CHAPTER 17 OF AFTER THE DEVOURCE by Grazia de Leda Translated by Maria Horner Lansdale. The July evening fell softly, tranquilly, like a bluish veil. Constantino, seated on the stone bench outside the fisherman's hut, was thoughtfully counting on his fingers. Yes, it had been sixty-four days since his return. Sixty-four days! It seemed like yesterday, and it seemed like a century. The exiles, fusty in coat, had grown worn and shabby. His face darkened gloomy, at his heart, yes, his heart as well, had worn away from day to day, from hour to hour. Eaten into by misery, by rage and passion, it too had turned black, like a thing on the verge of decay. A habit of dissembling, a result of prison life, had clung to him, so that now he found it impossible to be really open with any one, much as he sometimes longed to unburden his heart, while the constant effort to conceal his feelings harassed him and added to his general misery. A frozen void seemed to surround him, like a great sea, calm but boundless, stretching away in all directions from a shipwrecked mariner. For two months now he had been swimming in this sea, and he was wearied out. His forces were spent, scan the horizon as he would. His soul could espy no friendly shore across that bleak and desolate expanse. No prospect of an end to the unequal struggle. The icy water and the measureless void were slowly swallowing him up. Every day he would talk of going away. But nothing more. It was a pretense, like all else that he did. In his heart he knew perfectly well that now he would never go. Why should he? On this side of the water, or on that, life would always be the same. He cared for no one, he hated no one, and he felt that he had become as base and self-centered as his late comrades in prison. Even Uncle Isidoro, who had meant so much to him at a distance, now in the close companionship of daily intercourse, had become an object of indifference, at times almost of dislike. When the old man went off on his fishing expeditions, or on the circuits which he made from time to time through the country to dispose of his wares, Constantino felt as though a weight had been lifted from him. The semi-paternal oversight which the other exercised over him, having in fact come to both frighten and irritate him. On this particular evening the fisherman was away, and Constantino was sensible of this feeling of freedom from an irksome restraint. Now he could do whatever came into his head without anyone to preach, or that disagreeable sensation of being watched, which possibly as a result of the long years spent in prison the mere presence of the old man was sufficient to excite. Moreover, he was expecting a visitor. Although he professed now to despise all women, and did in fact usually avoid them as much as possible, he had allowed himself to be drawn into relations with a strange creature, a half-witted girl who lived near Giovanna. She had surprised him one night prowling about the Dijaz house, and had persuaded him to go home with her. From this individual he got all the gossip of the White House, and he took refuge with her whenever he thought he had been seen crossing the common. He was waiting for her now at Isidoro's hut in the owner's absence, but he looked down on her, at her foolish talk jarred on him. Presently she arrived, and Constantino told her to sit down out there on the stone bench beside him. It's hot inside, and there are fleas, and spiders, and devils. Stay here in the fresh air, he said, without looking at her. What we'd be seen, she objected in a deep, rough voice. All right, suppose we are, it makes no difference to me, why should it to you? But as it happens, it does make a difference to me. Why, he said, raising his voice, men cannot matter since they are all sinners as well, and as for God, he can see us just as well inside as out. Oh, go away, she said, but without any show of anger, you've been drinking. Then she turned away and went into the hut. Striking a light, she looked into the cupboard where the food was usually kept, and as Constantino still did not come, she returned to the door and called to him. If you don't come at once, I shall go away. But you had better be careful, I have something to tell you. He jumped up and, going inside, took her in his arms. The girl broke into a wild laugh. Ha-ha! You've come quick enough now! That brought my little shorelammy.  Though she never drank anything herself, she gave an impression of being always a little tipsy, and was very prone to think that other people were so, in fact. Still laughing, she went again to the cupboard. It's empty, she said, nothing there at all. Do you know I'm hungry? If you'll wait a moment, I'll go and buy something, but first you must tell me. She turned abruptly, laid one hand on his breast, and with the other began to rain blows that were anything but playful. Ah! You want to know, Crocodile? You want to know, do you? That's what brought you in, is it?  You want me to tell you you think it is something about Giovanna Eder, eh? And you came in for that, and not to see me? Let go, he said, seizing her hands.  Yes, that's what I came in for, well, I shan't tell you a word, so there. Now, my dear, he said gently, don't make me angry, you are not ill-natured.  What would you like to have? He was like a child promising to be good if only it can have what it wants, and in fact at that moment he did want something. He wanted it badly, and not a nice thing, either. What he wanted was to be told that Bronto had beaten his wife, or that she had met with an accident, or that overwhelming disaster of one sort or another had engulfed the house of digiace, root and branch. It was therefore somewhat disappointing when Mattia, closing one eye, announced that some cattle had been stolen, and that Aunt Martina, on hearing the news, had rushed off like a crazy thing to ascertain the exact extent of the loss.  Well, what difference does that make to me? Stupid, you can go and see her, you won't go? Why, that's what I came expressly to tell you, of course you'll go, I want you to, I'm sorry for you, after all, you are her husband. I'm not, I'm not any one's husband, he said, with a shrug. I thought you would have something very different to tell me.  If you're not any one's husband, then marry me, she said, in a low, unsteady voice, like a person who has been drinking, Constantino coughed, and spat on the ground.  Why do you do that? She asked sharply, you think perhaps that she is better than I? He flushed, and then a heart-sick feeling came over him. Yes, he said, you are worse, or better than she. What do you say? If you're not lying at this moment, and didn't come here to lay a trap for me, with this story of her being alone, well then you are better than she. Why should I lay a trap for you? I'm sorry for you, that's all.  Who can believe you, woman, when you don't even respect the dead? Matea, angry and offended, started to leave the hut, but he held her back. A low dog, she said scornfully, I take pity on you, and you speak to me like that. What have you to reproach me with? What I say?   Then he began to laugh. I'm off now, he said, but I'll be back in a moment. I'll get some wine, too, even though you don't drink it. Wait for me here, wait, I say," he repeated roughly, as she followed him to the door. Don't bother me. She stood still, and he went out. But before he had gone a dozen steps he heard her deep voice calling him back. Returning he saw the tip of her nose through the crack of the door, and one eye regarding him with its habitual look of dull stolidity. What do you want, squint-eyed goat? If you are going to her, there is no use in making me wait here.  I would as soon think of going to her house as you would of going to church. I say you are a wait!" And he made as if to tweak her nose, but she quickly drew back and shut the door. Ten minutes later Constantino returned, but his strange guest had disappeared. Thinking that she might be hiding somewhere outside, he looked for her, calling in a low voice and telling her that he had bread and meat and fruit, but in vain.  An intense stillness reigned all about the hut. Through the night now completely fallen came only the sound of the fig leaves rustling mysteriously as though an invisible hand were shaking a piece of stiff silk. Nothing else could be heard, and nothing could be seen except the stars shining brilliantly in the warm sky. Constantino felt much aggrieved by Mattia's defection. As lonely as an outcast dog, what on earth was there for him to do throughout that interminable evening? He was not sleepy, having in fact taken a long nap in the afternoon, and he had nowhere to go.  If she imagines that I am going to see her, she is green. Silence. As green as a rose in springtime, she is crazy. Another silence. Then, coming to see her, not I, neither her, nor the other one, Mattia is sickening, she seems to be a sort of animal, and that's all there is about it. He swore and then gave a light, purposeless laugh, such as people give when they are alone. All the while he kept swallowing great gulps of wine, and each time that he emptied his glass he would thrust out his lips and exclaim, ha ha ha, rubbing his chest up and down to express the delicious sensation caused by the wine as it flowed down his throat. When he began to fear more cheerful, she may go to the devil, what a hell if she wants to, he exclaimed, thinking of Mattia and her sudden disappearance. But all the while he knew perfectly well that he was forcing himself to dwell despitefully upon her, in order to keep from thinking of the other. At last he went out, and stretching himself upon the stone bench, allowed his thoughts to take their own course. "'She is alone,' he reflected. "'Well, what do I care? I love her and I wouldn't go there, not if she were to give me a chest full of gold. What should I do with gold, anyway?' He put the question to himself in profound dejection, but immediately began to hum a gay little song, having got into a way of trying to fool himself as well as other people. For a time the sound of his own voice, low monotonous, arrested his attention, then his thoughts once more asserted themselves. "'If I were to go there, well, what would happen?' "'Sin, perhaps? But am I not her husband? I have not the remotest idea of going there, though.  "'Go away, go away,'' imitating Uncle Isidoro's voice. "'If you don't go away, something dreadful is sure to happen.  He began to sing again, the sharp rustle of the fig leaves, almost like the clash of metal blades accompanying the subdued murmur of his voice. He shifted his position, and his heavy eyelids closed, his head supported on one hand, rolling from side to side. "'Well, what then?' he repeated, then opened his eyes, as though startled by the sound of his own voice. They closed again presently, and he went on talking to himself. "'No, I would never have her again for my wife, for me. She is just an abandoned woman. She has been living with another man, and as long as she has gone to live with him, she might come back and live with me, and then go and live with someone else. She's no better than Matilla, and I spit upon them both. He opened his eyes and spat on the ground. At the moment he had a genuine scorn of Giovanna, and yet at the very same time tender, distant memories surged up in his breast. He remembered a kiss he had once given her, as she lay asleep, and how she had opened her eyes with a startled blue, exclaiming, Oh, I thought it was someone else. Well, what manner of foolishness was this for him to be thinking of now?' He was a simpleton, neither more nor less than a simpleton. Moreover, how could he know, supposing for a moment that he were to go, whether Giovanna would receive him or drive him away? The man's mind was neither trained nor developed, yet at that moment he was reasoning as a much more complex nature might have done. He hoped that she would not receive him. He knew that for himself there was nothing for it but to go on living and suffering. Yet he felt that should he go to her and be repulsed, at least a ray of light would penetrate the cold dreary void that encircled him. But he wanted her. He longed for her still. From the moment he had lost her, his whole being had suffered like a crushed and twisted limb that still goes on living. Yet mingled with this sense of longing there was a spiritual breath as well, the instinct of the immortal soul which never hold he dies out even in the most degraded. He dreamed of Giovanna, an honest woman lost forever in this world but restored to him in eternity. Now if she were to betray her second husband, even for the sake of her first, she would not, could not be an honest woman. So thought Constantino and yet it was perhaps ten o'clock and he had been lying for half an hour or more on the stone bench when a mournful strain broke in upon the stillness. It was the blind man singing and accompanying himself upon his rude instrument. His voice, clear enough but sad and monotonous, vibrated through the night air with a sobbing suggestion of homesickness that was hardly human as though it were the wail of a lost soul recalling the few hours of happiness spent upon earth. The music seemed to be a cry for light, happiness, the joy of living, all those things whose existence the blind youth half understood but could never hope to realise which the dead have lost and can never hope to repossess. Constantino shivered and got up. The voice and the accompaniment began to die away, growing gradually fainter and ceasing at last altogether. He felt a great wave of agony and tenderness surge up in his breast. In the darkness, the silence, the unutterable loneliness that surrounded him, he too felt an overmastering longing like the blind man's for light and agonising homesickness like the dead recalling their brief experience of life. He turned and began to walk in the direction of the village. At first he seemed to be in a dream although he heard beneath his feet the rustle of the dead leaves and stubble blown by the wind about Isidoro's hut. He rubbed his eyelids and little violet coloured electric circles seemed to flash and swim in the air. Soon though his eyes becoming used to the darkness he discerned clearly the light line of the road, the black cottages, the great empty void above where the stars hung like drops of gold ready to fall. He walked steadily on knowing perfectly whether he was bound and never wavering for a single instant. Here and there, on the thresholds of cottages whose owners were too poor to indulge in the luxury of a light, little groups of people sat enjoying the freshness of the night air.  In a lonely angle, Constantino aspired a pair of lovers.  Constantino walked on but presently he stopped and half turned, thinking that he would give the two young people a fright by calling out, I am going to tell your father right away. But the fear of attracting attention and being himself discovered deterred him and he went on. When he discerned the black mass of the almond tree, rearing itself from beside the path beyond Aunt Bacchissia's cottage, his heart gave a sudden bound and then stood still. It was so like a great head, with rough shaggy locks, thrusting itself out, intently watching for him to appear. He had fully determined to pass the tree, cross the common, enter the Dajas house, and speak to Giovanna. It all seemed perfectly simple and plain, and he was prepared to do it. Yet he was frightened, more than frightened, terrified. A flexible, girlish voice floated out into the night. No matter how often you may say it, it's not true. He looked all about him. No one was to be seen, and he went on, his nervousness increasing with every step. Crossing the common, he examined Aunt Bacchissia's cottage, then the White House, then Mattia's hovel. From the last of faint light shone, the two others were in total darkness. Again, the idea crossed his mind that Mattia might be playing him a trick, or perhaps Aunt Bacchissia was with Giovanna, or the latter might already have gone to bed, and would decline to open the door. Nevertheless, he walked steadily on, and up on the portico. Instantly the figure of Giovanna became apparent, seated on the doorstep. At the same moment she recognized him, and leaped to her feet, rigid with terror. His voice, low, agitated, at once reassured her. Don't be frightened. Are you alone? Yes. A second later they were in each other's arms. END OF CHAPTER 17 RECORDING by Tom Denham A year elapsed. One night, when Bronto was away from home, Aunt Martina heard, or thought she heard, a low murmur of voices in Giovanna's room. Had Bronto come back, the old woman wondered, and if so, why? Could anything have happened at the sheepfolds? Tormented by the thought, she finally got up. The door was open, and she listened a moment. Yes, undoubtedly someone was talking in Giovanna's room. Not wishing to strike a light, she attempted to cross the room that separated her own chamber from Giovanna's in the dark. She made a misstep, however, and tried to recover herself over through a chair. Holy Mary! She muttered, setting it right again. Then she groped her way to the door, felt for the handle, and tried to open it. It was locked. What do you want? Demanded Giovanna's voice instantly. Has Bronto got back? No. Why? I thought I heard someone talking. Why have you got the door locked? Is it locked? I must have done it without thinking, said Giovanna innocently. I'll open it right away. Just wait a moment. I was talking to the baby. She wouldn't go to sleep. Maria da! Called the grandmother. But there was no response. Is she asleep now? She is just falling asleep. In the pause that ensued a painful drama was enacted in the breasts of the two women. I will get up now and open the door, said Giovanna presently, in a strained voice. But the old woman made no reply. Motionless, a cold chill creeping through her, she felt the horrible truth flash into her mind, like a sudden glare of blinding light. Giovanna must have a lover and that lover could be none other than Constantino Ledda. In that moment of searching illumination, a thousand little incidents to which she had paid no heed at the time, a thousand little unconsidered trifles rose up to confront her and she trembled from head to foot in a paroxysm of grief and rage. Yet, when Giovanna repeated, I will open the door right away. She was able to control herself and answer quietly. It's not worthwhile. Stay where you are.  Her first impulse was to hurry downstairs and look out to see if anyone had climbed from Giovanna's window to the roof below, which in turn gave on another and still lower roof. But she restrained herself, reflecting very sensibly, that if Giovanna saw that she was suspected she would instantly be on her guard. No, no, this is a time to disemble old Martina, to pretend, spy, listen, watch, and then? What was to happen afterwards? The afterwards suggested such a multitude of wretched possibilities that the old woman threw herself on her bed in a torment of agonized conjecture. What would Bronto do, if he knew? Poor Bronto! With all his violent temper, he was such a good fellow at bottom, and so tremendously in love with Giovanna. But there it was, he was so much in love with Giovanna that he would be perfectly capable of committing some crime should he suspect her constancy. Then what would become of him? thought Aunt Martina. Ah, it will be far better for him to know nothing of all this trouble. I will implore Giovanna to be loyal and not to betray her poor husband. And then, suppose, after all, I should be mistaken? Suppose she really was talking to the baby? Hey, no, no, someone else was there, and it could have been no one but Constantino.  But never mind, we will pay you back. We will drive you out of this house with a whip, naked as when you came into it. And thus, torn by successive impulses of hatred, pity, fury, and despair, Aunt Martina dragged through the weary night. One significant circumstance she did recall, that Constantino was said to be on good terms with Aunt Paquicia, Giovanna's mother. Sometime previously he had set to work in earnest, had rented a little shop, and was making a good deal of money by his trade of shoemaking. A repulsive thought came into the old woman's head. What if Aunt Paquicia knew and encouraged her daughter's intimacy with her first husband? The old harpy detests us, said Bronto's mother to herself. Perhaps Constantino makes her presence? Daybreak found her still wide-eyed and sleepless. Getting up she went out to examine the wall above which rose the roofs leading to Giovanna's window. Not a trace was to be found of any one having been on it. The dawn was exquisitely tranquil and beautiful, the village was still asleep, and the fields lay bathed in soft grey haze beneath a silver sky. Aunt Martina drew a deep breath. She felt as though she had awakened from a horrible dream. The utter peace and serenity of the early morning seemed to communicate itself to her distracted spirit. Then, on a sudden, happening to raise her eyes to Giovanna's window, she saw the young woman watching her. Instantly the conviction flashed across her that she too had lain awake the entire night, that she too was looking now to see if any telltale traces remained to betray the fact that she had had a visitor, and more than that, that she now was fully aware of Aunt Martina's suspicions. Across the space that divided them, the two women exchanged a look of mutual fear and hatred. War was declared. The battle opened in ominous calm, each side marshalling its forces in silence and secrecy. Aunt Martina's efforts were directed to allaying Giovanna's suspicions in the hope that she might some day surprise her and her lover together. Giovanna, perfectly awake to her mother-in-law's tactics, pretended not to notice anything, but at the same time proceeded with great caution in her relations with Constantino. He had entirely altered his mode of life. He now worked regularly and was doing very well, but underneath everything was a sense of unutterable melancholy, which he was never able wholly to throw off. I am doing everything I can to provoke Bronto to break with me, said Giovanna one day. I want him to apply for a divorce so as to be rid of me, then I will go back to you, beloved, and nothing shall ever part us again.  But Constantino only smiled wearily. It was true that he still loved Giovanna, but it was a very different kind of love from that which she had formally inspired in him. Now there was more of passion perhaps, but it did not go so deep, and he knew, though he could not tell her so, that even were she free to return to him as his wife, he could never be happy again as in the old days. She was not the woman to whom he had given his heart, but another and a very different person, one who, having been false to both husbands in succession, was now perhaps deceiving them simultaneously. Constantino was seized with an excess of rage against the entire human race, Giovanna included. He would have liked to murder someone, Bronto or Aunt Bacchissia, or even Giovanna in order to avenge himself for what he had been made to suffer. And yet all the time he knew himself to be quite incapable of doing anything brutal or violent, and raged and fumed them all at his own weakness. His heart seemed to have sunk into a state of torpor, and to have lost the power to enjoy acutely. Uncle Isidoro was now constantly urging him to marry again, much as such an act would be contrary to his own principles. I have one wife already, Constantino would reply. What could I do with another? Have her betray me too? All women are exactly alike. Then Uncle Isidoro would sigh and remain silent. He was in constant dread, lest some new tragedy should befall. He was aware partly from intuition, and partly because Constantino himself allowed him to have an inkling of the truth that the young man was holding secret intercourse with his former wife, and his daily fear was of some explosion. Thus he argued to himself that if Constantino could only be induced to marry some gentle affectionate young woman who would bear him children, he would come in time to forget the other one and find rest and peace. To these suggestions, however, Constantino only gave the same weary smile that had now become habitual. Are you afraid that I will murder someone? He asked, divining the old man's nervous terrace. No, no, there is no need to feel alarmed now. Matters are going too much to my taste just at present for me to do anything to disturb the current. The current was, however, in a fair way to be disturbed after that night on which Aunt Martina made her discovery. On the following day, Constantino went, as his frequent custom now was, to Aunt Bacchiesia's cottage. He had no liking for the old woman who had been chiefly instrumental in bringing about Giovanna's divorce. There were even moments when the thought of strangling his ex-mother-in-law got into his blood, filling his veins with a sensation of almost voluptuous joy. But he went there nevertheless, mainly because he took a dreary pleasure in living over the past in that little cottage, where he had once been so happy. Moreover he enjoyed listening to Aunt Bacchiesia's never-ending abuse of everything connected with the house of Dejas. Did the old woman know of her daughter's renewed relations with Constantino? Neither of them had said a word to her on the subject, yet, like Isidoro, she suspected how matters stood, though unlike him, she made no effort to interfere. Constantino had made her a present of a pair of shoes, and from time to time he performed other little services for her. Had he asked her to allow him to meet Giovanna in her house, it is quite possible that she would have offered no objection, but up to the present time he had neither told nor asked her anything.  Night was falling, and Constantino, who had worked hard all day, was tired, sad, unhappy. The soft brilliance of the summer night, the silence of the little house, the peaceful solitude of the common, the warm, sweet breath of the evening, all combined to create a flood of homesickness for the past, and an acute sense of present misery that was well nigh unbearable. He threw himself down on a stool, and rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead on his interlocked hands. For a few moments neither of them spoke.  He seemed to see him then, playing before the door, and hot tears trembled in his eyes. Do you know, said Aunt Bacchiesia suddenly, the old colt is going crazy? Who? asked Constantino. Who? Why the old miser, Martina de Jass! She got up out of her bed last night, and went and banged on my Giovanna's door. She said she heard someone talking to her. Upon my soul fancy such a thing. She has gone entirely mad. She always was half-so. Ah, was all that Constantino said. Listen, my soul, said Aunt Bacchiesia, lowering her voice. Giovanna tells me that the old colt suspects. What? asked Constantino, raising his head quickly. Suspects that you and Giovanna.  She has not said a word, the old maniac, but Giovanna's guest, that she has some idea in her head, and on that account I understand, said Constantino. He did understand. Evidently Giovanna had taken this method of warning him that they would have to be prudent. And so my soul, Aunt Bacchiesia went on, for the present it will be as well for you to stop coming here. And so as not to arouse suspicions. I will go every once in a while to see you, for a chat, you know. Ah, she gave a weary sigh. You? Yes, you are a man. Look at you, standing there now as tall and handsome as a banner. When I think of that little freak of nature, Bronto de Jas, I declare I wonder what on earth Giovanna could have been thinking of too. Forget you. Ah, if she had only listened to me. Constantino, who had risen and was standing in the doorway, crimsoned with anger, when he heard these outrageous lies being calmly offered for his acceptance. Hold your tongue! He began in a hoarse voice. But Aunt Bacchiesia was not listening. She was looking intently up at the White House. She whispered, Look, my soul, we are being watched now, Giovanna is right. Do you see the old harpy peering at us? Oh, I could tear out her eyes! Sure enough, the figure of Aunt Martina could be seen lurking in the shadow of the portico. For the moment, Constantino, who had never really borne any special ill will towards Bronto's mother, felt all the anger and sorrow and rebelliousness in his nature concentrate into one bitter longing to do the old woman some bodily harm. He would dearly have liked to make a wild dash across the common, fall upon her without warning and tear her eyes out, as Aunt Bacchiesia had said. Never mind, let her alone, said the latter. Giovanna has told me that she is doing everything she can to make them ill-user and drive her out of the house. Then we will apply for another divorce. You, my soul, all you have to do is to be careful and wait. What a fight a wait for, he asked roughly. Nothing can happen now that I want. She said something more, but he was not listening. Standing erect and motionless on the threshold of the door that had once been his door, he stared across at the portico of the Dajas House, feeling even more desolate and forlorn than usual. So then his one remaining consolation, that of holding intercourse with Giovanna, was about to be torn from him, and by the same people who had stolen from him everything else that made life pleasant. Moreover they might deprive him even of life itself, should he continue his relations with her who really was his own wife. Ah Dajas, a cursed race! Yes, now the old mother as well was included in his hatred of that house, and the longing to cross the common, fling himself on the portico, and make the still summer evening resound with her shrill screams of agony, at last overmastered him. With a sudden movement right in the middle of one of Antbakisia's sentences, he stepped out into the twilight and with rapid strides began to cross the common. When he had gone about half way, he stopped, stood motionless for a moment, and then, altering his direction, walked away. Antbakisia watched his figure as it was slowly swallowed up by the shadows, and the silence and languor of the dusk deepened into night. After that evening Constantino visited her cottage no more. One day towards the end of October, Uncle Isidoro Pane had an unexpected visitor. The old fisherman, seated before his fireplace, was getting supper ready for himself and Constantino, who still made his home with him. Outside the air felt almost cold, the wind was rising, and long violet colored clouds were flying across the clear greenish western sky. Uncle Isidoro was thinking sadly of that evening when amid the chanting of the women they had interred Jacoby de Jas in the Dungheap. The earthen pot bubbled on the fire, and from without came the melancholy rustling of the fig tree and the bushes shaken by the wind. All at once a low knock came on the door. Who is there? asked Uncle Isidoro. Ave Maria! The salutation came from Aunt Martina de Jas, who now, after satisfying herself, that the old man was entirely alone, entered and cautiously closed the door behind her. Oh, Martina! Ratia plena! responded the fisherman, astonished to see who his visitor was. Her head and shoulders were completely enveloped in a petticoat worn in lieu of a shawl. Her features were paler and more gaunt even than ordinary, and to Isidoro she seemed to have aged greatly. Sit down, Martina de Jas, he said politely, offering her a stool. What good wind blows you here? It's an ill wind, she replied. Then, looking all around her, she said, I want to talk to you privately. Can anyone hear us? Where is he? Still at the shop. He does not get back till later. Listen, said the old woman sitting herself. You can probably guess what it is that brings me here. No, I cannot guess, Martina de Jas, declared the other. Though all the time he knew very well. But why didn't you send for me? I would have gone to your house. At my house there is someone who has the ears of a hair. She can hear through a stone wall. Now listen, I don't suppose I have to make you promise not to tell anyone. You wouldn't betray my confidence, would you? I will not betray you. You are a man of the Lord, Isidoro Pane. A very dreadful thing has happened. Will you help me to set it right? If I can, spreading out his arms and hands, tell me about it. The old woman sighed. Tell you about it? Yes, she said. That is what I am going to do, Isidoro. But what I have to say burns my lips, and you are the only human being I would breathe it to. A terrible misfortune has overtaken my house. Do you see how old I have grown? For months I have not been able to close my eyes. Giovanna, my daughter-in-law, has a lover, Constantino Leda. You don't seem surprised? She added quickly, seeing that the other remained unmoved. You knew it already. Someone has known about it. Perhaps there are others too. Perhaps everyone knows the disgrace of my house. Easy, easy, don't be frightened. I did not know it, and I don't think anyone else does. It may not be true either, but if it were, and people knew about it, no one would be surprised. No one would be surprised. Certainly not, Martina de Chasse. No one at all. Everyone knows perfectly well. Pardon me if I speak frankly. The Giovanna married your son entirely from motives of self-interest. Now Constantino has come back. They were in love with one another before, and now they are in love with one another after. It is perfectly natural. It is perfectly natural. How can you say such things, Isidoro Pane? Is it perfectly natural for a woman to be unfaithful, for a beggar taken in out of the streets to betray her benefactors? Is it perfectly natural that my son, Bronto de Chasse, who had the courage to do what not another soul would have dreamed of doing, is it natural that he should be deceived? Yes, it is. All natural. Ah! exclaimed Aunt Martina, getting up, her eyes flushing with anger. Then it was quite useless for me to come here. Easy, easy! said the old man again.  Let us put all these questions aside. There of no use now, anyhow. And discuss the situation as it is. I think I can guess what it is you want me to do. You want me to use my influence with Constantino to get him to leave your family in peace? The old woman sat down again, and opened her heart. Yes, that was what she wanted, that Isidoro should do all he could to induce Constantino to give Giovanna up.  Ah, if he should ever find out about it, he is lost. He is sure to kill someone, either Giovanna or Constantino. I am continually haunted by the most horrible presentiments. I keep seeing a smear of blood before my eyes. You will see, Isidoro, you will see. If we don't find some way to stop this shameful thing, some horrible tragedy will occur, as she talked, and Martina had been growing steadily paler, until she was now quite livid. Her lips trembled, and her eyes gleamed partly with anger, partly with unshed tears. You alarm me, and you make me feel very sorry for you as well, said Uncle Isidoro gravely. But see here, whose fault is it all?  It was from Jacoby de Jaspeur's soul. Well, he sat there, just where you are sitting now, and he said almost the same words, we must find some way to stop this thing, if we don't some terrible misfortune will surely happen. And so we did, we tried our best to stop that shameful thing, but without a veil, you and your son, and all the rest of you, were determined to bring about your own ruin. You fell into mortal sin, you broke the laws of God, and now your punishment has come. We, only we, exclaimed the old woman hortily, know the fault belongs to them as well, to Paquicia Era for her avarice and wickedness in throwing her daughter at Bronto, and to Giovanna for abandoning her first husband when she loved him, and marrying another out of self-interest. The blame belongs equally to all, or rather it does not. It is theirs alone, for we did nothing but what was good.  And I can tell you, if Constantino does not give this thing up, he bitterly regret it. Beg implore, adjure him, tell him not to bring ruin on a respectable house, and then, if he will not listen, hush, Martina, begged the fisherman, seeing that she was working herself into a fury, don't talk foolishness. But tell me, are you really certain that Giovanna and Constantino are meeting each other? Absolutely certain.  One night I heard someone talking to Giovanna. She saw right away that I had noticed something, and for a while she was on her guard, but now she has thrown aside all prudence. The other day they met at Paquicia Era's cottage. I saw them plainly, and not only that, I heard them. I listened at the door. Then last night he was with her again. Do you understand, actually, in my house, beneath my roof? And I, I was trembling so with rage, I hardly knew what I was about, but I waited for him below.  I had a knife ready in my hand. But do you know? I could not stir a limb. I could not even open my lips when he crept down as stealthily as a thief, first onto the roof, and then the ground, and away.  I can't do a thing. I was just frightened, and I hid. Giovanna knows that I care more for Bronto than for anything else in the world, and that I would sacrifice everything to spare him, even the honour of our name. And so the ungrateful creature is taking advantage of the tenderest feeling that I have. She is counting on my being afraid to tell him for fear that he will commit murder, and so be ruined forever, and that is why she dares to carry it on. But it's a doro. I would be capable of doing almost anything if Constantino does not break this off. Tell him so. But why don't you speak to Giovanna, asked the fisherman, because, well, I'm afraid of her. She follows me about and watches me all the time, like a Tigris ready to spring.  I don't dare to open my mouth. Oh, it is all so horrible. You don't know what days I pass. Death would be far less bitter than the life I am leading. As she spoke these words, Aunt Martina buried her face in her hands, and began to sob. A feeling of intense pity rose in the old fisherman's heart. In the days of his most grinding poverty, he had never been reduced to tears, and to think of the rich, proud Martina de Jas being actually more wretched than an old pauper like himself. I will do my very best, he said. Now go, and try not to worry. You had better get off at once, though. It is time for him to be coming back. She got up, wrapped the petticoat carefully around her head and shoulders, and when Isidoro had looked out to make sure that no one was about who might recognize her, walked slowly away. The air was sharp, the wind was blowing in gusts, tearing the first dead leaves from the trees. Aunt Martina, struggling against it, felt more anxious and depressed even then when she came. It seemed as though that chill autumn wind that shook and lashed and tore her were tearing and lashing her spirit as well. The presentiments of evil that she had spoken of, as haunting her, were stronger than ever. Passing a certain wretched little hovel, more forlorn and poverty-stricken than any of the others, she shot a keen glance at it, and then quickly lowered her eyes, as though in dread, lest some invisible being should read the dark thought of her soul. The owner of this hovel, a poor peasant, had come to her some time before, and had asked her to lend him some money. Let it to you! she had exclaimed derisively, and how do you propose to repay it? If I can't pay you back in money, the man had replied, there may be some other way of showing my gratitude. You could require any service at all of me. She understood what he meant. He was ready to undertake anything, even the commission of a crime, in order to get the money he needed. But she had not wanted anything, and so had sent him off. Now, passing the forlorn little house, rapidly falling into ruins, through the darkness and wind, and melancholy of the night, she saw again before her the gaunt, resolute figure of this man, his hollow, sunken eyes, his lips white from hunger, his dark, bony hands ready for any act by which he might hope to snatch a little ease and comfort out of life.  Thus she passed on, a dark, forbidding form enveloped in her black tunic, swept by the wind past that wretched hovel, like a shadowy portend of evil. End of first part of the epilogue. Recording by Tom Denham Part two of the epilogue to After the Divorce by Grazia de Leda, translated by Maria Horner Lansdale. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tom Denham. That same evening, Uncle Isidoro reasoned with Constantino at length, urging him by every argument at his command to avert what otherwise must inevitably result in a catastrophe for himself, for Giovanna, and for every one concerned. Constantino regarded the old man steadily with his usual melancholy smile. What, he demanded, could happen? You admit yourself that the old harpy will never talk to her son? And isn't she my wife Giovanna? Have and I a perfect right to be with her whenever I choose? Ah, child of the Lord! Said Isidoro, clasping his hands and shaking his head, you will be made to suffer for it in some way. You had better look out. Martina de Gias is capable of anything where her son is concerned. A look of hatred came into Constantino's eyes.  A single drop more and it will overflow. Let them look out who have brought all this on themselves. Then he got up and went out into the night. For hours he wandered aimlessly about like one who had lost his way in the windswept solitude. Then, about midnight, he found himself almost without knowing how he got there, as on that first evening, beneath Giovanna's window. He climbed on the shed and tapped. And Martina, lying wakeful and alert, heard everything. Heard Constantino approach, heard his knock, heard Giovanna open to him, and then she knew it was hopeless. Without doubt Isidoro had faithfully reported his conversation with her, and this was Constantino's reply. He had come directly and defiantly to Giovanna. No doubt, thought the old woman bitterly, he argues that since old Martina lacks the courage to make her son unhappy by telling him the truth, he may as well profit by her weakness. Yes, no doubt that is what he thinks.  Now, Constantino led her, it is between us two. One night, as Constantino slid down from the shed beneath Giovanna's window, he felt something cold and sharp enter his side. In the darkness he made out the figure of a man, his face covered with a black cloth. He threw himself upon him, and after a brief struggle, breathless, silent, determined, he succeeded in throwing him down and disarming him. Then he let him go without so much as attempting to identify him. What did it signify who the assassin was? Behind that black mask he knew only too well that Aunt Martina's gaunt features looked out, and that it was her hand that had directed the murderous stroke. He made his way back to Isidoro's hut, and the fisherman, being absent on one of his journeys, dressed the wound himself, hiding away like a stricken animal, and concealing what had happened from everyone. He did not even undress, but for three days and nights lay stretched on his pallet a prey to the bitterest reflections. The weather had become cold. Outside the wind whistled among the dry hedges, and forcing its way into the hut made the long threads of cobwebs swing back and forth, and brought down clouds of dust from the roof. Through the window Constantino could see processions of pale blue clouds scudding across the cold bright background of the sky, and he said to himself that he wanted to die. Death. Death what else remained for him? The world, his world, was now only a cold and empty void. His feeling for Giovanna could never be what it once had been. He had indeed resumed his relations with her, but she could never mean the same thing to him again after having deserted him in his hour of need. The very pleasure which he felt in their clandestine intercourse was due in part to his hatred of the Dejassus. The Dejassus, the mere thought of the joy which his death would afford them even now, aroused him and put new life into his veins. They have stolen everything else of mine, he thought, and now they want to take my life as well, but they shan't have it. I will kill one of them first. He recalled a trial at which he had once been present where the accused had proved that he had been attacked and had struck back in order to defend himself. The jury had acquitted him. Well, they will acquit me. I shall be striking in self-defense, and if they don't acquit me. There arose before him the faces of his fellow convicts. The King of Spades smiled at him lugubriously, and behind him he could see the gloomy walls of the prison courtyard. At least though they had been friendly, they might have been murderers, but they had never tried to assassinate him. On the third day of his seclusion in Uncle D'Isidoro's hut a storm came up. Nothing could exceed the comfortless desolation of the poor little abode. The black clouds travelling overhead seemed to break directly against the small bare window. Presently some big drops fell from the roof. One leak in a special, directly over the black cold fireplace was so persistent that at last seeing that the water was forming into a thin stream, the young man reached out and shoved Uncle D'Isidoro's earthenware saucepan beneath it. Drip, drip, drip! The sound was like the monotonous and melancholy ticking of a clock. Night descended, if anything colder and more dreary than before. The rain came down steadily and the drops fell into the saucepan with the regularity of a machine. Constantino did not move. He had neither wood wherewith to build a fire nor any more food, and it did not occur to him to get up, to bestow himself, to go out, to live. Perhaps Uncle D'Isidoro was stalled in some neighbouring village by the storm and would not get back. During the night fever set in, and Constantino was wracked by hideous dreams, painful memories of the past, tempests of anger mingled with physical suffering. How long he lay in this condition he could never remember, only he recollected hearing the steady drip, drip of the water as it fell into the saucepan, the beating of the rain on the roof and the long sob of the wind as it swept about the deserted house. In the intervals of the fever, when he would arouse from the lethargy that weighed him down, he was conscious of sharp shooting pains through all his limbs, similar to those he had felt in prison on a waking after a feverish night, and also of a savage animal desire to do some harm, to fling himself on some one or something and bite and tear and destroy. Another day and night went by. The rain was falling more heavily than ever, and that steady inexorable drip, drip had at last filled and overflowed the saucepan. Between cold and starvation, Constantino had almost come to the end of his forces. Once he was visited by a horrid illusion. He thought that a mad dog had thrown him down and bitten him in the stomach. He awoke shaking and could not throw the idea off. Perhaps he had been bitten by a mad dog, and this was hydrophobia. Towards evening the storm died down, though the rain did not cease entirely. Then suddenly he felt that he was dying. He had no sense of rebellion now, all that was over. He seemed to have lost even the power to care. To die, to die. Why should he want to go on living? Everything both within him and about him was black and void. Through all his fever-ridden dreams one idea had remained persistently by him, that he was about to commit a crime. Now it was Aunt Martina whom he was on the point of stabbing. Then someone else, but in the intervals of consciousness he realized that should he live, should he once more find himself burdened with the dolorous gift of existence, while he would not even attempt to resist the secret force that was urging him on, it would mutter little against whom his fury expended itself. It might be Aunt Martina, or Bronto, or someone else, but then, then, deep down in his soul, he could never rid himself of a sense of rebellion. He thought of terror of what would happen afterwards. Yes, he wanted to die, so as to suffer no more and to be saved from becoming a murderer. At last the rain was ceasing. It still felt steadily but more now like a gentle shower, while the wind had died down completely. It was cold, though, and the damp, chill atmosphere hung over the cabin like a heavy wet cloth. So unutterably dreary were the weather and the surroundings that Constantino, recalling the periods of his most acute misery, could never remember being so utterly and hopelessly wretched as now, not even on the day of the sentence, not even on the day when they had told him of the divorce, nor on that other day of his return. For on every one of those occasions, desperate as the outlook had been, there always remained the hope of better things in the life to come. Then his conscience had been pure. But now, should he go on living, he believed that he would surely forfeit all hope in the life to come.  Thus the hours wore on. He had dropped into a feverish sleep, but awoke suddenly, trembling with terror, that he could not tell what. The rain was over at last, but in the profound stillness that enrapt him, Constantino fancied that he still heard it beating on the roof, and the drip, drip from the leak over the fireplace, only now the sounds seemed to come from far, far away, from a world that was already remote. He thought that he was already dead, or lingering on the extremest confines of life in a place of shadows, of silence, of mystery. What would he find there just beyond? The light of eternity or the darkness of eternity? He was afraid to open his eyes. He tried to cry out, but could not utter a sound. Then a knock came on the door. The sound dragged him back from that vague tide on which he was floating. He opened his eyes without moving, conscious both of relief and regret, at finding himself still alive. The knocking was repeated louder than before. Who could it be? Not Uncle Lizodoro, he would have called out. Constantino neither stirred nor spoke. Possibly he had not the strength to get up, but in any case he had no wish to. Why must they come to disturb him, dragging him back from those mysterious shores on which he had almost set foot? Meanwhile the knocking continued still more vigorously, but after a little it ceased, and everything became perfectly still. A short time elapsed. Then someone again approached the hut. Presently the end of a stout stick was thrust under the door, serving as a lever. The frail barrier secured only by a metal hasp, quickly yielded, and the figure of a woman with a skirt thrown over her head and shoulders appeared for a moment in the opening. Stepping inside, she turned and replaced the rickety door before Constantino was able to recognize her. There was a moment of breathless silence during which he could hear his visitor groping her way about in the pitchy darkness on the other side of the hut. Then she spoke, and he recognized the voice of Aunt Bacchissia. Constantino, are you there? Where are you?  Why don't you answer? Someone said you had not been seen for three days, and that Isidoro Panni was away. I came once before and knocked and knocked, but you wouldn't answer. What's the matter? Are you sick? Still he made no reply, burying his face like a sulky child. My soul moaned the woman. My soul moaned the woman. He must be ill as well. As well? Then someone else was ill? Who, he wondered? Perhaps Giovanna. He listened intently, still keeping his face covered. He has no fire, and no light, she muttered. What does it all mean? Wait, I'll strike a light. Where are my matches? The pale blue flame of a sulphur match, shot up for a moment, and then suddenly died away. Constantino could see nothing, but he heard Aunt Bacchissia stumbling her way towards him, moaning, Constantino, Constantino! A wave of anger swept over him. He tried to cry out, to rise and fling himself upon a choker. But he was powerless. A cold sweat broke out all over him, and he knew that if he attempted so much as to speak he would burst into tears. How hatefully weak he was! Aunt Bacchissia struck another match, and began searching for a light of some sort, but all she could find was a rude iron lamp hanging on a nail with neither wick nor oil. Then she groped her way to the fireplace, and stooping down, held out her hand with the lighted match between her fingers. There were the saucepan full of water, the heap of wet ashes, the soaked hearth stone, and beyond half in the circle of light, the figure of Constantino extended motionless on the pallet. The match flared up, and then went out, and all became again perfectly dark and silent. For a moment, Aunt Bacchissia did not stir. She hardly seemed to breathe. Then a long, choking sob broke from her. Of what had she been thinking in that moment of silence and darkness? Did that vision of Constantino lying apparently dead before her awaken a sudden, agonizing sense of what she had done? Of her iniquitous responsibility in the ruin that had been wrought in Giovanna's and Constantino's lives, and in the lives of everyone concerned in the melancholy drama. Throwing herself on the floor beside the pallet, she passed her hands tremblingly over his body and face, sobbing in the darkness and silence. Constantino! Constantino! Are you alive? Answer me. Yes, she murmured presently, he is alive, but ill, ill.  She went on coaxingly. Is it a wound? Oh God, if you only knew what terrible things have happened. Giovanna sent me. She was frightened, you know. She thought you might have been hurt. That someone might have been lying in wait for you. She's more dead than alive herself, Constantino. At last, Constantino gave a moan. Something hard in his breast seemed to melt. He was moved, affected. Then he was not forgotten after all. Giovanna had been anxious. She had sent to find out about him. She was frightened, unhappy. Then, in his changed mood, and Bacchissia's words of a moan before came back to him with fresh meaning. He is ill as well, she had said. Who was this other person who was ill? Again, he thought of Giovanna, and his heart sank. Is it a wound? She repeated. Yes, murmured Constantino. Who did it? I don't know. Someone hired by Aunt Martina de Jas. Ah! cried Aunt Bacchissia, her voice thick with anger. Then, in a changed tone, she said, The saying goes that God does not pay on Saturday. Well, Bronto de Jas is dying, poor wretch. Constantino felt as though an electric shock had gone through him. He started to his feet swayed and fell back on his knees. In the darkness his hands encountered those of Aunt Bacchissia, and she felt that they were scorching hot and trembling. Constantino, my soul, she cried, alarmed lest in his weak and exhausted condition the shock of her news had been too great for him. Constantino, what is it?  Yes, Bronto is very ill. He came back yesterday. It was a holiday, you know, and he came home so drunk that he was like something crazy. It seems that he has been drinking all the time lately, even up at the sheepfolds. So then yesterday, when he came in, he was horribly drunk, and he began quarrelling with his mother and Giovanna and tried to beat them. They were so frightened that they ran up and locked themselves in their rooms. Bronto stayed down in the kitchen, and he must have stretched himself out alongside the fire. After some time they heard him crying out, but they thought it was just some drunken foolishness and did not go down to see what it was. After a while, though, when he had become quiet, Aunt Martina went and found him lying there, unconscious and frightfully burned. He had evidently fallen asleep and had put his legs right over the fire and then his clothing caught. There was an empty brandy bottle lying beside him. He hasn't come to since, and the doctor says he can't live through the night. Poor Bronto. He wasn't bad. He was weak, but not really bad. Constantino, Constantino, what on earth is it? What are you doing? For in the darkness, Aunt Bacchissia, who had told her story with moans and sighs of sympathy, partly for Constantino, partly for Bronto, heard what she at first took to be a burst of insane laughter. The young man's hands became rigid, his limbs contracted and for one wild moment she thought he had lost his reason. Then the truth broke upon her. He was crying, weeping bitterly, half from weakness and reaction, but half too from horror and sympathy at the awful ending of a man whom, not a short while before, he had thought that he hated so much that he was in danger of killing him. That same night Bronto died, and some time later Giovanna and Constantino were reunited. Old Aunt Martina, absorbed in her grief and completely shattered by it, like an oak tree that has been struck by lightning, offered no objection, but neither did she forgive the young people and she demanded that the little Marietta should be left under her care. Thus the two, the old woman and the child, lived on in the White House, while Giovanna and Constantino returned to the little grey cottage. There, after a time, another child was born to them, Malthinedo. It is a soft spring day. Overhead the sky is a tender blue, and all around the village the fields of grain sway like the waves of a green encircling sea. Aunt Martina sits on the portico, spinning and praying silently, a white, tragic figure, spiritualised by sorrow. Aunt Paquicia sits spinning likewise before the door of the cottage. Giovanna is sowing, and hard by, Constantino works at his bench. No one speaks, but the thoughts of all are turned on the past. In the middle of the common Marietta and Malthinedo are playing together with gurgles and shouts of joyous laughter, as happy and unconcerned as the birds on the neighbouring hedges. Hither and thither they go, trotting from Aunt Martina to Constantino, from Aunt Paquicia to Giovanna, from Giovanna to Aunt Martina, and each, in turn, even the desolate, heartbroken old grandmother looks up to receive them with a smile of tender indulgence. They are the invisible wolf of peace and mutual forgiveness. End of the Epilogue Recording by Tom Denham End of After the Divorce by Grazia de Leda Translated by Maria Horner Lansdale


Let's go to Mike and Mary Mack new Hampshire. Hey, Mike. What's going on, brother? Hey? Good morning, Tom Take a natural gas. I'm not in it, but One way you think that's headed natural gas widow maker Volatility in Roku Natural gas. Let's take a look. He wants to look at UNG. It's a US natural gas fund, but I want to bring up energy Let me bring up the futures first so NG. Let's see. We're not in December. There we go Okay, so got about ten inches of snow on your old neighborhood up. I know I was just gonna ask you ten inches Is that what you have already? Yes. It's still snowing, right? Yes. Oh my god. It's December Oh boy. Okay, so this is a mess one second and NG and G I gotta bring up the In Eric contract, okay So that had quite a day on Friday. Oh I mean you just got wiped out not you. I'm just now the market. Yeah, man Yeah, I wouldn't touch this thing man. I mean, yeah, you think it's gonna go continue lower Yeah, the lowest game 202 is game man that that type of bar now. I get this in a weekly back Daily, that's a 50 cent bar and just so you understand something a dollar in the natural gas market $10,000 a contract. Yeah, so it's like about 44 cents just in that last week Yeah, that's just intense. We go over to UNG. So we go to UNG the ETF that he's actually looking at put it back I Can do the monthly because we just ended November. Oh, that's it Like three years, okay, what is that? Yeah, I don't touch this thing Man, this is okay. Yeah And you know, it's so wild folks is that just just you know, Mike this I can absolutely see Why you want to touch it because I can tell you up until I traded natural gas a lot we go back 10 15 years I traded for good five years in a row and What happened is that this is when natural gas was a lot higher because even the I remember the I had to put Up like 12,000 a contract and okay but what happened is this is that There's such a disconnect between even you know, technically sometimes how it's set up and fundamentally I'd say to myself Oh my god, hold it. It's freezing all over the country. They got to use natural gas. Well, guess what? No, they didn't You know and so it just seems to me that natural gas in general is not a great thing to trade and I'm you know Saying that and not just personally that I've even since not trading it I haven't traded it for a good five years now, right? And is it disconnect man? And it has to do with this contract here only has to do with Where this is stored it doesn't have to do with like well, when that happened, you'll hear me on the air saying oh, okay So what ends up happening is that? Like Boston like you know, I bet we'll hear okay that in the next three or four days that natural gas up In your area Mike, okay is going to go exponential in price, but that's the spot market and Sometimes it goes up 200 300 percent for two or three days at a time that it comes back down Versus this market here meaning where it's stored because natural gas you can't get easily from one place to another I think that's the biggest problem. Do you know what I'm saying? And once just to tie it in once like this And then once it's cold they know it's gonna be cold You know what I mean? It's the unpredictable part of things of where it's gonna be maybe in two three four weeks So what's going on right? You don't know yet because once it snowed ten inches the market had priced that one in but just to pull up The last part that I found interesting so you did say you know for every dollar in here It'd be ten thousand dollars every fifty cents to be five thousand dollars you'd have for exposure and You're putting up only about twenty four fifty to twenty seven hundred bucks So just last week alone and just how that would play into that type of market You have to consider it right because you have people putting up 2600 and seven you know call it 2700 bucks right and so basically if the contract moves 27 cents They're wiped out and you had 45 cents a movement last week. Yeah, that plays into things for sure Thanks Mike stay warm stay safe out there man. Totally. I phone numbers eight seven seven nine two seven six six four eight Give us a call folks come right back You


So the sheep first of all notice that the sheep in this parable are one Dimensional okay, they they belong to the shepherd they follow his voice The opposite of this would be the sheep that don't fit in this category But the prospect of a sheep switching between these two is not really offered by this parable So Jesus the door by me if any man shall enter in he shall be saved and go in and find pasture Okay, so according to the parable the sheep follow the shepherd's voice They flee from the voice of the stranger. So Jesus says this this is his voice and that's the voice that the sheep listen to Okay, the opposite of that. So someone who was not Jesus's sheep is The one who follows a stranger's voice and does not follow the voice of the shepherd now What's not offered by this parable is a sheep that belongs to the shepherd But then suddenly stops following his voice and is disowned and it you know is discarded that type of sheep Is not offered by the parable and so some of the arguments that are conditional security We can lose our salvation Advocate would throw it. Yeah, they'd have to kind of invent this type of sheet when it's not really offered by the passage So we must understand that there's really only two types of sheep here They either belong to Christ or they don't know that will help explain a lot of what's coming up later And so conditional security and that's to argue that we can lose our salvation What what you essentially have to do with this chapter is Create a third type of cheap at sheep that is never conceptualized at all It doesn't even fit in with the framework that Jesus describes and essentially what you're doing is you're inventing a sheep That belongs to Christ and is of his fold But wanders away and loses the protection of the shepherd. Well, if they were of Christ's sheep They were saved then why didn't they hear the voice of the shepherd and follow it? Okay, if they didn't hear his voice and follow him then they weren't his sheep Why didn't Christ lay down his life for this sheet? Why didn't Jesus protect the sheep from wandering away? Jesus said he is the good shepherd. He knows his sheep He takes responsibility to protect them when he sees the wolf coming So they have to invent this third type of sheep that just doesn't exist in this chapter at all And if it's so important, there's all these warnings that we can lose our salvation and this is such a key danger Why doesn't Jesus even mention such a concept? Okay, this type of sheep is not conceptualized in this chapter It's that simple. Okay So Jesus was very clear my sheep hear my voice I know them and they follow me and a stranger will they not follow that simple Okay, I don't really get any more complicated than that if they follow another voice then the only logical conclusion is that they are Not of his sheep. Okay, so Jesus said whosoever believes in me may have a lasting life and I should lose nothing Well, my sheep hear my voice. That's the voice that they follow Any sheep that are listening to these other voices like you need to repent of your sins to be saved And if you don't turn from your sins, you don't get born again Or you need to fully surrender your life to Christ to be saved, you know Or Jesus will never leave you but you can walk away from it Well, fully enough, we can't quote the shepherd is ever saying any of these things So if the sheep is listening to any of these three voices, well, it's quite simple You are not my sheep because you believe me not because they won't believe Christ when he said this They're following somebody else's voice. These people they're not quoting the Bible when they say these kind of things They're just quoting their own version of the gospel. So this is the sheep that listen to different voices. Okay Now one of the most common arguments that I've heard conditional security advocates throw is that a man Again another spelling error, but a man has free will so he can choose to walk away Okay, that they constantly bang on about this free will argument all the time The problem is this is this is a logical argument There is no direct diverse that can be quoted to prove this So you have to reason your way to that you can't prove that outright Now we can understand the problem with the free will argument more clearly if we understand the relationship Between the shepherd and the sheep, okay So let's explore that theme and then we'll see why this free will argument just comes crashing down. Okay so typically Sheep graze in a field and usually they do have some degree of free will okay, you know, they can Wander up and down here. They can go left over here. They can walk up there. You know, they've got a big field to graze in They can you know move about as much as they like So they have they have got some degree of free will it's fair to say. Okay, but normally sheep are Fenced in okay, they're typically kept in the confines that the shepherd has placed on them They're not they're not supposed to be able to just leave. Okay, so yes, they do have free will to an extent But only within the confines that the shepherd places on them So they have free will within this space. They don't have free will outside of this space Okay, and what does the Bible said they enter in they find pasture. This is their pasture. Okay So also just sort of a note worthy kind of a side note if you like sheep are Flocking animals by nature. Okay, they would not normally Choose to wander off on their own like a goat or a lion or something like that That's not really a sheep's nature sheep get very distressed typically if they're not with a flock They're flocking animals. They stay in herds and crowds. Okay In the UK parts of the UK where I live hill farming is more widely practiced And so this is where you keep sheep on more difficult terrain, which isn't really good for very much else and Sometimes they're not actually fenced in so that you know, they can climb up here go over there They're not fenced into the farm But again, why is that even possible? The only reason that even works at all is because sheep are known to heft to Local areas so even if they had the choice to wander elsewhere even in an unfenced pasture They wouldn't normally be inclined to they still like to heft to preferred areas. They still like to stay with a flock It's in their nature to behave that way.  Well, that's that's very problematic It violates the very concept of being born again being a new creature. Why would you choose to walk away from everlasting life? That's ridiculous and and Peter showed us back in our study of John chapter 6 that there is nowhere else to go He said Lord, where would we go? You know, to whom shall we go?  Okay, so free will it doesn't work So In now in actual farming so if kept in confined fields sheep may eventually consume most of the flora and Need to be moved to another field and this just helps us understand exactly what Jesus means in Versus three foreign night.  He leads them out. They go be he goes before them and they follow him And then he says I am the door if any man entering he shall be safe Notice it says he shall go in and out.   Well that that all he's doing is just you know, people understand how shepherding works This makes perfect sense. They go in here. They find pasture. They come out of here and go in there They find pasture. Okay, and the shepherd has to lead them between fields because that's what the shepherd has to do Okay, and this just helps us to understand what it means to follow Jesus and what would happen if the sheep Went astray. Okay So then well, what happens if she wanders away from the flock? Well, does it lose its salvation according to conditional security or in the one saved always saved model? Might you say that while they were the sheep was never saved to begin with well You might also ask will it be devoured by the the wolf that Jesus mentioned in verse 12? So let's let's explore what what happens there. So In John 10 Jesus does not discuss The prospects of a lost sheep. So so from John 10 itself There's no clear teaching available from here that explains what would happen if a sheep wanders away. Okay? What we can do if we like we can some some help from the other Gospels where Jesus did talk about this concept But we must understand before we read them The context of the parable of the lost sheep is different to what he's talking about in John chapter 10. Very important that you understand that. Okay So in Matthew's and Luke's Gospel the parable of the lost sheep It really refers more to Jesus going out and reaching the lost, you know those outside Rather than those who are already inside going astray now We'll try to apply it to John chapter 10 But it is a different conversation that Jesus is having here So, you know Jesus says I'll just read one of them that if any if any man You know if any man has a hundred sheep whoever he is a notice He doesn't say me is any man including you has a hundred sheep and one of them goes astray Does he not leave the 99 goes out into the mountains and seeks that which has gone astray and then if he finds it He rejoices. Okay, and so both parables in both examples They read slightly differently because the slightly different conversations, but the word is slightly different, but it's the same principle If you even if you have a hundred sheep and you lose one you will you will go out and get it. Okay so Jesus asks that question. He asked that question rhetorically Which man would not leave the 99 sheep to go out into the mountains or the wilderness to find that that Worn stray sheep and notice that it's not just Jesus Which man any man including you would do this? So it's not just well, Jesus is a good shepherd so he would go and do it No, you would do this as well Even if you had a hundred sheep you would still go out for that lot sheep. Okay, so it stands to reason you will do it Well, so will Jesus. Okay Now then ask this question it why would any man if you have 99 perfectly good sheep Why would you even bother to go out for one sheep at all? Why not just cut your losses and let it go? Okay. Well, what you must understand is that sheep have some Intrinsic value now that might be financial value for a lot of farmers in some cases It might even be sentimental value where people see their sheep more as pets or whatever else But but sheep have some some value whether financial sentimental or otherwise So if a man is prepared to go out and get one sheep when he's already got 99 other sheep There must still be some value to that sheep to make it worth going through the this effort Okay, because if you had a bag of a hundred sweets and you lost a sweet You're not gonna go looking for that sweet. You'd count it as a loss Okay, and even if you drop that sweet on a dirty floor, you'd probably still throw it away Okay, you would count that as a loss.  Okay so then When moving from plate sheet from place to place So if your sheep have expired all of their food in this field and you need to move them across to this field The shepherd has a specific duty To keep the flock together to ensure that the sheep do not scatter. That's his job That is his responsibility. It's not while the sheep need to make sure that they're staying with the flock The shepherd has a job to do to keep the sheep together. Okay, so typically as far as I understand it the shepherd leads from the front and Sheep can be trained to follow certain signals to some extent or you know, if this food involved, they'll probably follow But the shepherd may also require the aid of servants and other herders Now the predatory nature of dogs means that obviously dogs can be trained to be sheep dogs and herd as well This practice does go back several thousands of years even in Western Asia But it is questionable how much they would be utilized in a Jewish society because Livitically, they were unclean animals So I'm not sure how much they would have utilized sheep dogs But but nevertheless the principle is there you can use a sheep dog to do this as well to act as a herder so Some herders may be healers in that they lead from the back and some may be headers in that they they lead from The front so whatever the scenario the shepherd or his team need to keep the flock together They need to create an artificial perimeter Around the sheep to prevent break-off groups. So the objective is to keep the flock together You don't want any groups splintering off and breaking into their own groups. You keep the flock together That's his job. That's what he's supposed to do. Okay now then conditional security advocates They create a false paradigm to get around this passage, which is not really very consistent with the chapter So under their model, they'll say well the sheep you have free will you can wander off? So the sheep will wander away from the protection of the shepherd Where they may be consumed by the wolf if they don't turn back and they'll equate that with with losing his salvation And so Jesus essentially has to say that while the sheep can leave his own free will I won't bother to go out You know, maybe he'll come back if it repents and you know gets his salvation back But you know if he doesn't do that then the wolves will get to him first So, you know that this is all left up to the sheep to decide what he's going to do The shepherd doesn't go out for it here And this is under their model and then the wolf is there waiting to devour the sheep that that's not under the protection of the Shepherd anymore, and I've I've covered that in another video where I Exposed a PUC on apologetics because this was the kind of argument that he was making to say that we can lose our salvation Well This presents us with a couple of issues. Okay According to the parable of the lost sheep the shepherd Goes out for the sheep the sheep the sheep don't do their own about turn to find their way back It's the shepherd going out for the sheep now to get the context is different, but that's what the parable is Now also if we look at verse 12 in John chapter 10 the wolf Is not out there in the wild You know Sneaking around waiting to consume any sheep that happen to go astray The bible actually says in in John 10 12 that the wolf actually comes towards the flock of sheep Now if if someone was a hyaling he would see the wolf coming and he would run away from the sheep And then the wolf could get all of the sheep Okay, but because jesus is the good shepherd and he even lays his life down for the sheep The wolf is going towards the the entire flock of sheep even with the shepherd there Okay, the wolf is not out there somewhere waiting for any sheep that happen to go astray and there's no shepherd to protect them So the conditional security model is completely wrong with how this passage has framed this parable. Okay Now an objection that they might take to that another objection that will take to this passage is that well No other man can pluck you from out of his hand But that doesn't mean that you yourself can't walk away from christ and um How they might reason this is that the word pluck is synonymous with the word snatched which is typically an action associated with taking something or or seizing Something or someone else you don't you don't seize yourself. You don't pluck yourself. You don't snatch yourselves. That that's how they reason that objection Now the first problem with their interpretation is that versus 28 and 29 they don't say Any other man shall not pluck them out of my hand They just simply say any man or no man is able to pluck them out And so Jesus could have just said other if that's what he wanted us to think So the conclusion is then that you are included in any or no man. Okay But then the second problem is that these verses use Absolute language rather than conditional language because if it's conditional security while there's no conditional language is it does You know, it does not say If they follow me where I go then they shall never perish and no man is able to pluck them It just says I know them. They follow me. I give them onto them. They never perish neither shall any man pluck them There's no further conditions here So the prospect of a sheep that stops following him is simply not addressed and not available here. Okay Now the third problem is that if if a sheep were let's just entertain them and say that a sheep Were to wander away. Okay Well, something or someone Drew them away So a safe person so-called did not just wake up one day and say hey, I want to lose my salvation because why not? Okay, if somebody departs from the faith and they leave christianity What drew them away or who drew them away? You know, was was he listening to an atheist debunk christianity with science? Was he listening to some other gospel or some other truth or some weird heresy? Okay, was he listening to a hater of god explain how horrible they think the bible is and now he agrees with them Did the children of this world tempt him with the pleasures of sin? Was he afraid that his safety or relationships would be affected by His belief and so if someone quote unquote lost their salvation or eternal life Well, then something or someone Must have plucked them out of jesus hand And so if we trust jesus to fill what he said he would then wondering from the faith only works The only way this can work Is if the lord was not holding on to their hand in the first place and if he wasn't holding on to their hand They were never saved.  Well, you're not greater than his hand either. Okay Another considerable problem then with all that stuff that we've just been Looking at with the value of sheep and all that kind of stuff Another can consider a problem with losing our salvation. It is the severe misunderstanding About how the concept of ownership Actually works. So let's let's look at how this works. So Consider the fact that you've you've got property. You've got things that you own as property And then you've got things that you own Kind of as non-property if you like and then you've got things that you don't own Okay, and then you've got things that you have a strong sentimental or emotional attachment to and things that you don't have a strong attachment to so Your pets such as your dog or cat may be legally considered property They do not have the same degree of autonomy as a person But you may still have very strong sentimental attachment to them as if they were a member of your family, right? Your children and your spouse are not strictly speaking your property That's not really the right word But they do they do have some degree of autonomy at least and they do have a belonging to you You know, they're your children or they your wife or your husband or whatever So you kind of own them in the sense of them not being your property And then you've got your friends and family members outside of your home that do not belong to you But they they have a strong value to you emotionally sentimentally your friends or whatever And then obviously there's things that you own as property, but they are just property They're not living things. You don't have a strong attachment to them Now I understand that some of you may have a strong attachment to your car or your house But you know, it's only a matter of time when that thing breaks down You're getting another one, but your children are not equally as replaceable So your personal belongings are your property, but beyond that Not all of those items really have a strong Value to you and even if you do have some strong value value on your things You know, eventually they'll wear and tear and you'll replace them with something else Eventually you'll decide I need a new house or a new car So you don't have a strong attachment to that item as you would a member of the family. Okay Now sheep technically speaking are property. Okay, especially in the ancient world even more so than now So while shepherds may or may not have some sentimental attachment to them They have very very limited free will as we expose, you know, they can go up and down But they're still limited in free will according to the confines of the shepherd As we explored earlier. So language indicates here That Jesus places much stronger value On his sheep given that he's willing to lay their life down for him. So yes, they are property But sheep does have a strong attachment to them as if they were people.  Okay So If we understand that sheep are valuable property Well in the ancient world where farming was the most common occupation A person's wealth could be measured by the size of his flock And very often the bible does use the size as a flock as a measure of wealth or, you know, a description of wealth These are valuable assets that need protecting. Okay Now in the modern world sheep may be considered less valuable proportionately to other types of property But nevertheless A farmer must still protect these assets anyway because the profit margins for farming are actually very small Or very fragile and on some years farmers can actually lose money. Okay, so Consider the fact that a farmer spends hundreds of pounds or dollars if you will On the purchase of sheep and then obviously if you're buying a whole flock of sheep Well that your costs amount to thousands of pounds or tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands of pounds or dollars You know It's just so expensive to buy a flock of sheep and arrange all the fencing and buy this and buy that and set up this and set up that You know, get your sheep dog get your hired servants and so on now in the uk in my country Sheep's wool Their wool and coats if you shave a whole sheep that that amount of wool that you'll get is now worth Less than one pound or even in the united states it would amount to less than a dollar. Okay Now it might amount to maybe Roughly a canadian dollar or an australian dollar, but perhaps even less than that. Okay Their their wool and coats are almost worthless They're worth so little money and yet the shepherd has spent so much money on his flock now A farmer will already lose some of his sheep to injury and disease and various other reasons So even if sheep are worth much less today They're still very valuable to protect if you're if you have any hope of turning a profit If you're going to farm sheep and you're going to incur all of this cost You have a profit that you need to turn and so even you're keeping your sheep They're still valuable assets that you want to protect You're not just going to let a sheep wonder off and just well I hope that some of them will make it to the end No, you need to keep as many of those sheep protected and you know valuable as you can. Okay So it's not in a shepherd's interest To just let sheep wander off and go their own way and let them have their own free will Sheep are far too valuable. Okay, and their property they belong to the shepherd Shepherds need to protect their assets and protect their profit margins, you know in actual application So you can quickly see then how conditional security and their free will argument falls apart very quickly Because they say well, you have free will you can just wonder off Well, then why isn't the shepherd going out and protecting his sheep? Because in a parable about sheep and shepherding, that's what you would go out and do You don't just let sheep wander off. It doesn't happen. Okay So what does all of this information teach us then? Well It's the shepherd's responsibility To keep the flock together and to protect his sheep and since they are his property He is obliged to hold on to them. Okay If Jesus is the good shepherd, then he must succeed in fulfilling his responsibility And so we can then see why John chapter 10 doesn't address the prospect of a sheep wandering away and losing its salvation Because that would violate the principle of Jesus being a good shepherd. Okay So the prospect of a believer wandering from the faith is just simply incompatible with this passage John 10 does not even address this issue directly. Okay. We just we have no example of this in John chapter 10