Giovanni Verga (1840-1922)
Novelle Rusticane (1883)
[Little Novels of Sicily]

Across the sea

…
The train started…it began to pass like lightning through the lonely country, the open fields, the streams that glittered in the shade. From time to time a hamlet smoking, people gathered in front of a doorway. On the low wall of a little station where the train had stopped for a moment puffing, two lovers had left their obscure names written in big charcoal letters. He was thinking that she too had passed that way in the morning, and had seen those names.

…

Far, far away, long after, in the immense misty and gloomy city, he still recalled at times those two humble, unknown names, amidst all the crowded, hurrying throng, and the incessant noise, and the fever of general activity, exhausting and inexorable;

…

Farewell, sweet melancholy of sunset, silent shadows and wide, lonely horizons of our known country. Farewell, scented lanes where it was so lovely to walk together arm in arm. Farewell, poor, ignored people who opened your eyes so wide, seeing the two happy ones pass by.

Sometimes, when the sweet sadness of those memories came over him, he thought again of the humble actors in the humble dramas, with a vague, unconscious inspiration of peace and of forgetting, and of that date and of those two words – for ever – which she had left with him in a moment of anguish, a moment that had remained more living in heart and mind than any of the feverish joys. And then he would have liked to set her name on a page or on a stone, like those two unknown lovers who had written the record of their love on the wall of a faraway railway station.

Venerdi 29 Ottobre
Mangiare

On my last day on the island, I look back in satisfaction at all of the meals I have eaten – mostly cooked by myself and eaten in my house.

The Italian rhythm in which I took these meals was equally satisfying.

Breakfast: typically something small and sweet taken with a caffè.

Lunch:
Antipasti – tomatoes/prosciutto/olives/anchovies/mozzarella
Primo Piatto – some pasta
Secondo Piatto – meat or seafood
Usually served with beer or wine and followed by another caffè.

Siesta: the missing ingredient in our fast lives.

Dinner:
A small meal of antipasti, pasta or bruschette.

Not mentioned in my other posts, but appreciated just as much were my dinners with my amico from the island, Simone. He shared some of his friends and their hospitality, where over pizza I poorly contributed to conversations about Italian politics, the economy, corruption and fun parks.

On the last night, Simone’s mother cooked us a seafood dinner that put my simple sole lunch to shame. Doubtless she had less trouble acquiring her fish – they even told stories that the cemetery was the ideal place to ask, fellow grievers, if they had any fish!

Giovedì 28 Ottobre.
Lavoro Incompiuto.

The island of Salina had originally been called by the Greek name “Didyme”, “twins”, in honour of the two craters dominating the island, which were thought to be last active about 24,000 years ago (although some smaller volcanoes were active more recently, about 13,000 years ago).

My house nestles at the base of the smaller brother, Monte dei Porri (860m), which I had largely ignored until now. As my stay here drew to an end, I thought it would be perfect to imprint some lasting views of the island from its summit.

The path began just behind my house, cutting between malvasia vineyards, abandoned houses and a small olive grove. It soon became gravelly, cut into the mountain in a tight zig-zag.

Like all good mountains, the true summit was never in view as I climbed, slowly uncovering more and more of itself.

At last I see the top – a stone cairn and a prophetic makeshift cross.

I add a small rock to the pile – evidence of my visit, and hang my sweaty t-shirt to dry, in blasphemy over the cross, as I breathe in the view.

Mercoledi 27 Ottobre
Pesci!

Some people go on grand adventures, in search of power, adventure, discovery, salvation or love; all noble causes. Me, I just want some fish to cook for lunch.

As I approached Lipari, the biggest island in the Aeolian archipelago, and my neighbouring island, I had spotted the red awning with a picture of a pesce di spada (sword fish) straight away.

The morning had greeted me from my casa, as I looked out through the grey vista, a holy light shone on Lipari, deciding my fate.

Before that sign, I had weighed up my various options; go fishing myself for fish; continue to stalk the fishing boats at the various ports on the island; seek out the mysterious men that are said to walk the streets or man the piazze, selling fish.

And so, deciding to do what i imagine the locals do when they can’t get what they want on their island – they go to a bigger island, or the mainland.

Antonio, the young fishmonger, was engaging, and patiently explained what fish and other creatures of the sea would be good for what I wanted to cook. I think he had no idea about my obsession.

I choose a lampuga/caponi (a large fish), along with some gamberoni (prawns), calamari, cicala (a little crayfish), and some cicirelle (a type of whitebait).

Back in my casa, I feel like a glutton, as I guiltily prepare this meal for myself.

My salvation, as i sit down and feast, I tell myself, is the extra fish (lampuga, calamari, and cicirelle) I had saved for my neighbours.

Martedi 26 Ottobre
Regali

A few days ago I sat in my kitchen with some newly purchased Italian bread. The aroma kept creeping up on me, surprising me each time as I hunted around for the source.

I have the habit of making bruschette at night – a light dinner using my old bread (rubbed with garlic and olive oil) with fresh anchovies (alici), olives, prosciutto, or local capers (capperi).

In the beginning, until I found them at the panaderia, I also used my old bread to make breadcrumbs (fried eggplant, chicken etc).

Lamenting to a close friend about the smell of bread and what I could use it for, she suggested a dessert, like a bread pudding.

And so I plan a sweet bread pudding – thinking that I won’t be able to finish it all myself, it seems like the perfect gift for the signora next door – in thanks for the pomodori she’s been leaving for me, but also in silent thanks for leading me to the wild fennel which grows down the side of my house.

Assembling the ingredients over the last few days, today was wet, so it seemed like the perfect day to cook.

A few hours later, I’m knocking on the signora’s door, with my ‘pude di pane’, and some fresh cream for the side.

She’s shocked and grateful at the same time. She gives me a glass of malvasia wine to have back in my house with my piece of dessert.

Later, her and one of daughterd visit to thank me again, and bring a slice of cake, just as I’m finishing my lunch and ready to start my dessert.

Buon appetito, they wish me as they leave.

Giovanni Verga (1840-1922)
Novelle Rusticane (1883)
[Little Novels of Sicily]

Across the sea

…

It was still autumn, but it rained and blew like winter. Hidden behind the door, with his heart thudding inside him, he eagerly watched for the strokes of rain that struck past the window hole to thin down. The dry leaves whirled behind the threshold like the rustle of a dress. What was she doing? Would she come? The clock always answered no, no, every quarter of an hour, from the neighboring village. At last a ray of sun came through a broken tile. All the country shone. The carob trees above the roof rustled loudly, and beyond, behind the dripping avenues, the footpath opened out blossoming with yellow and white marguerites. It was there her little white umbrella should appear, down there, above the low wall on the right. A wasp buzzed in the golden ray that penetrated through the cracks, and bumped against the window frame saying: Come! Come! All at once somebody roughly pushed open the garden door on the left. Like a stroke through the blood! It was she! White, all white, from her dress to her pale face. The moment she saw him she fell into his arms, with her mouth against his mouth.

…

Domenica 24 Ottobre
Differences

History writes about the people in Salina:

William H. Smythe at the start of the 19th Century…

“the men on Salina were robust and hardworking but dirty and fierce, while the women, who were no less dirty, were the coarsest and most masculine I have seen in these parts;”

“the two sexes were indiscriminately tormented by more or less chronic scabies.”

He adds

“despite this and the not over-charming manners… great hospitality and kindness in all the classes…”

Later in 1870, Louis Saviour of Hadsburg observes:

“on Salina there are the most elegant dwellings in the archipelago;”

“the women dress harmoniously and are decorated with precious jewels of gold and coral.”

The differences in descriptions is traced to the development of the Malvasia wine industry on the island.

Today, as I walk from my house in Leni, on the southern half of the island; to Malfa, on the north coast, I pass in between the two volcano craters, both shrouded in clouds, and think about other differences.

From full sun in the south, to overcast, in the north, I realise that this microclimatic difference would exist for much of the year.

I imagine to myself that people in the north could be different from those in the south. A different status or personality. Local jokes could exist about ‘un uomo del nord, e un uomo del sud’…

Sabato 23 Ottobre
Across the sea

Tonight, as I stare out at my view from my house, I notice the lights of the Sicilian mainland in the distance on this clear night.

I’m also less than half a mile from the first stable village established on the island in 1622, at ‘val di chiesa’ (valley of the church).

From this position, I can’t help but wonder what the island has seen in the last few hundred years and their relationship to the mainland, and the rest of the world…

What did they see across the sea when Garibaldi gave ‘liberty’ to Sicily in 1860?

How did they feel when their sons and daughters immigrated to America after their economy collapsed in 1890, and returned later, ‘rich’?

Did life change when Mussolini takes power in 1922?

Who took part when Italy declared war on Britain, France and later the USA In 1940-41?

Was the sky lit up when massive air strikes hit Palermo in 1943, and were there cheers when the Allies invaded Sicily?

How many left in a new wave of immigration to New York and Australia in the 50’s?

Venerdi 22 Ottobre.
Recerca vuota.

I’m starting to think that the quest for fresh fish every day might be unrealistic.

I venture to the the Santa Marina piazza and port again.

Niente.

After I give up and head to the rocky beach for a swim, the fishing boats taunt me again on the horizon. Backwards and forwards, but never heading to port.

Giovedi 21 Ottobre
Cerco di Pesce

Giovanni and I stand on the docks of Santa Marina, talking. Every now and then we glance out to sea, at the fishing boat moving backwards and forwards on the horizon, like pong, tantalising us.

He’s the local baker, and when I had asked about fish in the small caffe bar by the port, he had volunteered to show me which boat to look out for.

After about an hour, the boat, the Santa Maria, is suddenly approaching. We race over to where it’s berthing, the 3 crew calmly tying up to shore. Another man, also in search of fish, asks politely about their catch.

“Nothing, not one fish. Maybe tomorrow, if the weather is fine.”

Returning back to my house, empty handed, I find a brown paper bag on my table. On top of it are some more of those beautiful tomatoes. A regalito (gift) from the signora next door!

I think about a gift I can give her… Some fish! Now If only I can find some…