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XXVI
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XXVI 'And Don Mariano?' 'Is your son not coming, Your Excellency?' 'What is he doing, is he afraid?' 'We are waiting for him, our new master.' 'With the death of Don Pietro we were expecting him.' Marianna crumples the notes she holds in her lap with restless fingers. How to account for the non-appearance of Mariano, who has suddenly become head of the family, inheritor and owner of the estates of Campo Spagnolo, of Scannatura, of Taya, of Sala di Paruta, of Sollazzi and Fiumefreddo. How to say to these peasant guards and rent collectors - known as gabel/ali - who have come to see him, that the young Vcda has remained in Palermo with his wife because, quite simply, he does not wish to stir himself. 'You go, Mamma, I have things to do', he had written, suddenly appearing in front of her in a new redingote of English brocade studded with incrustations of gold. It is true that twelve hours in a litter along mountain paths is a punishing experience, and indeed few of the barons from Palermo submit themselves to such an ordeal to visit their estates in the interior. But today is one of those rare occasions regarded as imperative, as much by relations and friends as by his tenants. The new landlord must go the rounds of his estates, he must make himself known, he must talk, he must see to the renovation of old houses, he must get to know what has been going on during his long absences in the city, he must endeavour to inspire some respect, some liking, or at the very least some curiosity. Perhaps she was wrong not to have insisted, Marianna tells herself, but he did not give her a chance. He had kissed her hand, and off he had gone as swiftly as he had arrived, leaving in the air a strong perfume of roses. The same scent as her father the Duke had used, except that he only moistened the lace of his shirt while her son uses it indiscriminately, pouring a whole bottle all over himself. Towards Marianna, the dumb woman, the guards and the gabel/ali react with an uneasiness that is close to fear. They see her as a kind of saint, someone who does not belong to the exclusive breed of nobles, but to that poor and in some way sacred group of the crippled, the sick and the mutilated. 139 They feel pity but are also disconcerted by her inquisitive and penetrating gaze. And then they are mostly illiterate, and she with her notes, her pens, her hands stained with ink, puts them in a state of unbearable apprehension. As is usual they entrust the priest, Don Pericle, with the task of writing on their behalf, but not even his intercession satisfies them. And then she is a woman and, even if she owns the land, what can a woman understand about property, grain, the sowing of fields, about debts, toll dues, et cetera? And so, to begin with, they regard her with disappointment, and go on and on about Don Mariano even though they have never seen him. Duke Pietro came to them a year before he died. He arrived as usual on horseback, refusing the satin-lined seat of the litter, with his gun, his watchman, his rolls of paper and his saddle bags. Now they are confronted by the Duchess Marianna and they don't know where to begin. Don Pericle sits in the middle of them on a large seat of smooth leather, and slides a rosary through his chubby fingers. He's waiting for them to start talking. As the men turn their heads towards the veranda Marianna realises that her daughters are passing by and laughing beneath the porticos, perhaps brushing their hair in the shade of the stone arches. She longs to shut herself in her room and go to sleep. Her back is hurting, her eyes are burning, her legs are stiff from having to remain still and bent in the litter for hours on end. But she knows that however she confronts these people she must make amends for the absence of her son and try to convince them that he was indeed unable to come. Consequently she pulls herself together and with a gesture invites them to speak. Don Pericle transcribes in his incisive language. 'Thirteen onze to refurbish the well. Result - well is dry. Will need another 10 onze.' 'At...