Tales of Madness by Luigi Pirandello Page B

dogs' master, who was drinking coffee in his little ivy-covered arbor in the garden at one end of the villa, called them off with a whistle.
    "Ah, Spatolino! Good!" said Ciancarella. "Sit there." And he pointed to one of the iron stools arranged in a circle inside the little arbor.
    But Spatolino remained standing, his little hat caked with sand and plaster in his hands.
    "You're an unworthy son, right?"
    "Yes, sir, and I'm proud of it. An unworthy son of Our Lady of Sorrows. What can I do for you?"
    "Well," said Ciancarella, but instead of continuing, he brought the cup to his lips and took three sips of coffee. "A shrine..." (And then another sip.)
    "What did you say?"
    "I would like you to build me a shrine." (Still another sip.)
    "A shrine, your Lordship?"
    "Yes, on the road, in front of the gate." (Another sip, the last. He set the cup down, and without wiping his lips, rose to his feet. A drop of coffee ran down the corner of his mouth, through the bristly hair of his chin left unshaven for the past several days.) "As I was saying, I'd like a shrine, but not too small, because there's got to be room in it for a life-sized statue of Christ at the Pillar. On the side walls I want to hang two beautiful paintings, large ones — on one side a Calvary, on the other a Descent from the Cross. In brief, I'd like it to look like a comfortable little room, on a plinth three feet high, with a small iron gate in front, and, of course, a cross on top. Do you understand?"
    Spatolino nodded several times with his eyes shut. Then, opening his eyes, he sighed and said:
    "But your Lordship is joking, right?"
    "Joking? Why do you say that?"
    "I think your Lordship wants to joke. Forgive me, but how can I believe that your Lordship is ordering a shrine dedicated to the Ecce Homo?"
    Ciancarella made an effort to raise his large, unshaven head a little. He held it with his hand and laughed in that particular and quite peculiar way of his that sounded as if he were whimpering, a result of the malady affecting the back of his neck.
    "What! Am I perhaps not worthy of it, in your opinion?"
    "No, no, sir, it's not that. Pardon me!" Spatolino hastened to answer, angered and becoming ever more inflamed. "Why should your Lordship commit a sacrilege like that, without any justification? Let me dissuade you, and forgive me for speaking frankly. Whom do you think you're fooling, your Lordship? Certainly not God. You can't fool God. God sees everything and won't allow your Lordship to fool him. People? But they can see too, and they know that your Lordship..."
    "What do they know, imbecile?" the old man shouted, interrupting him. "And what do you know about God, you wretch? Only what the priests told you! But God... Go on! Go on! Is it possible that I have to sit here and argue with you, now... Have you had breakfast?"
    "No, sir."
    "Bad habit, my dear man! Am I supposed to offer you some now, huh?"
    "No, sir. I don't want anything."
    "Ah!" exclaimed Ciancarella with a yawn. "Ah! It's the priests, young man, the priests who have confounded your brain. They go about preaching that I don't believe in God, right? But do you know why? Because I don't give them anything to eat. So then, keep quiet; they'll get enough when they come to consecrate our shrine. I want it to be a splendid celebration, Spatolino. Why are you looking at me like that? Don't you believe me? Or do you want to know how the idea came to me? In a dream, my boy. I had a dream the other night. Of course, now the priests will say that God has touched my heart. Let them say what they wish, I couldn't care less! Now then, are we agreed, huh? Speak up... Snap out of it... Have you lost your wits?"
    "Yes, sir," confessed Spatolino, extending his arms.
    This time Ciancarella held his head with both hands so as to have a good long laugh.
    "Fine," he then said. "You know how I do business. I don't want any sort of trouble. I know you're a fine worker and you do things properly and honestly. Handle