A few moments passed without any sign of life from the other rooms. Massigher plucked up his courage: “Signora,” he said, “I did tell you that . . .”
“Good God! You again, Massigher!” snapped Maria Gron without letting him finish the sentence. “All because of a bit of water on the floor! Ettore will wipe it up in a minute. These wretched windows let in water all the time, we must have the fastening seen to!”
But Ettore did not appear, nor did any other of the numerous staff of servants. There was a sudden feeling of oppression and hostility abroad in the night. Meanwhile the mysterious splashes had developed into an almost continuous roar, as if barrels were being rolled around in the foundations, so that even the sound of the pouring rain outside was barely audible.
“Signora!” shouted Massigher suddenly, jumping to his feet determinedly. “Signora, where has Giorgina gone? Let me go and call her!”
“What now, Massigher?” Maria Gron’s face still expressed coldly polite amazement. “You are all terribly nervous this evening. What do you want Giorgina for? You don’t actually wish to wake her up, I trust?”
“Wake her up!” the young man retorted, almost mocking. “Wake her up! There you go again!”
From the passage hidden behind the curtain, as from an icy cave, there came a sudden violent gust of wind. The curtain billowed like a sail and twisted around itself to allow the lights of the room to shine beyond it and reflect in the pool of water on the floor.
“Fedri, run and close it quickly,” cursed his father. “Good Lord, call the servants!”
But the boy seemed almost amused by this unusual turn of events. He ran across the dark hall, shouting: “Ettore! Ettore! Berto! Sofia!” but his shouts were lost unanswered in the empty corridors.
“Papa!” he called suddenly. “There’s no light out here. I can’t see a thing. . . . Oh, God, what’s happened?”
Back in the room all had risen to their feet, alarmed by his sudden call. Suddenly, inexplicably, water seemed to be pouring through the whole house. The wind blew fiercely through it as though there were holes in the walls, shaking the lamps, scattering cards and papers, upsetting flowers.
Fedri reappeared, looking as white as a sheet and trembling slightly. “Good God,” he kept saying mechanically. “Good God, how awful.”
Did he still need to explain that the river had burst its banks and was right here, below the house and was pouring past, implacable and uncaring? That the walls on that side of the house were about to collapse? That the servants had all vanished into the night and that soon no doubt there would be no light at all? His white face, his panicked shouts (he who was usually so elegant and self-confident), the frightful roar welling up from the bottomless abyss beneath them—was not all this sufficient explanation?
“We must leave immediately, my car’s out there, it would be mad not to . . .” Martora was saying, he being the only one who had retained any semblance of calm. At this point Giorgina reappeared wrapped in a thick coat, accompanied by Massigher; she was sobbing a little, though quite decorously, almost without making a sound. Her father began searching around in the drawer containing his important papers.
“Oh, no, no!” Signora Maria burst out in sudden despair. “I don’t want to go! My flowers, all my beautiful things, I don’t want to go, I don’t!” Her mouth trembled, her face contracted as though it were about to fall apart, she was on the verge of consent. Then, with a marvelous effort she smiled. Her mask of worldliness was intact, her highly sophisticated charms unimpaired.
“I’ll always remember it,” said Massigher, suddenly cruel, hating her with all his heart. “I’ll always remember your villa. It was so lovely on moonlit nights.”
“Get a coat quickly, signora,” said Martora firmly, turning to her. “You get something warm too, Stefano. Let’s go before the lights fail.”
Signor Gron was quite genuinely unafraid. He seemed devoid of all emotion and was clutching the leather wallet containing the papers. Fedri was pacing around the room, paddling in the water, he had completely let himself go. “It’s all over, then, all over,” he kept saying. The electric light became weaker.
Then there came a long, resounding thud, more awful and much nearer than anything that had preceded it, a sound of catastrophe. Fear held the family in its icy grip.
“Oh, no, no!” the mother shrieked again suddenly. “I won’t, I won’t!” Very pale, her face fiercely set, she began to walk anxiously toward the billowing curtain. But she was shaking her head, as though to say that she didn’t allow it, that she was coming in person and that the water could not dare to come any closer.
They saw her pushing aside the flapping edges of the curtain with an angry movement and disappear into the darkness, as though she were going to disperse an irritating band of beggars the servants had been unable to drive away. Did she hope that her aristocratic disdain could keep tragedy at bay, could intimidate the yawning abyss?
She disappeared behind the curtain and, although the frightful rumbling sound seemed to swell, there was a feeling of silence.
At last Massigher said, “There’s someone knocking at the door.”
“Now, really,” said Martora, “who do you imagine that could be?”
“No one,” replied Massigher. “Naturally, no one, at this stage. Yet there definitely is someone knocking. Probably a messenger, a spirit, a warning soul. This is a noble house. I think the powers that be sometimes take this into account.”
Something Beginning with “L”
CRISTOFORO SCHRODER, TIMBER MERCHANT,
