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don matteo’s mission
77
spoke through him. And she dropped on her knees
and bowed her head. " I will do what you
command," she said.
But when the rector, Don Matteo, came out of the
little Moor’s house, and walked up the alley, he
suddenly took out his breviary and commenced to read.
And although the wet clothes flapped against his
cheeks, and orange peel and small children lay in
ambush for him, he looked only in his book. He needed
to hear God’s great words.
Because inside the black house he had felt so
confident, so sure ; but when he came out into the
sunshine, the promise he had given in the name of the
Madonna began to trouble him.
Don Matteo prayed and read and read and prayed.
May the great God protect the woman who had
believed in him and obeyed him as though he had been
a prophet!
Don Matteo turned the corner by the Corso. He
knocked against mules with traveling signorinas on
their backs, he went right against peasants coming
home from work, and he pushed the old spinstresses
and tangled their flax. Finally he reached a small,
dark shop. It had no windows and occupied a
corner of the old palace. The threshold was about
a foot high, the floor was of mud, the door had
always to be left open to admit the light. The counter
was besieged by wagoners and ass-drivers.
And inside the counter stood Don Ferrante. His
beard was matted, his face was one wrinkle, his voice
hissing in anger. The wagoners asked an exorbitant
price for the loads they had driven up from Catania.
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