Kulikovia
18-08-2007, 12:37
This is a story I am writing. You are welcomed to post comments.
ACT I
The winter months see little snow, except for the higher points such as the city of Enna in the middle of the island as well as atop Mt.Etna on the eastern coast, gently rising from the landscape then outcropping dramatically to form the largest and most active volcano in Europe. No, the normal snow of many other areas during this time period are replaced by rain in Sicily. Some days it will rain with all the fury of God, the Heaven's crying to Earth. The people of the island coped with the Heaven's outburst for thousands of years, avoiding settling in the lowlands incase of flooding. Mostly farm houses and ancient structures dotted the lowlands, small islands in an ocean of orage groves, wheat fields, and other crops.
The road leading from Marineo earlier in the morning was drenched and muddy from the rain, pools of water scattered across and collecting in lower parts of the roads and ruts left from wagons and carts. The edges were worn away by time but still useable. Later in the day, the rain ceased and the road began to dry but the skies remained dark, building up to another good cry. A young man in his early twenties, possibly as young as 18 casually walked down the road, taking in the surroundings which he grew up around. Yet, everyday he awoke and observed these sights as if it was the firt times he laid eyes upon them. The rolling hills, farmlands, rock outcroppins, and scattered clumps of trees. He wore simple clothes, worn boots and carried a knapsack across his back, containing extra clothes and other items. He walked in rhythmn to an old song he whistled to himself. He was a strong young man from the small town of Marineo, a simple village of simple people with simple traits. He entertained no great desires nor dreams. He did not want to travel to America like so many other people, desperate to start anew and make a fortune, nor did he venture into politics, No, this lad lived an average life. His features were handsome, hazel eyes, his forearms and neck up were darker than the rest of his body from working outside all the time. Black hair atop his head with long sideburns.
Another person served as his shadow. This man walked a pace behind and to the left of the other young man. This one, was the same age. He was taller and thinner with longer hair.
"Dante!" the taller man called out as his long legs stretched to gain ground and quickly came up next to Dante. "Why do we walk when I could've gotten my uncle's cart and a mule?"
"Fausto, do you tire from this walk. It is not long and the day is looking better" Dante replied as he breathed in the air.
"I fear the heaven's will cry once more and we will be up to our waists in mud. I hate the rain! We could already be there by now if you just listened to me" Fausto said, pointing his finger at Dante.
"Peace, Fausto. I can only head your word once a day. Any more and I would find myself in a grave by day's end." Dante chuckled. Fausto was less amused.
"Trust me, Dante. Don Vittorio Letra is always looking for help."
"Don Letra is a man my father dealt with before. He is a Capofamiglia" Dante said, almost whispering the term in Fausto's ear as so no one else will hear. A week prior, Fausto came to Dante with an idea. Fausto considered himself a lucky fellow, regardless of all the luckless occurances that befell him on a regular basis. Fausto attempted to bribe a constable thus allowing him to run a gambling house in his basement, it ended with negative results and a few days in jail.
"It's not like we will do unto any a deadly sin, Dante. There are other forms of work needed." Fausto pleaded, putting his hands together, as if he were praying "My dear Dante, trust me. This will be easy money."
"Easy money is taxed the hardest" Dante warned. After a few more miles they moved in silence. Fausto was an opportunist and often lazy, incurring the wrath of his father quite often. He often skipped from the days work early to speak to girls or to sleep. Dante often made excuses to cover for his best friend.
Finally, the rounded the top of a gentle hill. At the top they could see more farmlands and a villa compound next to a vast forest of pine. It was a large willa with stone walls surrounding it with several smaller buildings of stone and mortar on the inside. a dirt road led to an iron gate which served as the main entrance.
"Dante, we are almost there. Soon our prayers will be answered." Fausto panted as he wiped sweat from his brow. Dante said nothing as they continued down the hill and closer to the villa of Don Letra. Don Letra was a local landowner who owned considerable amounts of land, mostly orange groves which grew Blood Oranges. He was rich and powerful, often holdin sway over the surrounding villages and even rumored to have the blessings and protection of il Carabinieri.
ACT I
The winter months see little snow, except for the higher points such as the city of Enna in the middle of the island as well as atop Mt.Etna on the eastern coast, gently rising from the landscape then outcropping dramatically to form the largest and most active volcano in Europe. No, the normal snow of many other areas during this time period are replaced by rain in Sicily. Some days it will rain with all the fury of God, the Heaven's crying to Earth. The people of the island coped with the Heaven's outburst for thousands of years, avoiding settling in the lowlands incase of flooding. Mostly farm houses and ancient structures dotted the lowlands, small islands in an ocean of orage groves, wheat fields, and other crops.
The road leading from Marineo earlier in the morning was drenched and muddy from the rain, pools of water scattered across and collecting in lower parts of the roads and ruts left from wagons and carts. The edges were worn away by time but still useable. Later in the day, the rain ceased and the road began to dry but the skies remained dark, building up to another good cry. A young man in his early twenties, possibly as young as 18 casually walked down the road, taking in the surroundings which he grew up around. Yet, everyday he awoke and observed these sights as if it was the firt times he laid eyes upon them. The rolling hills, farmlands, rock outcroppins, and scattered clumps of trees. He wore simple clothes, worn boots and carried a knapsack across his back, containing extra clothes and other items. He walked in rhythmn to an old song he whistled to himself. He was a strong young man from the small town of Marineo, a simple village of simple people with simple traits. He entertained no great desires nor dreams. He did not want to travel to America like so many other people, desperate to start anew and make a fortune, nor did he venture into politics, No, this lad lived an average life. His features were handsome, hazel eyes, his forearms and neck up were darker than the rest of his body from working outside all the time. Black hair atop his head with long sideburns.
Another person served as his shadow. This man walked a pace behind and to the left of the other young man. This one, was the same age. He was taller and thinner with longer hair.
"Dante!" the taller man called out as his long legs stretched to gain ground and quickly came up next to Dante. "Why do we walk when I could've gotten my uncle's cart and a mule?"
"Fausto, do you tire from this walk. It is not long and the day is looking better" Dante replied as he breathed in the air.
"I fear the heaven's will cry once more and we will be up to our waists in mud. I hate the rain! We could already be there by now if you just listened to me" Fausto said, pointing his finger at Dante.
"Peace, Fausto. I can only head your word once a day. Any more and I would find myself in a grave by day's end." Dante chuckled. Fausto was less amused.
"Trust me, Dante. Don Vittorio Letra is always looking for help."
"Don Letra is a man my father dealt with before. He is a Capofamiglia" Dante said, almost whispering the term in Fausto's ear as so no one else will hear. A week prior, Fausto came to Dante with an idea. Fausto considered himself a lucky fellow, regardless of all the luckless occurances that befell him on a regular basis. Fausto attempted to bribe a constable thus allowing him to run a gambling house in his basement, it ended with negative results and a few days in jail.
"It's not like we will do unto any a deadly sin, Dante. There are other forms of work needed." Fausto pleaded, putting his hands together, as if he were praying "My dear Dante, trust me. This will be easy money."
"Easy money is taxed the hardest" Dante warned. After a few more miles they moved in silence. Fausto was an opportunist and often lazy, incurring the wrath of his father quite often. He often skipped from the days work early to speak to girls or to sleep. Dante often made excuses to cover for his best friend.
Finally, the rounded the top of a gentle hill. At the top they could see more farmlands and a villa compound next to a vast forest of pine. It was a large willa with stone walls surrounding it with several smaller buildings of stone and mortar on the inside. a dirt road led to an iron gate which served as the main entrance.
"Dante, we are almost there. Soon our prayers will be answered." Fausto panted as he wiped sweat from his brow. Dante said nothing as they continued down the hill and closer to the villa of Don Letra. Don Letra was a local landowner who owned considerable amounts of land, mostly orange groves which grew Blood Oranges. He was rich and powerful, often holdin sway over the surrounding villages and even rumored to have the blessings and protection of il Carabinieri.