Ardor by Lily Prior Read Free Book Online Page A

from them pored forth the pure notes that ascended to the firmament, causing people throughout the region to sigh and weep at their unbearable beauty. The whole world seemed to have gone suddenly silent, and the sound carried on the slender breezes over immense distances.
    Way up on the mountain, the hermit Neddo was roused from contemplation by Arcadio Carnabuci’s song, and with a rapturous expression on his face he truly believed he had found enlightenment. Nearby, Neddo’s friends, the brown bears, emerged from their caves and began dancing in time to the rhythm of the music that was falling from the stars. Lower down in the foothills, the shepherds stood in amazement amidst the flocks and the newborn lambs and wondered if the beautiful song heralded the Second Coming, and in vain they looked to the east for a star to guide them. Prowling in a circle at theedge of the flocks were the wolves, slavering at the sight of so many tender lambkins, yet so struck were they by the beauty of the song that they abandoned all thoughts of dinner and they, too, raised their voices to the skies.
    Closer to home, the citizens of the town threw open their windows or came to their doors enraptured by the sound. Even the baker, Luigi Bordino, broke off from kneading his dough, dusted the flour from his hands, and came to the door of his bakery. Fedra Brini stopped knitting. Speranza Patti stopped reading. My mistress was distracted from her fantasies about Dr. Amilcare Croce.
    What could be the meaning of the angel’s voice filling the air?
    The widow Maddaloni chose to interpret it as a requiem for her husband, who had died in mysterious circumstances earlier in the week.
    â€œClearly that angel is lost on earth,” said Teresa Marta, whose blindness had endowed her with the best hearing in the region. “Can’t you tell that from the plaintive beauty of the song? We must help it to find its choir.”
    But although an extensive search was carried out, the lonely angel could not be found. The baffled citizens stood in the streets with their heads bowed as though in silent prayer, and Padre Arcangelo wandered amongst them uttering benedictions, firmly believing they were all participating in a miracle.
    Truly, the only person in the entire region who was not caught up and swept away by the haunting melody was Primo Castorini. Indeed he didn’t hear so much as a note of it. He wasas usual secreted in the cold room at the Happy Pig working throughout the night to prepare his secret sausage recipes. The concentration while he worked was such that nothing could penetrate his consciousness. All his senses shut down, and he put all of himself—and a lot of him there was—into his sausages. Incredibly, in the past, Primo Castorini had neglected to notice the earthquakes that had rocked the region while he was working, until the roof had fallen down around his ears. So no song, however miraculous, could distract his attention from the serpents of pork that were his life.
    Arcadio Carnabuci’s song was echoed by the frogs in the lily pads, by the swans on the distant lake, silver in the moonlight, and by the waterfalls cascading in the mountains. It was taken up by the swallows soaring amongst the notes of the melody, and by every humble creature in the region, even the field mice and the naked worms. The almond trees wept a carpet of fragrant blossoms. The statue of the goddess Aphrodite, shoved rudely into the yard by Ambrogio Bufaletti, was silently sobbing, and marble teardrops fell amidst the dust. Just beyond the yard, hidden behind the hazel hedge, I was quivering. My long eyelashes were strung with tears, like crystal beads on an abacus. In them I counted the cost of my hopeless love.
    Eventually the shutters were thrown open and Fernanda Ponderosa emerged cautiously onto the balcony. “Who is there?” In her resonant whisper the magic of the night was liquefied.
    Arcadio Carnabuci stepped