Inter- cool- tural stories Italy3

THE LAST CACANIZZOLO

Nicetta, a ten years old girl, usually brought some pigs near the river so that they could “strufolare”(rub their snout against the grass) looking for something to eat, in this way she helped her family, a farmers family of the thirties. She was doing this even during that hot August afternoon. She was not alone because Peppe, her cousin, was in the field looking after some sheep and uncle Gioanne was cutting down some trees in order to have some poles for the vines and some wood to burn during the winter.
It was a big herd of swine, there was the sow, all her “cioncarini”(the youngest pigs), the “salvatorelli”(pigs who are about one month old) and the “salvatori” (pigs who are about three months old), from more than a brood and finally there was the last one of the “cacanizzoli”, that is the last born, the smallest, not for age but for size, the one who was the smallest either because the “matrana”( the sow who feeds all the little pigs) didn’t have enough teats or because his brothers, who were born before him and who were more expert than him, left for him the teat with less milk. He could survive the first difficult days and now, even if very small, he was part of the herd of swine. They were ugly, nearly disgusting, of a strange breed with dark skin, but if you could peer into their eyes, they were flashing and gentle.
During that afternoon there was a storm on the mountain but there it didn’t rain at all , even if the sky became dark and the swallows flew down in sight of a possible storm that could drive all the insects out. The pigs were scratching about and “sgaucciavano”(were searching something moving the earth) along the large shingle of the river near the dike where the water was diverted towards the miller and it let the millstones turn. There the river made a waterfall of ten metres, impressive and beautiful to see, so beautiful that some people used to come from the town to see it, when there was a lot of water.
A pouring noise was getting closer and suddenly the flood appears in front of Nicetta.
Water took some time to fill the bed of the river because first it filled the holes made by farmers coming by carts to take some gravel at the river: the little girl could step back but the pigs, more placid than her, were carried away one after the other by the strong current, they arrived at the waterfall and flew disorderly in a spectacular way on the water, they fell down again in the whirling whirlpool and were carried away again. Peppe and Gioanne had immediately rushed but in vain.
Everybody ran along the banks to follow the animals’ destiny, Nicetta, with a frightened look, saw the “cacanizzolo” disappearing among the cloudy waters. At last the weave weakened and the feverish rescue operations started . Slowly the pigs got up to the bank of the river, pushed by some poles and attracted by the cries and by the noise of the rattling iron “caldarole” (buckets). All of them except one: the “cacanizzolo”.
They went as far as more than half a kilometre from the waterfall towards San Lorenzo, but there was no trace of the “cacanizzolo” and, as it was getting dark, they reluctantly interrupted their search and went back home drenched to the skin, tired and sad.
The pigsty had remained opened: who was there crouched in a corner, half-covered by some straw? The “cacanizzolo”!
Pigs can’t talk or, if they can, humans don’t understand them, so no one will ever know how he could save himself and how he could found his way home by himself.
Nicetta felt her hearth ached by the excitement and happiness.
In the evening, at dinner, all of them were very happy.
The pigsty was crowded by dreams of flying and of finned animals and probably someone even thought about shooting a short film.