CHAPTER XIII. OF AFTER THE DEVOURCE. BY GRAZIA DELEDA. TIME PASSED ON. The sky and weather changed with the changing seasons, but among the inhabitants of the little village all remained much as usual. In the course of the winter Giovanna gave birth to a weak, puiling girl-baby which did nothing but cry. Dr. Porra, or Pedeada, as he still continued to be called, came all the way from Nuoro expressly to stand for the poor little creature.  Quite a number of persons had assembled to see him, and he distributed smiles and greetings indiscriminately to all who would have them, assuring a group of Bronto's friends who had gone to meet him that he remembered perfectly seeing all of them at Nuoro. This gratified them immensely, all but one that is who said he had never been in Nuoro. It is of no consequence, said the lawyer cheerfully. I am sure to see you there some day. This was a somewhat equivocal assurance, as it seldom happened that any of them went to Nuoro except on law-business. However, the man was highly pleased, and Paquicia, watching the new arrival divest himself of his great coat, shawl, and various other wraps, thought that he looked more than ever like a magia. You seem to have grown stouter, she said, looking at the layers of clothing. Oh, this is a mere nothing, he replied, at which they all laughed delightedly. The baptism was to be conducted with great pomp, and Aunt Martina, probably for the first time in her life, slackened the strings of her purse and sent to Nuoro for wines and sweets of the best quality. She could not sleep the night before, however, and passed a wretched day, tormented by the fear that some of the delicacies might be spirited away. On the morning of the ceremony Giovanna got up early and helped her mother-in-law to prepare the macaroni for dinner. Then she went back to bed, where she remained in a sitting posture, propped up by pillows, and with the bed-clothes drawn up about her waist. Above that she wore her blouse and bodice, and she had on her wedding quaff and bridal kerchief. She looked somewhat pale but very handsome, her great eyes seeming larger even than usual. The table was set in the bed-chamber, and covered with a linen cloth, which Aunt Martina now took out from her chest for the first time since it had been bought. The ceremony was to take place at about eleven o'clock of a very cold morning. From the pale sky a thick white vapor fell, enveloping the village and all the surrounding country in a misty veil. The narrow streets were deserted, and here and there frozen puddles lay like pieces of broken, dirty glass. An absolute silence reigned in the open space before the Duchess's house, opposite which the almond tree stretched its bare black limbs against the misty background. All at once the common was invaded by a troop of urchins, bundled up in ragged garments and odds and ends of fur, with fringed red caps on their heads and wearing old boots, some of them almost as large as the little persons who wore them. Groups of people stood about, principally shivering women, coughing and sneezing and smelling of soot and smoke. Then the baptismal procession appeared. First came two children looking solemn and important, and carrying candles from which red ribbons fluttered. These were followed by the woman with the infant wrapped in shawls, and covered with a piece of greenish brocade, like the standard of San Constantino.  With him walked the godmother, one of Aunt Martina's daughters, a lank young woman with a long narrow face who reminded one of her shadow seen at sunset. She had to lean down in order to reach her companion's ear. With the godparents came Bronto, freshly shaven and gay, and behind them followed a group of friends and relatives, marching along in step with a noise like the tramp of horses' hoofs. Last of all came the godmother's servant maid, a shivering creature blue with cold. She carried a small basin under one arm, and kept both hands buried in the pockets of her gown. From time to time she thrust out her tongue to catch the drops that kept running down from her nose. The boys trotted alongside, forming two wings to the procession, their eyes eagerly fixed upon the godfather, who returned their gaze with an amused stare and hailed them jacuzzi. Why, hello, you here! What are you looking for, little hedgehogs? His lame, said one hush, keep quiet or he won't give us anything. The procession passed on. The faces of the urchins fell. Some of them were angry, and others seemed on the verge of tears. Cripply, one began to call, but stopped suddenly. The godfather had pitched a handful of copper coins into the air, and the whole troop flung themselves after them, yelling, tumbling over one another, pushing, fighting, struggling, rolling over and over, almost upsetting the maid servant, who instantly began to deal out blows and curses in greater proportion, even than the coins themselves. Fresh handfuls of money, and renewed scuffling by an ever-increasing crowd of ragamuffins, continued to the very doors of the church, where Priest Elias stood awaiting the party, and listening to something the red-robed sacriston was urging upon him. The sacriston was in fact afraid that Priest Elias, with his usual kindly indulgence, might be persuaded to return to the house with the baptismal party, whereas it was the custom of the neighbourhood for the priest to do that only in cases where the parents had been united by religious ceremony. He was therefore exhorting the other to practice severity with Bronto, with the godparents, with the whole company in hand. Eurona said he will surely not return to the house with this infant. Why it is almost illegitimate, on no account should such respect be paid to it. Go and see if they are coming, said the priest. They are not in sight yet. No, Eurona will not go. And how about you? Shall you not go? inquired the priest with a slight smile. Oh, with me it is an altogether different matter. I go, on account of the sweetmeats, not to do honour to that rabble. At this moment the company came in sight, and the ceremony presently began.  The godfather stood by smiling with a lighted taper in his hand, doing his best to remember the creed, Giovanna having implored him to recite it conscientiously, so that the baptism might be valid. Almost the entire crowd of urchins had followed the party inside the church, and there was a pattering like rats running about as the sacriston would chase them all out, only presently to come stealing back. The woman who had carried the baby, and the maid servant with the basin, seated themselves on the steps of a side altar, where they anxiously awaited the godfather's present. At last the service was over, the tips had been given, the baby wrapped up again, and Bronto and his friends stood waiting awkwardly for the priest, who had gone into the sacristy to remove his robes. Would he come back or not? Was he going to the house with the newly baptized infant or no? There was an uncomfortable pause, and then, as he did not appear, the procession set out somewhat mournfully on the return journey, followed by the triumphant sacriston to whom Bronto would dearly have liked to administer blows in place of the expected sweets. All along the route the people came out to see them go by, and many faces, especially those of the women, lighted up with ill-natured smiles, as they perceived that the priest was not there. Poor it was like the baptism of a bastard! Giovanna, albeit not really expecting the priest, grew a shade paler when the company invaded her chamber without him. She kissed the little purple creature sadly, feeling as though the outlook for the poor child was very dark indeed. I remembered every word of the creed from beginning to end, announced the godfather.  If only it may be as prosperous as its godfather, murmur Giovanna. And now, cried the young man, joyously clapping his hands, come to dinner, what a pleasant custom it is! Upon my honour it is a charming custom, and he clapped his hands again, as though calling a crowd of children. They all took their places at table, where the macaroni which had already been served, was to be followed by a beautiful roast pig, exhaling an odour of rosemary. It was only a few days after the baptism that a strange though not unprecedented event occurred in Oléi. Near Isidoro Pane's hut was an ancient dung heap, abandoned for so long that it had become almost petrified. It was covered with a growth of sickly-looking vegetation, and emitted no odour, looking like some sort of artificial mound. One evening at about dusk, while the fisherman was preparing his supper, he heard sounds in the direction of this mound, and went to the door to see what they were. The weather was cold, and in the clear greenish twilight he saw a group of black figures, chiefly women advancing, singing to the accompaniment of some instrument. Isidoro understood what it was, and went to meet them. The women, about twenty in all, old and young, were chanting in a melancholy monotone, with sudden breaks and changes, a weird song or exorcism against the bite of a tarantula. While a blind beggar, a pallid young man, miserably clad in soiled and ragged women's clothing, accompanied them on a primitive instrument, called a sereia, a sort of sittern, made out of a dried sow's bladder. There were only three other men in the party, and in one of these, with a flushed, feverish face and one hand bound up, the fisherman recognized Jacoby Dijaz. Isidoro advanced, and joining the party, laid one finger on the bandaged hand, Jacoby meanwhile, gazing at him wildly, his eyes transfixed with terror.  No, no, said Isidoro, smiling. The women continued their chant. There were seven widows, seven wives, and seven maids. One of the widows was Jacoby's sister. She walked at his side, fresh and pink as ever, notwithstanding her wild state of alarm and anxiety, and her shrill little voice, like the note of a lively cricket, trilled and trembled high above all the others. He is suffering, said one of the men to Isidoro in a low tone. Ah! said the fisherman gravely. The words chanted by the women ran as follows. St. Peter he walked down to the sea, and into the water his keys dropped he. Then the Lord unto him did say, My Peter, what is it ails thee today? Of deadly bites I bear the smart, in my two feet and my back and my heart. Peter, take of the sad thorn-tree, pound it as fine as fine may be. Take it three days for thy wound, so shall Peter be made sound. Tarantula with the painted belly. You have a daughter straightly born. Straightly is your daughter born, one for the mountain I leave forlorn, one for the mountain and one for the valley.  Meanwhile the group had stopped in front of the mound. The two men who were provided with spades began to dig, and Isidoro stood waiting with Jacoby, the chanting women, and the blind man still playing on his strange instrument. Jacoby silently watched the operations of his two friends, and Isidoro watched him, puzzled by the transformation he had undergone. He seemed indeed like an altogether different person. His face was inflamed and drawn with fright, and the little eyes, which usually twinkled so shrewdly from beneath their bald brows, were dim with a childish terror of death. When they had come to the end of the chant, the women began again at the first line, the instrument continuing the accompaniment on the same monotonous key as before. It sounded like the humming of a swarm of bees in flight, puffs of icy wind blew from the west, cutting the faces of the group gathered about the mound, like knives. The purple-blue of the sky was fading into a greenish tint, like the face of a lake when the sun has left it, and over the entire scene there hung a pall of indescribable melancholy, the dull, cold twilight, the darkening uplands, the black village, the shadowy group of people, performing a superstitious rite with all the faith of heathen idolaters, the two men dug with friendly zeal, throwing up spadefuls of black earth mixed with rags, eggshells and refuse of all kinds. As it covered their feet and legs, they would mount higher, bending to their task, panting and sweating, while the women continued their chant, and the blind man his monotonous accompaniment. A hole of sufficient depth having had last been dug, and Anna Rosa never ceasing for an instant to emit the same shrill, mournful sounds, helped Jacoby to remove his coat, and then taking him by the hand, they led him to the edge of the excavation. He jumped in at a bound, and the two men, pushing him down with their hands, hastily piled on the earth until he was buried up to the neck. The performance that then took place was even more extraordinary. The head, looking as though it had been severed from the body and stuck in the centre of this heap of refuse, was surrounded by sparse vegetation, which trembled in the breeze as though affrighted, while overhead hung the melancholy sky. Hardly had the two men completed their task, and stood, the one wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve, and the other knocking off the dirt that was sticking to his hands, when the women closed in a circle around the head, and began to dance to the sound of their own chanting voices, and the instrument still played by the blind man, who stood with his sightless balls and pale, impassive face, turned towards the distant horizon. This continued for some time, then the dancing ceased, the circle broke, but the chanting still went on. His adoro and the other men threw themselves on the mound, and with spades and hands had soon disinterred Jacobi. He was perspiring profusely when he emerged, covered with dirt, and his face and neck were purple. He said he had felt as though he would suffocate. Then he shook himself and thrust first one arm, and then the other into the sleeves of the coat, which his sister held ready.  The other, however, made no reply. The cold wind struck his perspiring body with an icy chill, his face grew pallid, and his teeth chattered. They walked off in the direction of Aunt Anna Rosa's house. Isidoro, who by this time had lost all interest in his supper, accompanying them.  No, said Jacobi, and then, while the weird chanting still continued, he gave an account of his misfortune. I was asleep. Suddenly I felt something like the sting of a wasp. I woke up all in a perspiration. Ah, it had stung me! It had stung me, the horrible tarantula! I saw it as plain as I see you, but it was some distance off on the wall. Ah, the devil take you, a cursed creature! So I came right home. Do you know, I'm afraid to die. I've been afraid for ever so long. But we all have to die, sometime, whenever the hour comes, said Isidoro seriously. Yes, that is true. We all have to sometime, agreed one of the men. But that is poor consolation for Jacobi de Jazz. My legs feel as though they'd been broken, he groaned. And oh, my spine! It is just as though someone had struck it with an axe.  I know I'm going to die. As they passed along, the people came out of their houses to watch them go by. But it was like a funeral procession. No one spoke, nor did anyone follow them. Jacobi's eyes grew dim, and presently he stumbled and clutched hold of Isidoro for support. The women were moving along on a trot, like a herd of colts. Their voices rose, fell, rose again, and seemed to die away into the chill-night air, overpowered at last by the even strident notes of the sit-ern, like the gasps of some wounded animal left to die alone in the forest. At last they reached the little widow's house. A fire was burning in the slate-stone fireplace in the centre of the kitchen, laid on a little heap of live coals which had just been taken out of the oven. This last, a huge round affair having a hole in the top to allow the smoke to escape occupied one corner, its square door being quite large enough to allow of the passage of a man's body. Into its still hot interior, Jacobi accordingly now crept, the soles of his heavy shoes appearing in the opening, their worn nails shining in the firelight.  The blind man, conscious of the fire, felt his way towards it little by little, though without ceasing to play. Reaching the edge of the fireplace, he put one of his bare feet upon the hot stone. Whispered Uncle Isidoro warning it, look how boy, oh, you'll have a surprise. The words were not out of his mouth when the youth gave a sudden bound backwards, shaking his burned foot in the air. For a moment he stopped playing, but the women never faltered. Standing there, erect and immovable around the huge oven, they might have been intoning a funeral dirge over some prehistoric sepulchre. He is coming out! cried Aunt Anna Rosa suddenly, and Jacobi's great feet could be seen issuing from the oven. At the same instant, the house door was thrown violently open, and the black-robed figure of priest Elias appeared. On hearing what had occurred, he had at once hastened to the house, hoping to arrive in time at least to prevent the ordeal of the oven. He was flushed and breathless, and his eyes flashed. On catching sight of him, one of the women gave a scream, and others stopped chanting, while the rest motioned to them to continue. Jacobi, meanwhile, had got out of the oven. Be quiet, commanded the priest panting. Aren't you ashamed of yourselves? No? They all became silent. Go! he said, opening the door and holding it with one hand, while with the other he almost pushed the women out. When the last had gone, he became aware for the first time of the presence of his idoro, and his face fell. You, too? he said reproachfully, extraordinary, most extraordinary. Don't you see what you have done among you to that poor man? Then, changing his tone, quick, he said, go at once for the doctor as fast as you can, and as for you, turning to Jacobi, get to bed at once. The sick man asked for nothing better. He was burning with fever. His head was shaking, and he could hardly see. His idoro went off in search of the doctor, somewhat mortified, and yet in spite of his usually hard, common sense, his intelligence, and his deeply religious nature, quite unable to see what harm there could be in trying to cure a tarantula sting, with the rites, chants, and incantations employed by one's forebears from the days when giants inhabited the Nurageth. The women had scattered into groups along the street, and were discussing the occurrence. Some of them a little ashamed, while others were inclined to blame the priest. One irrepressible young girl was beating her hands in time, and singing the lament which should have been chanted in chorus around Jacobi's bed had not the priest's arrival prevented. O mother of the spider, a stroke has fallen on me! Some of the women would have stopped his idoro, but he strode quickly on, buried in thought. At last they all dispersed, and the cold still evening settled down on the little widow's house, while overhead the stars looked like golden eyes veiled in tears. End of chapter 13 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 14 Of After the Divorce by Grazia de Leda Translated by Maria Horner Lansdale This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham The room where Jacobi lay was extremely lofty, and so large that the oil light did not penetrate the corners. The furniture appeared to have been built expressly with a view to its ample proportions, a huge red wooden wardrobe which stood against the end wall, reaching clear to the ceiling. The bed, the lower part of which was draped with yellow curtains, was as high and massive as a mountain. Seen thus in the dim flickering light, with its black corners and great lofty white ceiling like a cloudy sky, the room had a mysterious uncanny look. Little Aunt Anna Rosa seemed almost in danger of losing her way as she moved about among the bulky furniture, and her shoulders hardly reached above the counterpane when she came and stood beside the bed where her brother lay in the uneasy grip of the fever. He seemed to himself still to be in the mound. Only the two friends who had interred him kept on piling the earth higher and higher about his head. He was suffocating that torture was almost unendurable, and yet he did not stop them.  In his dream Jacoby was conscious of an almost insane fear of death. It had occurred to him when he was in the oven that hell, perhaps, was a huge heated oven where the damned would sprawl throughout eternity. Now in his dream precisely the same feeling was reproduced. He was in the mound, the earth reached higher and higher about him, he shut his mouth tight to keep from swallowing it, and there opposite him he suddenly saw a lighted furnace. It was the infernal regions. Such a feeling of terror seized upon him that even in his dream, in his feverish semi-consciousness, he was aware of an overmastering desire to prove to himself that this horror was an illusion of the senses. In the effort he awoke, but even awake he had something of the same sensation that stones worthy endowed with feeling would have in a burning building, growing all the while hotter and hotter, and yet unable to stir an inch.  He omitted a groan and the noise gave him comfort. It had an earthly, human sound, breaking in on all those diabolical sensations. Isidoro, who had stayed in case the little widow might have need of him, heard the groan from where he sat, dozing in the adjoining kitchen, and bounded to his feet in terror. He thought the Jacoby had died.  Are you awake? asked the fisherman in a low voice. Do you want anything? He felt his pulse, and even laid his ear against it as though trying to hear the throbs. At the same instant Jacoby, observed the round little visage of his sister, appear above the other edge of the bed, enveloped in the folds of a large white kerchief. Then a curious thing happened.  Instantly memory carried the woman back to a far distant day when her brother, a tiny lad, had sat weeping on his very bed, and opening her arms just as she had done then, she took him to her kind bosom, murmuring words of loving remonstrance. In the name of the holy souls in purgatory, what is it? What is the matter, little brother? Isidoro, quite at a loss, continued to feel his friend's pulse, trying now one vein and now another, and muttering to himself. How strange! How very strange! Well, what is it? Won't you tell me what it is? You, Isidoro Panni, what happened? Why, nothing happened. He called out, and that was all. Maybe he had a bad dream. We'll give him a drink of water. There now, here's a little fresh water. That's it, he wants it. See how he is drinking. You were thirsty, weren't you? It's the fever, you see. That's what ails him. Jacoby sat up in bed, and after drinking the water calmed down.  He remained in a sitting posture, leaning forward and thoughtfully passing his well hand up and down the injured arm. Yes, he remarked suddenly, in the panting, querulous tone of a person with fever. Yes, I had a bad dream. You, but it was hot. Holy San Constantino, how hot it was! I was dreaming of hell! Dear me, dear me, what an idea! said his sister reprovingly, and Uncle Isidoro said playfully. And so it was hot, little spring bird. The sick man seemed to be annoyed. Don't joke, and don't say little spring bird. I don't like it. I shall never say it again. And I shall never laugh at anyone again. Listen to me, he said, bending forward and continuing to rub his arm. Hell is a dreadful place. I've got to die, and I've got to tell you something first. Now listen, but don't get frightened, Anna Rosa, because I am certainly going to die. And Uncle Isidoro, you know it already. So I can tell you. Well, this is it. It was I who killed Basil Eledda. And Anna Rosa's eyes and mouth flew wide open. She leaned against the side of the bed, and began to shake convulsively. I knew it already, exclaimed Isidoro, why I knew nothing at all. Jack could be raised a terrified face, and began to tremble as well. Don't have me arrested, he implored.  You can tell them then. I thought you knew. What is the matter, Anna Roe? Don't be frightened. Don't have me arrested. It's not that, she said, raising herself. Her first sensation of having received a blow on the head was passing away, but now, in its place, there came a singular feeling of some change that was taking place within her. Her own spirit seemed to have fled in dismay, and in its place had come something that regarded the world, life, heaven, earth, God himself, from a totally different standpoint. And everything viewed in the light of this new spirit was full of horror, misery, chaos. I will not tell anyone? No, no, but how could you ever suppose that I knew about it? protested Isidoro. He felt no special horror of Jack could be only profound pity, but at the same time he thought it would be better now for him to die. Then, simultaneously, their thoughts all flew to Constantino and hardly left him again. Lie down, said Isidoro, smoothing out the pillow. But the other only shook his head, and began to talk again in the same querulous laboured voice, now beseeching, now almost angry. I thought you must know about it, and so you never did, after all. Well, that's so. How could you? But I was afraid of you all the same. I had an idea that I could read it in your eyes. Do you remember that night at your house, when you said it might be you who killed him? I was frightened. I was frightened that night. Then, there was that other time, Assumption Day, here in this very house you called me murderer. I knew it was a joke, but it frightened me because I was afraid of you anyhow. So then, when I said that about you and my sister getting married, I meant it. I thought it might give me a sort of hold on you.  Jacoby looked at her for a moment.  You wonder what made me do it? Well, I tell you, I hated that man. He had flogged me, and he owed me money, but I thought it would kill me when they condemned Constantino Ledda. Why, didn't I confess then? Is that what you want to say? It sounds all very easy now, but you can't do it. Constantino is a strong young man, I thought to myself. I shall die long before he does, and then I'll confess the whole thing.  What is Constantino going to say when he comes back? What is he going to say? He repeated softly to himself. What ought we to do? said Aunt Anna Rosa, burying her face in the bed clothes and groaning. She felt as though it must all be some frightful dream. Yet, not for a single instant, did she contemplate concealing her brother's crime. And afterwards, one of two equally horrible things must happen. Either Giacobbe would die, or he would be sent to prison. She could not tell which of the two she dreaded most. Now we must lie down and rest. Tomorrow will be time enough to talk of what is the best thing to do. Said Isidoro, again smoothing out the pillow. Giacobbe turned over and laid himself down. Then, raising his left hand, he began to count off on his fingers. Priest Elias, one, the magistrate, two, then, what's his name? Bronto de Gias. Yes, I want him particularly. They must all come here, and I will make a confession. Bronto de Gias, repeated Isidoro with stupefaction. Yes, they will take his word sooner than anyone's.  I'm frightened.  Why, of course, don't worry now.   I'm hot, said he. I tell you, I'm hot. Let me alone. Why aren't you more surprised, Uncle Sidoro? I went on hiring out to keep people from suspecting anything, but you knew all along. Oh, yes, you knew well enough.  Then why aren't you surprised? Because, replied the old man in a grave voice, such strange things are always happening. It is the way of the world. Now keep the covers over you and try to go to sleep. The widow, who appeared not to have been listening to what the two men were saying, now raised her face, poor little fresh face. It had suddenly grown yellow and wrinkled, all the years that had passed over it without being able to leave any trace hard in the last five minutes taken their revenge. Giacobbe, said the little woman, what need is there of calling in witnesses? Why should we have anyone else, won't I do? She straightened herself and looked at Isidoro, who in turn looked at the sick man. Why, that's true, they exclaimed together. A sudden atmosphere of relief fell on the dimly lighted room. The patient, with a sigh, stretched himself quietly out, remained still for a few moments, and finally fell asleep. The little widow likewise following Isidoro's advice went back to bed. The ponderous front of the great red wardrobe seemed to be brooding over the scene, and the shadowy ceiling to overhang it like the sky above a deserted hamlet. All those inanimate objects seemed to repeat gravely to one another the old fisherman's words. It is the way of the world. The Olé physician, Dr. Puddu, was a coarse, fat beast of a man. Once upon a time he too had had his high ideals, but fate having cast him into this out-of-the-way corner of the world, where the people were rarely, if ever ill, he had taken to drink, at first because, being from the south, he felt the cold, and afterwards because he found that wine and liquor were very much to his taste. In these days, in addition to his intemperate habits, he had become a free thinker, so that even the villagers had lost all respect for him.   And Aunt Anna Rosa had looked at him angrily and muttered something under her breath.  It did not take much to anger her in these days. She quarreled, indeed, with everyone except the patient. And how old she looked! After that night, her face had remained yellow and drawn. She looked like a different person, and her brother's revelation had worked a singular change in her both physically and morally. She was constantly tormented by the question as to how Jacoby ever could have brought himself to kill anyone. He, who was always as merry and gentle as a lamb? How in the name of the holy souls in the world, how in the name of the holy souls in purgatory had he ever done it? And our father, he was no thief, not he. He was a God-fearing man, and all was so kind and gay that when any of the neighbours were in trouble they invariably came to him to be cheered up. The little woman's heart swelled as she thought of her old father long since dead, but suddenly a mist seemed to rise in her brain. And her face contracted with the horror of a terrible thought. Perhaps he, too, the kindly good old man had committed some crime. Why not? No one could be trusted any more. Living or dead, old or young.  When, approaching the bedside, she would find the patient's face drawn with suffering, his wide, terror-stricken eyes, meanwhile, seeming to implore death to spare him, an infinite tide of pity would well up within her, a rush of maternal tenderness, a sorrow beyond words.  And while everything else, everyone else, even the sacred dead, even innocent children, aroused hateful suspicions, he alone, he of them all, called for pity, tenderness, a passionate and consuming love that was like melting wax within her. Yet she must see him, and she was seeing him die. More than that, she must wish for his death. All the while that she was nursing him with tenderest care, she must hope that her watchfulness, the medicines, everything would fail. Moreover, death, that awful thing which she must ardently desire for the little brother whom she loved, when it came, would bring not only the deep, natural sorrow of her loss, but that other horror, the announcement of his guilt. Of all the burdens that pressed upon her, however, the hardest to bear was the fact that the sick man was perfectly conscious of her attitude towards him. On the third day of his illness, Isidoro had brought with great secrecy and mystery a medicine obtained from the sacristan. It was a concoction made of olive oil into which had been plunged, three scorpions, a centipede, a tarantula, a spider, and a poisonous fungus. It was considered a cure for any kind of sting. And Ana Rosa applied it at once to the patient's puffed and swollen hand, he allowing her to do it and watching the operation intently. Then he said, Why do you take all this trouble for me Ana Ro?  Her heart sank while he continued quietly addressing Isidoro.  What would you do then? God will look after that, leave it to him, said the fisherman. Jacoby lay quiet for a few moments, then he said, Shall you two go together to the magistrates? Where? To the magistrates. It's cold though now, and it's a long way to go. You must not go on horseback Ana Rosa, do you hear? You will have to have a carriage to drive to Nuoro. What for? She faltered distressedly, pretending not to understand. Why to see the magistrate of course? She scolded him, and then went into the kitchen, and wept bitterly. Here is your oil, she said presently, as Isidoro came out and prepared to leave. You could not do anything but bring it, of course. When is Priest Elias coming? This evening. Yes, he ought to, Jacoby must confess. Time is flying, and he is very ill. Last night he didn't close an eye. Ah, she added suddenly. He seems to me, just like some wounded bird. Abd al-Dajas has been here. Oh, yes, they've been here, both of them. Mother and son. Pronto has been here twice. Oh, they all come, she said desperately. But what good does it do?  Either one would be equally a blessing or a curse to him, said Isidoro, carefully wrapping his red handkerchief around the file of oil. As they are, for most of us, said the woman. Soon after the doctor arrived, in a shrunken overcoat with a collar turned up. He had been drinking already, and smelled strong of spirits. His lips were white, and he puffed and spat about sometimes over himself. He seemed somewhat startled, however, when he saw his patient's condition. What the devil's the matter with you? He demanded roughly. Your side? Your side, you've got the devil in your side? Let's have a look. He threw back the covers, exposing Jacob's hairy chest, passing his hand up and down his side. He listened with his ear close to the patient's back. It's all nonsense, he said. You've worked yourself up like some old woman. Then he replaced the covers, carelessly, and went out. At the door, however, he turned and fixed Aunt Ana Rosa with his eye. Woman, he said, let him see the priest at once. He has pneumonia. At dusk, Jacoby confessed. Then he called his sister. Ana Ro, he said, priest, take care of the woman. Priest, Elias is going to Nwara with you too. You must be sure to have a carriage on account of the cold. It was, in fact, snowing then, and the big room was filled with the white, reflected light. Priest Elias looked attentively at Aunt Ana Rosa, for whom he had an especially tender feeling on account of a fancied resemblance to his mother. The poor little black-robed figure seemed to him to have shrunken in the past few days, and now she was hanging her head in a pitiful, shame-faced way, bowed with mortification at her little brother's disgrace. Instinctively, the priest understood the heroic part that quivering soul had been called upon to play in this tragedy, and he breathed an inward benediction upon her. End of Chapter 14 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 15 of After the Divorce by Grazia de Leda Translated by Maria Horner Lansdale This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham It was the month of May, and the wild valley of the Isale, usually so forbidding and rugged. They smiling in the sun, adorned with tall grass and clumps of flowering shrubs, and fields of barley which rippled in the breeze like cloths of greenish gold. It was as though some old pagan, drunk with sunlight and sweet scents, had decked himself out in branches and garlands. The clear, liquid note of a wild bird would occasionally pierce the silence of the valley, then die away, drowned in the fragrance of the Narcissus's, and flowering broom, which gleamed like nuggets of molten gold on the very edges of the loftiest cliffs, as though peeping over to see what lay in the ravine below. A spin-thrift fae had passed along, scattering flowers, colors, scents, with a reckless hand. Some meadows in the distance, pranked with ranunculuses, looked like stretches of green water, reflecting a starry sky. Here and there a group of trees nodded and whispered together in the breeze. The sun, hard but just, sunk, and the west was still glowing like the cheek of a ripe peach, while in the east the mountains lay like a huge parure of precious stones set in a case of lilac satin. Constantino Ledda, liberated only a few hours before at Nuoro, was returning to his native village on foot, descending leisurely into the valley. His small canvas pack slung on his back. Now and then he would stop and look around him curiously. Ah! the valley seemed smaller, perhaps because I have seen the sea, he murmured. He looked older. His face was clean-shaven and intensely white, but otherwise he had none of the tragic air which he had seen. Otherwise he had none of the tragic air which would have been appropriate under the circumstances. He was coming back in this manner alone at on foot, because he had not been able to say precisely what day he would be freed. Otherwise someone, relative or friend, would certainly have gone to meet him. Besides, his impatience to reach home would brook no delay. Down and down the mountain side he went. He was almost gay, possibly because of some wine he had drunk at Nuoro, where he had also provided himself with more for the journey. As he continued to descend his legs would occasionally double up under him, but he cared little for so trifling and inconvenience as that. Why, he said to himself, when I am tired I have only to lie down and go to sleep. I have plenty of bread and wine in my bag. What more could anyone want? I am as free as the birds of the air. Yes, that's true. I am free. I'm a bachelor now. That's a funny thing. Once I was a married man with a wife, and now I'm a bachelor. He thought that he found this idea amusing. Down and down, now watching the sandy path winding between high grass on either side, now gazing at the birds to whom he had compared himself, as they flew hither and thither, at times almost skimming the ground, then darting into the bushes where they would find a roosting place for the night. He thought of the prison magpie, and felt a sudden tightening at his heart. Yes, it was true he had been sorry when the time came to leave that place of torment, the companions whom he disliked so heartily, the horrible enclosing walls, the strip of sky that for all those years had seemed to overhang the prison courtyard like a metal lid. After the death of the real culprit, days and months had elapsed, before justice had completed its leisurely formalities, and the innocent man could be liberated. During these months Constantino, informed of the event, had been wild with impatience, and the days had seemed like years, yet, when the moment of departure actually came, he nearly wept. This emotion, however, which was apparently the outcome of pity and sympathy for the beings whom he was leaving behind, was in reality for the things he was leaving behind, for all those inanimate objects that had engulfed and swallowed up his life, both his past and his future. Now this sorrow was done with, everything was done with, even that horrible torture that followed Giovanna's act, was all so much a thing of the past that he really fancied that he could laugh at it. Down and down, he reached the bottom of the valley, and began to skirt the edge of the Esale. The sunset sky was still bright, and here and there, the water shone between the oleanders and rushes, or reflected the rose and yellow lights in the sky. The delicate lace umbrellas of the elderflower, and the brilliant coral blossoms of the oleanders stood out in the clear atmosphere as though from a setting of silver. Constantino, by this time very tired, began to think that perhaps the valley was not, after all, so small as it had seemed at first. I can sleep out of doors perfectly well, he thought, but it would have been so amusing to walk up to Isidoro's door. Bang, bang, who's there? Aye, who's aye? Why, Constantino, led her. How astonished old Isidoro would look. Perhaps he would be singing the lords, maybe those lords, who knows. Why, let's see, I wrote a set of lords once. How extraordinary that seems. He wondered over many incidents of the past, as a boy will sometimes be astonished to think of things he did as a child. But the present held many surprises as well. The glory of the spring tide amazed him, as did the length of time it took to cross a valley that appeared to be so small. But most of all he wondered to think that he was crossing it on his way back to his own village. He was walking now between two fields of grain, above which the slanting light threw a veil of golden haze, and its surface, rippled by the breeze, seemed stroked by an invisible hand. He went on picturing his arrival, Isidoro having written to ask him to come straight to his house. Come in, he will say, and then, Jacoby Dajas is dead, it was he who did it. I know that already, the devil. Is that all you have to tell me? Well then, your wife has married someone else. I know that too. Then why don't you cry? Why on earth should I? I've cried enough. I don't want to any more now. I've crossed the sea. I've seen the world. I'm not a boy any longer. Nothing makes much difference to me any more. But at the very moment when he was boasting to himself of his indifference and worldly cynicism, an icy grip closed about his heart. Oh, to be going back to find the little house, Giovanna, his child, his past. There is nothing left. He said aloud, the storm has swept over it and carried everything away. Everything, everything. He threw himself down on the edge of the field of grain in an agony of grief. It was often this way the great tempest of sorrow had broken over him long before and seemingly passed on. But instead of that, it had only hidden itself for a time. It was there now, stealing along, keeping pace with him. For long distances he would not see its evil shape. Then suddenly it would leap forth, bursting through the ground at his very feet and whirling around its victim. Clutch him by the throat, beat him to the ground, suffocate him, then leave him spent, exhausted. After a long time he had lost his mind. After a while Constantino sat up, unfastened his wallet, and drew out a dried good filled with wine. Throwing his head back, he took a deep draft. Then he put it away, and sat looking around him at the sea of grain on whose golden green surface floated splotches of crimson poppies. Somewhat revived, he presently resumed his journey. But all the eagerness and spring with which he had set out had died away. What did it matter whether he got home this day or the next, since there was no one to expect him? And so he plotted on till the first shadows of approaching night overtook him, just as he reached the end of the valley. The crickets had turned out like a tribe of moors with their tiny silver sickles, the scent of the shrubs and flowers hung heavy in the warm air. The breeze had died away, and the birds were silent. But the black triangles of the bats circled swiftly in the luminous gray dusk. Oh, that divine melancholy of a spring evening! Felt even by happy souls, may it not be an inherited homesickness transmitted through all the ages? A longing for the flowers and perfumes, and joys of that eternal, albeit earthly, paradise which our first parents lost for us forever. Constantino tramped on and on. He had passed long years under a brutal oppression between infected walls, amid corrupt companions in an environment whose very air was confined, and now he was walking in the open, treading grass and stones underfoot. As he ascended the mountain from the valley below, every step brought more of the horizon into view, and a wider expanse of soft, overhanging sky, as boundless as liberty itself. And yet, and yet, never in all those years of imprisonment had he experienced a sense of such utter hopelessness as that with which he now saw the shadows fall from those free skies. He was pressing on, but wither, and why? He had set forth, eager, elated, as one hastening to a place where pleasant things await him. Now he wondered at himself. In the uncertain twilight he seemed to have lost his way. His journey had turned out to be vain, abortive. He was trudging on aimlessly. He had no country, nor home, nor family. He would never reach any destination. He had gone astray and was wandering about in a boundless desert tract, as gray and cheerless as the sky above him. Where the stars were like campfires lighted by solitary travellers who, unknown to one another, wandered lost like himself in the unwished for and oppressive liberty of the trackless wilderness. And yet it was not the actual thought of Giovanna herself that weighed him down, nor yet his lost happiness, nor the misery that a wholly undeserved fate had forced upon him. All these things had long ago so eaten into his soul that they had come to form a part of his very nature, and he had almost grown to forget them as one forgets the shirt he has on his back. Now his grief fastened upon memories of certain specific objects which had passed out of the setting of his life, and which he could never recover. His mind dwelt, for instance, persistently on the little common in front of Giovanna's cottage, the stones in the old wall where they used to sit together on summer evenings, and above all on the great wide bed where he would lay himself down beside her after the hard day's work was over. He felt now, as though he might be going home at the close of one of those long, toilsome days. But now, now, where was he to turn for rest and ease? Thus up through the load of unhappiness that bore him down, all pervading and indefinable as the fragrance of the wild growth about him, a sense of physical discomfort forced itself. He was conscious of hunger and weariness. Reaching the top of a knoll, he sat down and opened his wallet. Night had fallen, but the atmosphere was clear and bright. The mountains which hid the sea on the east were bathed in moonlight, and the milky way spanned the heavens like a white, deserted causeway. In the west, a pale, uncertain reflection hung over the distant sea. A magical aurora encircled the mountains. The path, stood out distinctly, and the round, compact clumps of bushes might have been a scattered flock of black sheep. No sound broke the stillness, but the mournful hoot of an owl. Constantino ate and drank. Then, stretching himself out on the ground, he allowed his gaze to wander for a moment along that vast white roadway that traversed the heavens.  In the sense of bodily comfort, the repose for his tired limbs, and the effect of the food and drink were such that he became almost cheerful again. Hardly, however, had his lids closed, when all his prison companions began to troop before his vision, and he seemed to be seated at work at his shoemaker's bench. The thing that he would have to tell his friends at Orlais, then came into his mind and filled him with such childish pride that he had an impulse to get up at once and push on so as to get there without delay. Yes, I must get up and go on, he said, and then, no I won't. I shall stay here and go to sleep. I am very sleepy. No, I must get on. The words came confusedly this time. Isidoro Panne expects me. I shall say, what a lot of people I have met. I have seen the sea. I know a man who is a marshal. Burai is his name. He's going to get me a position of shoemaker in the king's household. Now I am going to get up and start, start, start. But he did not. Confused visions flitted across his brain. The king of Spades, the stride of a donkey, came riding down that great white road that stretched across the sky. All at once he heard him cry out, once, twice, three times. He was calling Constantino, who, opening his sleepy eyes, shut them again and then open them wide. Idiot, he muttered. It's the owl. Yes, I'm going directly. I'm going. And he fell, fast asleep. When he awoke, the great shining face of the moon was still high in the heavens. With its flood of steely light there came a fall of dew. Enormous shadows like vast black veils hung over certain parts of the mountains, but every crag, every thicket, and flower even, stood clearly out wherever the moonlight fell. The owl still gave his penetrating cry, sharp and metallic, cutting through the silence like a blade of steel. Constantino shivered. He was wet with dew, and getting up he yawned loudly. The prolonged, fairly resounded in the intense stillness. He scrutinized the heavens to find out the hour. The star, that is to say Diana, had not yet lifted her emerald gold face above the sea. Dawn, therefore, was still a long way off, and Constantino resumed his journey, hoping to reach the village before the people should be about. He did not want to meet the gaze of the curious, and above all else he dreaded being seen by Giovanna or her mother. He had made up his mind to avoid them if possible, not even to see them, or pass by their cottage. What good would it do? Everything was over between them. So he trudged on and on. Now up, now down, along the moonlight mountain side. The heaps of slate stone, the asphodel's heavy with dew. The very rocks themselves gave out a damp penetrating odour, and here and there a rill of water stolen and out between fragrant beds of penny-royal. As far away as the eye could reach, blue, vapor-y skies overhung blue misty mountains, until in the extreme distance they met, and melted into one shimmering sea of silver. The man walked on and on. His brain yet only half awake, but his body refreshed and active. Now and then he would take a short cut, leaping from rock to rock, then pausing, breathless, with straining heart and pulses. In the moon's rays his limpid eyes showed flecks of silver light. The further he went, the more familiar the way became. Now he was inhaling the wild fragrance of his native soil. He recognised the melancholy salty, sewn with barley. The grain not yet turned. The beds of lentisks. The sparse trees whispering some passing breath of wind, like old people murmuring in their sleep. And there, far off, the range of mighty sphinxes blew in the moonlight. And further still, the flash of the sea, that sea that he was so proud to have crossed, in no matter what fashion. On reaching the little church of San Francisco, he paused, and cap in hand, said a prayer. A perfectly honest and sincere one, for at that moment his freedom gave him a sense of happiness, such as he had not as yet experienced at any time since leaving the prison. Day had hardly begun to break when Isidoro heard a tapping at his door. For fifteen, twenty days, for four months in fact, he had been waiting for that sound. And he was on his feet before his old heart had started its mad beating against his breast. He opened the door. In the dim light he saw, or half saw, a tall figure, not dressed in the costume of the country, but wearing a fustian coat as hard and stiffer's leather, out of which emerged a long pallid face. He did not know who it was. Constantino burst into a harsh laugh, and the fisherman with a pang recognised his friend. Yes, at last, it was Constantino come back. But in that very first moment he knew it was not the Constantino of other days. He threw his arms around him, but without kissing him, and his heart melted into tears. Well, you didn't know me after all, said Constantino, unstrapping his wallet. I knew you wouldn't. Even his voice and accent were strange. And now, after his first sensations, first of chill and then of pity, Isidoro felt a sort of diffidence. What do you dress that way for? he asked. If you had let me know I would have brought you your clothes to Nuoro and a horse too. Did you come all the way on foot? No, San Francisco lent me a horse. What are you about, Uncle Isidoro? I don't want any coffee. Have you got any brandy? The fisherman, who had begun to uncover the fire, got up from his knees, embarrassed and mortified at having nothing better to offer his guest than a little coffee.  But just wait a moment. I'll go right off.  And he started for the door. Stop! Where are you going? cried the other, seizing hold of him. I don't want anything at all. I only said it for a joke. Sit down here. Isidoro seated himself, and began to look furtively at Constantino. Little by little he grew more at ease with him, and presently, passing his hand over his trousers, he asked if he intended to go on dressing that way. In the early morning light streaming through the open door, Constantino's face looked worn and grey. Yes, he said, with another of those disagreeable laughs. I am going on dressing this way. I am going away soon. Going away soon? Where to? Oh, I have met so many people began, Constantino, in the tone of one reciting a lesson. And I have friends who will help me. What is there for me to do here anyhow? Why, shoemaking, didn't you write to me that that was what you wanted to do? I know a marshal named Burai, continued Constantino, who always thought of the King of Spades as still holding office. He lives in Rome now, and he's written me a letter. He's going to get me a position, in the King's household, to be a shoemaker. Isidoro looked at him pitifully. Ah, the poor fellow! He was altogether different. What made him talk like that, and tell all those foolish little things, when there were such heart-rending topics to discuss? Thus Isidoro to his own heart. Pretty soon, however, he began to suspect that Constantino was putting all this on, and that his apparent indifference was assumed. But why, if he could not be open and natural with him? With whom could he be? Calm, said he. Let us talk of other things now. We can discuss all that later. Really, though, won't you have a little coffee? It would do you good. What do you want to talk about? asked Constantino drearily. I knew you would think it's strange that I don't cry, but I've cried until I haven't the wish to any more. And I am going away. One can't stay in this place after having crossed the sea. Who is that going by? he asked suddenly, as the sound of footsteps was heard outside. I don't want any one to see me.  When he returned, his whole expression had changed, and his features were working. I walked by there, he said, his voice sinking lower and lower, on my way here. I didn't want to, but somehow I found myself there before I knew it. How can I? How can I stay here? Tell me you— He clasped both hands to his forehead, and shook his head violently, then throwing himself at full length on the ground, he writhed and twisted in an agony of sobs, his whole body shaking with the vehemence of his grief. He was like a young bull, caught and held fast in the leash, and made to submit to the red-hot iron. The old fisherman turned deathly white, but made no attempt whatever to calm him. At last, at last, he recognized his friend. End of Chapter 15 Recording by Tom Denham Chapter 16 of After the Divorce by Grazia de Leda translated by Maria Horner Lansdale This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham No sooner had news of Constantino's return got abroad than visitors began to stream to Isidoro's hut. Throughout the entire day there was an incessant coming and going of friends and relatives, and even of persons who had never in their lives so much as interchanged a word with the late prisoner, but who now hastened with open arms to invite him to make his home with them. The women wept over him, called him my son, and gazed at him compassionately. One neighbor sent him a present of bread and sausages. All these kindly demonstrations seemed, however, only to annoy their object. Why on earth should they be sorry for me? he said to Isidoro, for heaven's sake send them about their business, and let's get away into the country. Yes, yes, we will go. All in good time, child of the Lord, only have a little patience, said the other, bending over the fireplace, where he was cooking the sausage. How naughty you are, I declare, since witnessing that paroxysm of grief in the morning.  During the short intervals when they found themselves alone, he told him the facts. Constantino listened eagerly, and was annoyed when the arrival of fresh visitors interrupted the narrative. Among these visitors came the syndic, he who was a herdsman, and looked like Napoleon I. His call was especially trying.  Yes, every herdsman will give you a pecus, a cow. And if there is anything you need, just say so. Are we not all brothers and sisters in this world, and especially in a small community like this? Constantino, thinking of the treatment he had received at the hands of his brothers and sisters of this particular small community, shook his head. Yes, he said, my brothers have treated me as Cain treated Abel. It would take a good deal more than sheep and cows to make it up to me. Oh, well, that has nothing to do with it, replied the syndic, absorbed in his idea. You have travelled. Tell me now, have you never stood on the top of some high mountain, and looked down on the villages scattered about in the plain below? Well, didn't they seem to you like so many houses, each with its little family living inside? Constantino, who was tired of the conversation, merely replied that all he wanted was to leave this village, and never come back to it again. Oh, no, you mustn't do that, urged the other. Where would you go? No, no, you must stay here, where we are all brothers. The next to arrive was Dr. Puddu, carrying a large dirty grey umbrella. He had once peered into the earthenware saucepan to see what was cooking. You are all degenerates, every one of you, he announced in his harsh voice, wrapping the saucepan with his umbrella.   Well, isn't bacon, pork, you're all pigs. Well, turning to Constantino, and so good, sheep, you've come back. I saw him die, what's his name? Jacoby de Jas. He died a miserable death as he deserved to. You had better take a purgative tomorrow. It's absolutely necessary after a sea voyage. Constantino looked at him without speaking. You think I'm crazy? shouted the doctor, going close to him and shaking his umbrella. A purgative.  A purgative. I heard you, said Constantino. Oh, so much the better. Well, I've heard that you say you want to go away. Go. Go, by all means, go to the devil, but first of all, go to the cemetery. Go to that dung hill you call a cemetery, and dig and scratch like a dog, and tear up Jacoby de Jas's bones and gnaw them. He ground his teeth as though he were crunching bones. It was both grotesque and horrible, and Constantino could do nothing but stare at him in utter amazement. What are you looking at me like that for? You've always been a fool, my dear fellow, my dear donkey. Just look at you now, calm and amiable as a pope.  Why don't you do something? Why don't you go to that vile woman and taker and her mother and her mother-in-law by the hair of their heads, and tie them to the tails of the cows they offer to give you as a charity, and set fire to their petticoats, and turn them loose in the fields so that they may spread destruction in every direction.  I say, do you understand, idiot? He flung the words in the other's face, his breath heavy with absinthe, his eyes bloodshot. Constantino recoiled, trembling, but the doctor turned to go. On the threshold he paused again and shook his umbrella. You make me long to break your neck, he cried. Men such as you deserve precisely the treatment they get.  Yes, I'll do that! said Constantino with a laugh. But at the same time the doctor's words made a deep impression on him. There were times indeed when he felt utterly desperate. He said over and over again that he meant to go away, but as a fact he did not know where to go. Nor on the other hand could he see what was to become of him, should he decide to remain on in the village. He said to himself, I have no home and there is no one belonging to me. For this one day everyone rushes to see me out of curiosity, but by tomorrow they will all have forgotten my very existence. I am like a bird that has lost its nest. What is there for me to do? All the time, though, those words of the doctors kept ringing in his head. Yes, truly, that would be something for him to do.  No, Constantino, resumed Uncle Isidoro, as they sat at table eating the neighbour's white bread and sausage. She is not happy. I have never looked her full in the face since, and it gives me a queer feeling to meet her as though I were meeting the devil. And yet, to you know, I can't help feeling sorry for her. She has a little girl that they tell me is like a young bean. It is so thin and puny. How could a child born in mortal sin be pretty?  The priest wouldn't go back to the house, and the people were sneering all along the street.  He was not like a bean, not he. Ah, if he had only lived. It may be better so, said the fisherman, beginning to moralise. Life is full of suffering, better to die innocent, to go, to fly, up there above the blue sky, to the paradise that lies beyond the clouds, beyond the storms, beyond all the miseries of human life. Drink something, Constantino. This wine is not very good, but there is still some left. Well, I remember last year on Assumption Day, Giacobbe de Gias asked me to take dinner with him. He was afraid of me. He thought I knew, and he wanted his sister and me to get married. Oh, if you could just see that little woman, you wouldn't laugh. She went with the priest and me to Noirot. May the Lord desert me in the hour of death, if I ever saw a more courageous woman in all my life. She hardly seemed to touch the ground.  I go all the time to see her, and just to amuse her I say, Well, little barleygrain, shall we too get married? She smiles, and I smile, but we feel more like crying. Who could ever have imagined such a thing? I mean, here was Giacobbe de Gias seemingly happy and contented. He was getting rich, and he talked of being married, and then all of a sudden, PUM! Down he comes, like a rotten pear. Such is life! Bacchicia Eira sold her daughter, thinking to improve her condition, and now she is hungry in and of her. Giovanna Eira did what she did, imagining that she was going to have a heaven upon earth, and instead of that, she's like a frog with a stick run through it. But does he beat her? asked Constantino heavily. No, he doesn't do that, but there are worse things than beating. She's treated just like a servant, or rather, like a slave. You know how they used to treat their slaves in the old times? Well, that's the way she's treated in that house. Well, let her burst! Here's to her damnation! cried Constantino, raising his glass to his lips. It gave him a cruel pleasure to hear of Giovanna's misery. Such pleasure as a child will sometimes feel at seeing an unpopular playmate receive a whipping. Dinner over, the two men went out and stretched themselves at full length beneath the wild fig tree. It was a hot, breathless noontide. The air, smelling of poppies, and filled with grey haze, was like that of a summer midday, and there were bees flying about, sounding their little trombones. Constantino, completely worn out by this time, fell asleep almost immediately. The fisherman, on the contrary, could not close an eye. A green grasshopper was skipping about among the blades of grass, giving it sharp tick-tick. Isidoro, stretching out one hand, tried to catch it, his thoughts dwelling all the while on Constantino. I know why he wants to go away, he ruminated. He still cares for her, poor boy, and if he stays here, he will just suffer the way San Lorenzo did on his gridiron.  Ah, what have they done to him? Torn him to pieces. Aha! I have you now! But just as he was about to pull the grasshopper apart, it occurred to him that possibly it too, like Constantino, had had its trials. And he let it go. A shadow fell across the foot of the path. Uncle Isidoro, recognizing Priest Elias, sprang to his feet, went to meet him, and drew him into the hut. So was not too awake in Constantino. The latter, however, was a light sleeper, and aroused presently by the sound of their voices. He too got up. As he approached the hut, he realized that he was being talked about. It is far better that he should go, the priest was saying in a serious tone, far, far better. Constantino could not tell why, but at the sound of these words his heart sank within him like lead. However, he did not go. The days followed one another, and people soon ceased to trouble the returned exile. Before long he was able to go about the village as much as he chose without being stared at, even by the gossips and ragamuffins. With the savings laid up in prison, he purchased a stock of leather, soles, and thread. But he never began to work. Every day he bought a supply of meat and fruit and wine, eating and drinking freely himself, and urging his adoro to do the same. He was in great dread, lest the villagers might think that he was living on the old man's charity, and wanted to let them see that he had money, and was open-handed, not only with him, but with everyone else. So he would conduct parties of his acquaintances to the tavern, where he would make them all tipsy, and get so himself at times, and then the tales he would relate of his prison experiences were marvellous indeed to hear. In this way his little store of money melted rapidly away, and when Isidoro scolded him all he would say was, Well, I have no children, nor anyone else to consider, so let me alone. He was counting, moreover, on the inheritance left by his murdered uncle, which the other heirs had agreed to resign without forcing him to have recourse to the law. Then, said he, I shall take myself off. I am going to give you a hundred scoody, Uncle Isidoro. But poor old Isidoro did not want his scoody, nor anything else, except to see him restored to the Constantino of other days, good, industrious, and frank. Frank he certainly was not at present, and when occasionally the fisherman surprised him with tears in his eyes, his sore old heart leaped for joy. What is it, child of grace, he would ask, but Constantino would merely laugh. Even when the tears were actually running down his cheeks, it was heart-rending. Sometimes the two would go off together to fish for leeches. That is, Isidoro would stand patiently knee-deep in the yellow stagnant water, while Constantino, stretched on his back among the rushes, would spin yarns about his former fellow prisoners, gazing off meanwhile toward the horizon with an unaccountable feeling of homesickness. Go away! Go away! Did he not long to go away? Did he not up there beneath that fateful sky in the deathly solitude of the uplands under the eternal surveillance of those colossal sphinxes feel as though an iron circle were pressing upon him? Every object from the blades of grass along the roadside to the very mountain peaks reminded him of the past. Each night he prowled around Giovanna's house like some stealthy animal, and one evening he saw her tall figure issue forth, and moved down in the direction of their cottage. This was the first time that he had seen her, and he recognised her instantly, notwithstanding that it was by the fading light of a damp overcast evening. His heart beat violently, and each throb gave him an added pang, a fresh memory, a new impulse of despair.  Before long, however, he was no longer satisfied to catch only furtive glances secretly and in the dark. He became possessed with the desire to see her, and to be seen of her in broad daylight. But she never left the house, and he dared not go by there in the daytime. On another evening, a Saturday, he heard Bronto's laugh ring out from the portico, and he fancied that hers mingled with it. His eyes filled, and he had much the same sensation of nausea as on that first morning of the sea voyage when he woke up ill. All this time, he continued to feign the utmost indifference, without quite knowing why he did so. The Orlé people had, however, become almost hateful to him, even Uncle Isidoro. Sometimes he asked himself in wonder why he had ever come back. I am going away, he said one day to the fishermen, gazing across the interminable stretch of uplands to the blue and crimson sky beyond, against which the thickets of our butte seem to float like green clouds. I have written to a friend of mine, Burai, he can do anything, you know. He could have got me a pardon, even if I had really been guilty. You have told me all that before. I am tired of hearing it, said Isidoro, all the same. I notice that he has never even answered your letter. He is going to get me a position. Yes, I really mean to go. But tell me why is it that the priest is so anxious for it?  Yes he is. He is afraid of just that. No, he is not. That is not it.  And all he said was, go away, go away. It would be far better. What do you think about it, Uncle Fisherman? Shall I go or not? I don't think anything about it, answered the other in a tone of strong disapproval. What I do think is that you are an idle dog. Why aren't you at work? Tell me that.  Oh, he doesn't give me a thought, said Constantino Pete. Well, I'll just let you see whether he does or not. Look here. He drew a letter from the inside pocket of his coat, and proceeded to read it aloud. It was from Burai written at Rome where the ex-martial had opened a little shop for the sale of Sardinian wines. Naturally, being himself, he had improved upon the facts, and announced that he was the proprietor of a large and flourishing establishment. He invited Constantino to pay him a visit and reproached him for not having come at once to Rome where, he said, he could find him a position without difficulty. The fisherman's blue eyes grew round with innocent wonder, to think only to think, he exclaimed, and you never told me a word about it. What made you hide the letter? How much does it cost to go to Rome? Oh, only about fifty lira? And have you got that much? Well, of course I have. Then go, go by all means, exclaimed the old man, stretching his arms out towards the horizon. They were both silent for a moment. The fisherman, bending his head, gazed at the pebbles lying at his feet, while Constantino stared absently ahead of him. Beyond the brook, the tall yellow meadowgrass was bowing in the wind, and the long stems of the golden oats rippled against the blue background of the sky. Uncle Isidoro made up his mind that the moment had come to tell Constantino plainly why all his friends wanted him to leave the village. Giovanna, he began quietly, does not love her husband. You and she might meet. She and I might meet? Well, and if we did what then? Nothing. You might, that's all. Oh, nothing! cried Constantino, and his voice rang out scornfully in the profound stillness. Nothing!  I don't want her. You don't want her. And yet you hang about her house all the time, like a fly about the honey-pot. Oh, you know about that, said Constantino, somewhat crestfallen. It's not true, though. Well, yes, perhaps it is. But suppose I do hang about her house. What business is it of yours? Oh, long at all, but you had better go away. I am going. I suppose the truth is you are getting tired of having me on your hands. Constantino, Constantino, exclaimed the old man in a hurt voice. Constantino pulled up at tuft of rushes, threw it from him, and gazed again into the distance. His face was working as it had done on the morning of his return, after he had closed the door of Isidoro's hut. His brain swam. Once or twice he gulped down the bitter saliva that rose in his throat. Then he spoke. Well, after all, why does the priest insist so on my going? Am I not actually her husband? Suppose even, that she were to come back to me? Wouldn't it be coming back to her own husband? If she were to come back to you, my dear fellow, it would be bronze to de jas either killing you or having you arrested. Well, you needn't be afraid. I don't want her. She's a fallen woman, as far as I'm concerned. I shall go off somewhere, to a distance, and marry someone else. Oh, no. You would never do that, Mermid Isidoro appealing me.  No. I would never do that, repeated Constantino mechanically. Never in the world. You are far too good a Christian. The old man said it again, but without conviction. The experience of a long life was battling with the tenets of his simple faith. If he does not do it, he sighed to himself, it will not be merely because he is a good Christian. End of chapter 16, Recording by Tom Denham


Hey guys, Thundee here, and today we have the ROG Phone 6D Ultimate, and you're going, wait, there's another ROG Phone there, well there used to be the ROG Phone 6 Pro, which we covered on the channel earlier, it's right here in my hand, but the 6D Ultimate is a slightly different and similar device, because it comes with a MediaTek Dimensity 9000 Plus processor. This is first time we've had a MediaTek processor in a high-end gaming device like this, so I wanted to see how it actually stacks up against of course the Qualcomm version, so this is sort of kind of like a Qualcomm versus MediaTek video, but not really in a sense. Let's first take a look at the ROG Phone 6D Ultimate. So honestly it looks like the ROG Phone 6 Pro, in design is very similar, we look at the back of the devices, mine of course is the 6D has this grey look to it, while of course the 6 Pro is white, you do have an LED display on the back for both devices, camera modules are the same, there is no top LED there that says come to play on the 6D, that's just been taken out, and then in terms of ports you do have two ports on the device, two USB Type-C's, one on the bottom and one on the side of the device and of course a headphone jack, which again points to the fact that they have used the same chassis across the board but we want to look at of course how this device actually handles. Now display of course is 6.78 inches, as you'd expect both of them go to 165 Hertz, so you've got those display specs down, let's talk about the brass tacks, let's look at the processors here, so when we go ahead and open up Geek benchmark for both of them and we first check out the CPU scores, here you see that the MediaTek device, the Dimensity 9000+, on the left here clearly beats out what we have from the Snapdragon 8 plus Gen 1, it beats it on CPU scores and then we move over to compute scores, this is where we see a huge difference, almost a 2,000 points difference, so does that mean that MediaTek is clearly better? Not necessarily, it means it does run higher scores here which is good to see, so what we're going to do is we're just going to show you some gameplay and show you clips from both devices and you see the benchmarks and how they perform in each game, of course that will be Call of Duty Mobile, Genshin Impact, Apex Legends Mobile and PUBG Mobile and then we'll move on from there, okay performance across both devices was quite impressive and it was good to see that both of them performed well and honestly you're going to get from what you've seen the same performance from both devices, you're getting that 90 frames per second on Call of Duty Mobile which is great to see on both devices, you also get in the max 60 frames per second Apex Legends as well and also getting 60 quite flawlessly on Genshin Impact even though the Snapdragon model did dip down to about 57, the of course MediaTek model stayed at about 60 61 pretty much for the average for the whole time, now the one thing to note is when you look at the console information for both devices here, the CPU for while you're running at idle the CPU and GPU for the MediaTek version does run a little hotter at 96 degrees while of course the Snapdragon version is a 91 and 8 and about 91 also respectively slightly but the internal system temperatures are much lower for both of them about 77 to 87 to 80 so really close I think the cooling that of course ASUS is done with this both devices is pretty good, now what does this mean for performance and what does it mean for pricing, honestly don't have pricing right now because I wasn't giving pricing on this device but it means that MediaTek has a processor that can compete with the highest levels that Qualcomm has to offer which is good to see more competition which means next versions we're going to see it gonna be much better more effective and also have just better performance overall, you also heard the speakers from both of them they sounded really good so I think ASUS has not compromised by using two different processors, take that Samsung you know but here you have a device that has two different processors giving us the same set of results which I definitely like to see so let me know which would you actually pick up, would you pick up the MediaTek version, would you pick up the the Snapdragon version especially looking at the performance there even though the MediaTek has higher benchmark source from Geekbench, let me know also go ahead and check out our other videos on the iPhone 14 Pro Max gaming I know I don't have benchmarks on that but I will be comparing that device with both of these because of course those are the three top chipsets on the market so stay tuned and always enjoy entertainment


Every year on May 17, ITU members around the world celebrate World Telecommunication and Information Society Day. Artificial intelligence, or AI, is coming to our stage with a lot of impact on people's lives. AI's potential power is being exploited and developed at a speed non-precedented. AI brings us many opportunities and challenges. AI will greatly change our economy and society. ITU, in its role of a specialized UN agency for ICT services and technologies, wishes to work with academia, researchers, industries, administrations and governments, UN agencies, as well as other stakeholders and partners to facilitate the AI development to bring the benefits of AI to all. ITU invites you to join us to celebrate WTI SD 2018.


Jaclyn Hill is still taking a much needed social media break after all of the drama and controversy surrounding her lipsticks. And in this video, we're going to be talking about a very important subject that all of us can learn from. What is up, everybody? This is Chris from the Rewired Soul, where we talk about the problem, but focus on the solution. And if you're new to my channel, what I try to do is take different topics from the YouTube community, try to see what lessons we can pull to improve our own mental and emotional well-being. So if you're into that stuff, make sure you subscribe and ring that notification bell. And do me a favor, follow me on Instagram and Twitter because I have been working also so hard on my new book, Rewire Your Anxiety. I am one chapter away from finishing the audio book. My editor, Zach, he has been editing the crap out of it. So the audio book, as well as the e-book, will be out this weekend. All right? So follow me on social media. I'm already giving away 20 free copies, and I will be doing more giveaways and all that. All right. Anyways. So let's talk real quick. I was actually watching the part two of the Spill video about the Jaclyn Hilfig. And real quick, real quick note, if you're somebody who isn't coming to my videos to learn how to improve yourself, if you're into just the tea and everything, my favorite channel is Spill, all right?  But it is just so well organized and covers so many different angles, like they are excellent videos. But if you're watching this, you've probably already heard of Spill. But anyways, I want to put a disclaimer out there. Like this isn't a hate video about Jaclyn Hill. Like Jaclyn Hill took a step back. I had some people mention that in previous controversies, like her mental health was severely affected. And I hope she comes out on the other side of this thing, all right? But again, like the reason my channel exists is because so many of us watch all of this drama play out and we're doing the exact same thing in our own lives, right? And today we're going to be talking about taking personal responsibility, taking accountability, because so many of us are causing our own problems over and over and over again. Like so many of us are so delusional. And I used to be one of these people, hell, sometimes I still am, where I'm just like, why is the whole world out to get me? Why is everybody against me? Why don't people just give me a chance, right? And we don't see, we don't have the self-awareness to understand why it keeps happening.  But I'm just getting caught up to speed and watching the Spill video, I really started to get the whole context of who Jaclyn Hill is, what's happened in the past. Like beforehand, all I really understood was that she had a couple like launches, right? And I mentioned before, like if this happened, if this happened, like you need to buckle down and like hand check, like every lipstick before it goes out, like this is your time because if anything happens, like if anything happens, you will be screwed. And when I watched Spill videos, like, oh my God, but the calming theme I saw is Spill did like this montage showing each of the issues that have happened, like her collapse with other people, like I think one was Becca and one was Morphe and everything like that. And here's the issue that I want to talk about that all of us need to start working on. And it's this, passing the blame on to other people. Like when we are coming out and we're trying to take responsibility, we are never, ever, ever, ever going to get the amount of forgiveness that we want unless we take 1000% responsibility. I've mentioned this before with Tana Mojo, but Tana Mojo, she has like unlimited get out of jail free cards. But anyways, like for example, Tana Mojo is a great example with Tana Khan, how she keeps blaming it on Michael Weiss. And she was just somebody who trusted too much and everything like that. Like we need to take responsibility. And you saw this with every single Jaclyn Hill one. On January 4th, Jaclyn addressed the situation in her December favorites video. I of course could do nothing about it. This is not my website. This is not my company. I don't understand how this whole IT thing works. I do makeup, not numbers. She said she had no control over what was happening. I was not aware of the situation. Like are you kidding me? This is going to be a huge scandal. Like I'm disappointing people. Once again, like here Jaclyn Hill goes like putting something out that is just going to cause like an uproar. And I'm already under a microscope for everything I do. Like I'm going to disappoint my subscriber. And here's the thing. And I wanted to make this video because I see so many people do this or I used to do this as well. What you notice with the pattern of behavior from Jaclyn Hill is she always receives information from other people and then relays that information rather than getting the information herself. Now I don't necessarily think in our cases like all of us who do this. I don't necessarily think it's always laziness, but it definitely can be. But some people without even realizing it, we're trying to get that information from an outside source. So that way when we relay it, if something's wrong, we can always say, oh, oh, well, I didn't say that. I was just giving you the information this other person was giving me, right? And that's something I consistently saw her do. Like think about this, like maybe you do this at work or maybe you do this at school. Like have you ever turned in a bad assignment at school? You're like, oh, well, well, Billy told me I was supposed to do it this way. And it's like, OK, well, you should have got the instructions from the teacher and not Billy, right?  So I did it that way. Like get the information directly and you relay the information. Like something I will keep talking about until the day I die is locus of control. If you want to figure out how to become happier, the book I highly recommend is The Happiness Advantage by Sean Aker. He is a professor of positive psychology. That's when I first learned about locus of control. Locust of control is believing that you have a direct impact on the results that you get and the circumstances in your life. People who have an internal locus of control are happier and less anxious. That's just science, baby. But when you look at Jacqueline Hill, especially with her most recent video where she addressed everything like everything was blamed on the lab. Like it was the lab. It was the lab. It was the lab, right? But here's the thing. Like we need to take accountability for that. We need to take responsibility for that. And people aren't going to trust us in the future if we're not doing that. Like this is something I struggled with for a long, long time.  I used to be Jacqueline Hill. I used to blame everything on everybody else. Like one example that I can give you is like even after I got clean and sober seven years ago, my son's mom still hated me. She didn't like me too much. Today we have an amazing relationship. But for a very long time, she still hated me and I had no idea why, right? Because I just thought, oh, I got rid of the alcohol and drugs. Isn't that what you wanted?  Like I would always show up late when it was came time to like come pick up my son for the week. And the things like that, those were the things that were angering her. But even on top of that, I would never take responsibility for it. It wasn't because I left late. It was because of traffic, right? Like, do you see the difference there? Like me, me, if I leave early, traffic is irrelevant. You see what I mean? And this might be something that you're struggling with at work. Like think about it. Are you showing up late to work? Are you screwing up at work and constantly blaming other things other than taking accountability? Like this is something that I used to do. If I was late, it was because of traffic. If I screwed something up, somebody gave me the wrong information.  Okay, like people recognize patterns of behavior. You see what I mean? Like it is something that helps us survive. We have to recognize patterns or else we keep getting screwed over. So it's important to recognize and have the self-awareness. Like are you making excuses? Do you keep making excuses? And we're never going to get anywhere in life. We're never going to improve our mental and emotional well-being if we don't sit down. If we don't sit down and analyze what happened, all right? Like I will be completely honest with you guys right now. Like I had my own issues earlier this year. Okay, and I have sat down. I have analyzed it over and over. Like, like not in like a super obsessive way. Well, depending on what it was, anyways, I looked at it. I'm like, where did I go wrong? Where did I screw up? All right, because if it happens in the future, like I need to learn from my mistakes. You guys, that's the only reason I'm still cleaning sober today. It's because I had multiple relapses in the past. And this last time I got sober, seven years ago, I sat down and I looked at how I was trying to stay clean and sober before I looked at it. I analyzed it and I was like, okay, well, everything I was doing didn't keep me sober. Maybe I should do the opposite of that. All right, so before you start blaming the world for all of your problems, take a step back for just a minute, minute. So before you start blaming the world for all of your problems, take a step back for just a minute and see what your part was. Where did you go wrong? Can you go back? Can you retrace those breadcrumbs and think if I would have done this instead of that, would this outcome be differently? And again, this video isn't a hate video about Jaclyn Hill, but here's my concern. Okay, like I mentioned earlier, some people said like this is not her first time that she's had to take a social media break. My concern for her as well as the rest of you is that this is going to happen again and again and again until you recognize your own patterns, until you start taking accountability for what your part is. These things are going to continue happening and you're going to keep thinking that this world is just an awful place or maybe the universe hates you and all that, like we need to empower ourselves and take control and realize what we need to do to change, all right? But anyways, that's all I got for this video. Don't forget, follow me over on social media at the Rewired Soul because Rewire Your Anxiety is coming out so soon and I'm so excited, all right? But if you like this video, please give it a thumbs up. If you're new, make sure you subscribe and ring that notification bell because I make a ton of videos and a huge, huge thank you to everybody supporting the channel over on Patreon. You are all amazing and if you would like to become a patron, get access to some perks and benefits. Some people even get free copies of all my books. Click or tap right there, all right? Thanks again so, so much for watching. I'll see you next time.


Hi everyone, Joe from jaspyscasebreaks.com coming at you with another 3 box Tops Chrome Formula 1 mixer, featuring 2 boxes of Tops Chrome F1 Lite and a hobby box as well. All card ship, big thanks to this group here for getting in on it and there are the F1 teams right there, comboed with some F2 teams, let's roll it, let's randomize names and teams, 5 and a 6, 11 times, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11th and final time finally. We've got Robert down to Leo, 5 and a 6, 11 times for the teams, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11th and final time. After 11, we've got Aston Martin all the way down to Rinalt. Alright, Robert with Aston Martin, Brent with Alphatari, Brent also has Mercedes, Brian with Ferrari, Ryan with Williams, Brent with Alpine, Ryan with Red Bull, Andrew with McLaren, Tang with Haas, Leo with Alfa Romeo, sorry, Ryan with Alfa Romeo and Leo with Rinalt. Let's order these alphabetically by team. Any trades? Let me know. We're going to pause the video when we come back, we're going to see if there's any trades, and then we'll have the break stick around, be right back. Alright, welcome back everybody. No deals were done so that list remains the same. Thanks everybody for watching, for breaking with us, for getting to all these F1 breaks. F1's still hot. I thought last year's F1 was hot. This year's F1's still hot. The light boxes feature the ray wave parallels. We'll do the two light first and then we'll do the hobby box last. Alright, good luck everybody. I would say it's a great time to get into this F1. Hell, even if you don't know anything about F1, just look at the prices on the secondary market and give it a shot. If you just want something to rip and flip, you don't really care about the sport. F1's a good bang for your buck. And for the F1 fans, obviously, this is a great thing to collect, whether it's to sell or to just create a nice F1 PC, personal collection for yourself. The F1 season is starting this weekend. So about a week from now will be our first Grand Prix in Bahrain. So that'll be a good one to watch. I think it's on ESPN. So check your local listings. Of course, all card ship. There's Yuri Vips, that's F2 high tech. I think that's paired with McLaren. So Andrew will get that ray wave. Obviously, the F2 guys you want to hold on to, they may emerge as F1 driver someday. There's the Verstoppen podium, path to the podium insert. You can see some purple over here. It's Lewis Hamilton, Red Liners insert. And we got a Sebastian Vettel purple parallel, which are not numbered, but still looks really cool. Sebastian Vettel for Aston Martin, Robert with Aston Martin. And of course, all these Verstoppens go to Red Bull, that's for you, Ryan Kasen. And all the Lewis Hamilton will go to Mercedes, that'll be for Brenton. Good draws for both of you guys. A lot of these will just sleeve, and our team will top load them a little bit later before they get shipped out. Nice Max Versaupin refractor. This one will sort out right away. Nice parallel. There you go, Ryan with Red Bull. And a ray wave, Marcus Armstrong for F2 Domes. That'll be, that's paired with Haas and F2 Domes, F2 Trident. Tang with that one. Love these checkered flag parallels here. That's Christian Horner for Red Bull Racing. Your team principal. And green ray wave, 61 out of 99. That's James Key for McLaren. That's Andrew. Nice, your technical director. A nice Charles Leclerc refractor for Ferrari. To Brian Croft. And we've got Antonio Giovanazzi for Alfa Romeo. Ryan, last by Mojo. For Stoppin' and Hamilton. And we've got Jan Monchaud for Alfa Romeo. Some sort of wave pattern back there. Who could it be? There's Lewis Hamilton. And we've got an orange Oscar Piastri for F2 Prema Racing. And the wave is a Lewis Hamilton. Wow. The car card, Lewis Hamilton. I don't know how well these sell relative to his actual picture card, but that's 44 out of 50. That's pretty cool. And this orange, not numbered, but also nice. F2 Prema is combed with Williams Racing. So that goes to Ryan. And of course, congrats to Brenton. He's got Mercedes randomized in him. He gets that Gold Wave Lewis Hamilton. Alright, one more light box. Alright, good luck everybody. Packs are also a little bit more slipperier than some other packs. You know, something interesting. These cards are made in Italy. Most of the time the cards are printed here in the United States, but these particular cards are printed in Italy. So if you handle a lot of cards, you can actually kind of feel a slight difference. Not only in the packaging itself. There's some red peeking out of there. But the actual card itself feels slightly different. You can tell that the numbers that are printed on the back, like the out of 99s, are also a little different. Last year's set was also printed in Italy. Slightly, slightly different field. Checkerboard coming up. And we've got a Sebastian Vettel. Gold parallel, not numbered though. So Sebastian Vettel for Robert. Another Lewis Hamilton for Brenton. All of those will add up. Same with you, Ryan, and all these Max Verstoppens. Got a nice checkerboard. That's a Christian Lundgard for F2-R Grand Prix. That will be, that's combo'd with Rinalt. It's for Leo. Raltteri Bottas, a purple Charles Leclerc for Ferrari. That'll be for Brian Croft. And a red Ray Wave, that's Pierre Gasly for Alphatari. Is that numbered, you think? Let's take a look. Alphatari is Brenton with Alphatari. And it's four out of five, I thought so. Nice. I feel like Pierre Gasly is pretty solid too, right? Yeah, he's always in the mix. Brenton Young, Alphatari, out of five. Congrats. All aboard the Big Head Express. Path to the podium refractor, Lewis Hamilton. Make Schumacher rookie card. Yes, son of that Schumacher. Lewis Hamilton refractor on his car. And there's Lewis Hamilton himself for Brenton and Mercedes. Ray Wave, is that Yuki? Yeah, Yuki Sonoda for Alphatari. He's another, yeah, that's a rookie card right there too. Another up-and-coming youngster. We've got Fernando Alonso for Alpine, Ray Wave. And a Max Verstappen refractor. Redliners Max Verstappen. Got a Lewis Hamilton Grand Prix card right here. Another Max Verstappen. Brent Viscale, F2 Trident, that's going to go to Tang. And we've got a Purple for F2 Carlin. Yehan Daravalla. Purple checkerboard. Purple checkered flag maybe? 54 out of 1.99. F2 Carlin, that's combo'd with Alpine. And that will be for Brenton. All right, so those are your two light boxes. Now let's pop open this, let's pop open this hobby box. Let's see what we've got. The hobby box, of course, has the possibility of autographs. All cards ship, of course. It's probably worth it, even if you have one of the not-too-popular teams, it's still worth looking up these cards and maybe holding on to them and tracking them throughout the F1 season. Because if any one of these smaller teams ends up being, if any one of these drivers makes a surprise start to the season, that might be, you know, some great value in those cards. Bam, what's going on? Weekend was good, thank you for asking. It was pretty uneventful, pretty chill. Again, I know it's all about Max for Stoppin and Lewis Hamilton, but definitely a lot of value in these cards. This is Lewis Hamilton Refractor for Brenton and Mercedes. He found a Twitch stream of Sumo wrestling. We're dual-screened with some Sumo, nice. I'll take it. There's Guirame Simea, F2 Sharu Racing. That'll be that combo with Aston Martin, Robert with that one. And Akimi Raikunen, 112 out of 199. He's been around for a while. He might have been the... Any F1 fans out there? I want to say, was he the last driver for Ferrari when they won at all? Maybe not. The Sodja Perez podiums, we've got a Yuki Sonoda, another one. Purple parallel this time. So this might be one to hang on to. Alphatari, Brenton. Rookie, Youngster, Japanese International. They can... He has a great season. Lewis Hamilton Refractor. Bam says I'm correct. Akimi Raikunen was the driver last time Ferrari won at all. And he's the driver's championship. Generally, constructors' championship too? Generally, if the driver wins, the team wins the constructors' championship as well. George Russell, there's another youngster right here. I think he's with... I think he's moved on from Williams. I think he's with Lewis Hamilton now. I think he's with Mercedes. Yeah, so he's only a couple of seasons into his career. Ooh, another red? Wow. Aw, I thought it was going to be numbered. But there's Nicholas Atifi. For Williams, that's for Ryan. Four out of five, just like the other red one. There's Max Verstappen again. Another Gasly path to the podium. And Mick Schumacher-Purple, nice. 160 out of 399 for Haas. That'll be for Tang and the Haas team. There's his former teammate, Mazepin. Lewis Hamilton, Red Liners, Max Verstappen. Mano Norris, another young driver to look out for Sergio Perez. Lewis Hamilton again. And George Russell. And that is that, my friends. We're going to go in this box, unfortunately, but some really nice stuff. Let me show you a quick little recap after I sleeve these guys and we'll have all these will be top loaded for our team. Just helps save a little bit of time. We're going through a group break. All right, here's some of the other highlights of this break right here. Some of the refractors, nice parallels. Love those checkerboard patterns. Got that nice Lewis Hamilton to 50. James Key, Max Verstappen. Silver and that Pierre Gasly. 4 out of 5. That was a nice one for Al Fattari. And there you go, ladies and gentlemen, keep your eye out for more F1 in the shop on jaspyscasebreaks.com. I'm Joe and I'll drive with you next time. Bye-bye.


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