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I’m asking for is what we need to carry on working from sunrise to sunset every day of the year and even Sundays, because the fields won’t wait and our work wants doing.”
    â€œLeave now or I’ll call the doorman!”
    â€œYou just called me a lout, but if I don’t leave here with what’s fair, with what I’ve asked for politely, you’ll see what a real lout is: as God is my witness, I swear that if the doorman takes one step inside here, I’ll throw him down the stairs and you after him!” he shouted, and pounded his fist so hard that pens, inkwells and a shiny brass lamp that sat heavily on the table all jumped up at once. Barzini paled, took one long look at the colossus in front of him and understood instantly that he was dead serious. He breathed deep, struggling to quell his fear and maintain his aplomb, and said: “I’m doing this for your father, who is a gentleman. Certainly not for you! And out of the pure goodness of my heart, nothing else. Why, I could call in the forces of order and have you thrown into prison for threatening me like this . . . ”
    If the look that Gaetano gave him was not enough to stop his blathering, the glance the young man shot at the heavy paperweight on his desk certainly was.
    â€œThirty sacks, you said . . . ”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Barzini scribbled a couple of lines on a sheet of letterhead and signed it. He blotted the ink before handing it to Gaetano.
    â€œAnd just how are you going to take home those sacks?”
    â€œI have a cart here waiting for me.”
    â€œAh,” replied Barzini crossly. “Well then, take this to the warehouse in Borgo and they’ll give you the sacks. And don’t ever show your face here again.”
    â€œThank you, mister landlord. And if we don’t see each other again, have a good death.”
    Barzini startled, not realizing that those were auspicious words. For people accustomed to expecting nothing but trials and tribulation from life, the idea of looking forward to a good death was at least some consolation. The notary reacted instead by touching his attributes under the desk and mumbling: “Go, get out of here, I’ve got things to do.”
    â€œSomethin’ happen?” asked the doorman as Gaetano came down the stairs. “That was one hell of a loud noise I heard!”
    â€œNo, we had a little disagreement but all is well now, thank the Lord.”
    When Iofa saw the smile on Gaetano’s face as he came out the door, he couldn’t believe his eyes: “Well then, how did it go?”
    Gaetano waved the consignment order in front of his eyes.
    â€œYou know I don’t know how to read,” said Iofa.
    Gaetano solemnly read out the words: “‘I hereby authorize thirty sacks of wheat to be consigned to the bearer of this letter. They will be collected immediately. Signed Barzini.’”
    â€œOh, now you have to tell me the full particulars!” exclaimed Iofa as he climbed into the cart and turned the horse around in the direction of Borgo.
    Gaetano didn’t need encouragement, and started to tell his story: “I found him sitting there on his chair in front of me like the king on his throne . . . you can imagine . . . ”
    â€œAnd you?” asked Iofa. “What did you do? And what did he say then?”
    The story became embellished with fanciful details as Gaetano’s tale spun out. He stopped short of painting too black a picture of the landlord himself, since Iofa knew him well and so did many other people in town, where he’d been seen on more than one occasion.
    No one at the warehouse objected to carrying out the notary’s signed orders, but Gaetano had to haul all thirty of the sacks on his own back because Iofa was too skinny and what’s more, he had a bad leg. The warehouse porters all knew better than to offer him a hand. It was every man for himself. But it was worth it.