He tried to be pleased at the idea .sx The bus hammered to a stop .sx He was the only passenger to get down .sx A few men were sitting in the cafe@2 opposite , but it was already half-dark and no one recognized him .sx He walked very quickly up the street , into the familiar lane , to the wide , double doors set in the fortress-thickness of the courtyard wall .sx He found that his heart was beating fast , and his mouth was dry .sx Then he heard old footsteps shuffling across the courtyard , an old voice grumbling , the leaf of the great door swinging open with a whine of hinges .sx He recognized one of the servants who had been there in his time :sx Franca , who had been old then , and seemed no older now , as thin as a stick in her widow's black that she had worn for forty years .sx She stared at him .sx " Franca , " he said .sx " It's me .sx Ettore Orfano .sx Don't you remember ?sx " " Madonna mia , " she whispered .sx " Ettore .sx . " Suddenly she ran back towards the house as if possessed , shrieking at the top of her voice , " Ettore Orfano , little Ettore ; he has come back !sx Ginevra , Signora Angela .sx . Maria !sx " He followed her , laughing , and at the same time scarcely able to breathe for the thudding of his heart , the tightness in his throat .sx And then she was in the doorway , looking at him , grown very tall and slender , her face ivory pale , her dark eyebrows frowning a little , looking at him among the shadows of the courtyard .sx Until suddenly her hand went out to him , her eyes lighting , her remembered voice saying , " Ettore !sx Welcome !sx Welcome !sx Welcome home !sx " He took her hands , and looked at her from head to foot , while his fingers felt to see what rings she wore .sx No wedding ring .sx And he was absurdly glad , and then angry with himself .sx He noticed that she was wearing black .sx " You are in mourning ?sx " he said .sx She was already drawing him into the kitchen .sx " For my " , Ginevra said .sx " He died a month ago .sx A fall on the mountain .sx " " May God rest his soul , " Ettore said .sx " I am very sorry .sx I would not have come- " From inside the kitchen , Ginevra's mother caught the last words , grasped his arms and shook her head at him in rebuke .sx " Would not have come ?sx " she exclaimed .sx " You have kept us waiting too long as it is .sx How long will you stay ?sx Where have you .sx . oh , how fine you have grown , how tall !sx Eh , Ginevra- eh , Maria ?sx " She seemed not to remember how he had left ; only to be glad to see him again .sx She had changed , Ettore saw .sx In the old days she had been harsh and stiff ; afraid of her husband and yet arrogantly proud that she had a husband strong and fierce enough to make her afraid .sx Now all that seemed gone .sx She seemed to have shrunk , and to have lost all the certainties that once held her upright .sx " And Silvio ?sx " Ettore asked , looking round for him .sx A silence fell on the kitchen .sx Ginevra looked down , avoiding his eyes .sx " He is .sx . he is away , " she said , and immediately began a great bustle of laying a place for Ettore , of giving orders to Maria the cook , of fetching wine .sx No one mentioned Silvio again all through the meal .sx And when Ettore asked exactly how old Giovanni had died , the same silence fell , as if there were things about the death that they were unwilling to discuss , or that made them afraid .sx