A Spirit in Prison | Page 7

I

want to look over into the Saint's Pool and see what those men are
doing."
Vere laughed.
"Take care, Madre, or Gaspare will be jealous."
A soft look came into Hermione's face.
"Gaspare and I know each other," she said, quietly.
"But he could be jealous--horribly jealous."
"Of you, perhaps, Vere, but never of me. Gaspare and I have passed
through too much together for anything of that kind. Nobody could
ever take his place with me, and he knows it quite well."
"Gaspare's a darling, and I love him," said Vere, rather inconsequently.
"Shall we look over into the Pool from the pavilion, or go down by the
steps?"
"We'll look over."
They passed in through a gateway to the narrow terrace that fronted the
Casa del Mare facing Vesuvius, entered the house, traversed a little hall,
came out again into the air by a door on its farther side, and made their
way to a small pavilion that looked upon the Pool of San Francesco.
Almost immediately below, in the cool shadow of the cliff, the boat
was moored. The two men, lying at full length in it, their faces buried
in their hands, were already asleep. But the boy, sitting astride on the
prow, with his bare feet dangling on each side of it to the clear green
water, was munching slowly, and rather seriously, a hunch of yellow
bread, from which he cut from time to time large pieces with a clasp
knife. As he ate, lifting the pieces of bread to his mouth with the knife,
against whose blade he held them with his thumb, he stared down at the
depths below, transparent here almost to the sea bed. His eyes were
wide with reverie. He seemed another boy, not the gay singer of five
minutes ago. But then he had been in the blaze of the sun. Now he was

in the shade. And swiftly he had caught the influence of the dimmer
light, the lack of motion, the delicate hush at the feet of San Francesco.
This time he did not know that he was being watched. His reverie,
perhaps, was too deep, or their gaze less concentrated than it had been
before. And after a moment, Hermione moved away.
"You are going in, Madre?"
"Yes."
"Do you mind if I give something to that boy?"
"Do you mean money?"
"Oh no. But the poor thing's eating dry bread, and--"
"And what, you puss?"
"Well, he's a very obedient boy."
"How can you know that?"
"He was idling in the boat, and I called out to him to jump into the sea,
and he jumped in immediately."
"Do you think because he heard you?"
"Certainly I do."
"You conceited little creature! Perhaps he was only pleasing himself!"
"No, Madre, no. I think I should like to give him a little reward
presently--for his singing too."
"Get him a dolce, then, from Carmela, if there is one. And you can give
him some cigarettes."
"I will. He'll love that. Oh dear! I wish he didn't make me dissatisfied

with myself!"
"Nonsense, Vere!"
Hermione bent down and kissed her child. Then she went rather
quickly away from the pavilion and entered the Casa del Mare.
CHAPTER II
After her mother had gone, Vere waited for a moment, then ran lightly
to the house, possessed herself of a dolce and a packet of cigarettes, and
went down the steps to the Pool of San Francesco, full of hospitable
intentions towards the singing boy. She found him still sitting astride of
the boat's prow, not yet free of his reverie apparently; for when she
gave a low call of "Pescator!" prolonging the last syllable with the
emphasis and the accent of Naples, but always softly, he started, and
nearly dropped into the sea the piece of bread he was lifting to his
mouth. Recovering himself in time to save the bread deftly with one
brown hand, he turned half round, leaning on his left arm, and stared at
Vere with large, inquiring eyes. She stood by the steps and beckoned to
him, lifting up the packet of cigarettes, then pointing to his sleeping
companions:
"Come here for a minute!"
The boy smiled, sprang up, and leaped onto the islet. As he came to her,
with the easy, swinging walk of the barefooted sea-people, he pulled up
his white trousers, and threw out his chest with an obvious desire to
"fare figura" before the pretty Padrona of the islet. When he reached
her he lifted his hand to his bare head forgetfully, meaning to take off
his cap to her. Finding that he had no cap, he made a laughing grimace,
threw up his chin and, thrusting his tongue against his upper teeth and
opening wide his mouth, uttered a