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questions; nor, lucki was she overly frightened by their scenes, since she was used to them. Sti as soon as she saw peace return between them, she would smile a little smile of con tentment.
    For her, those evenings of drinking were also holiday evenings, be cause once her father was in his cups, after having waved his flags of revolt, he would give free rein to his natural good humor, and recall his back ground as a peasant, ancient relative of animals and plants. He would imitate the sounds of every animal : from ucedduzzi, the smallest of birds, to leuni, lions. And at her request, he would repeat Calabri songs and fables as often as ten times, making them comic when they were tr

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    because like all children, she enjoyed laughing, and her wanton laughter was music in the family. At a certain moment, Nora, too, defeated, would join in the performance, her ingenuous and slightly off voice produc ing a small repertory of her own-limited, actually, as far as I know, to a total of two numbers. One was the famous salon song, Ideale:

    "I followed you like Peace's rainbow Through the pathways of heaven . . "
    etc., etc. The o ther was a song in Venetian dialect, which went: "Look at the sky serene with all the stars,
    \Vh a fi night this is for stealing girls
    Those who steal girls are not called thieves They're called young lovers . . . "

    Then, around ten, Nora would finish tidying up the kitchen, and Giuseppe would put Iduzza to bed, accompanying her, like a mother, with certain lullabies almost Oriental in sound, which his mother and his grand mother had sung to him :

    "0 come, sleep, from the mountain The wolf is eating the sheep
    0 nni 0 nna Go to sleepy Sleep
    sleep

    sleep . . . sleep . . . slee . . . "

    Another lullaby, which Iduzza liked very much, was then handed down to the next generation. It was in proper Italian, and I have no idea where Giuseppe came across it:

    "Sleep, little eyes, sleep, little eyes, For tomorrow we're going to Regg There a golden mirror we'll buy, All painted with roses and flowers.
    Sleep, little hands, sleep, little hands, For tomorrow we're going to Reggio. There we'll buy a little loom
    With a shuttle of fi silver. Sleep, little feet, sleep, little feet,

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    For tomorrow we're going to Reggio There we'll buy some little shoes

    To dance on the feast of Saint Ida . . "

    Iduzza forgot all fear at her father's side. To her, he seemed a kind of warm baby-carriage, radiant and limping, more impregnable than a tank, as he gaily took her out riding, safe from the terrors of the world, accompany ing her everywhere, and never allowing her to be sent out alone into the streets, where every door, window, or alien encounter threatened her with harm. In the winter, perhaps for economy, he wore a kind of shepherd cloak, broad and rather long, and in bad weather he would protect her from the rain, holding her close, under his mantle.
    I don't know Calabria well. And I can draw only a vague picture of Iduzza's Cosenza from the few reminiscences of the dead. Already at that time, I believe, modem buildings were spreading out from the medieval city that girds the hill. In one of these buildings, in fact, humble and ordinary, there was the Ramundos' cramped apartment. I know a river runs through the city, and the sea is just beyond the mountain. The advent of the atomic age, which marked the beginning of the century, surely was not felt in those regions; nor was the industri development of the Great Powers, except through emigrants' tales. The region's economy was based on agri re, progressively declining because of the impoverished soil. Th ruling castes were the clergy and the landowners; and for the lowest castes, I suppose there, as elsewhere, the habitual daily sustenance was the onion . . . I know for certain, in any case, that Giuseppe, as a student preparing for his teacher's certifi went for years without ever knowing the taste of hot food, nourishing