and smoking cigarettes or small cigars as they talked business or exchanged bawdy jokes, or casually admitted things to one another that women would confess most reluctantly to a priest.
This procession around the square was called the passeggiata . And although it took place in the village’s most public place, it was nonetheless a private affair. Except now, as Rosso was becoming aware, a certain number of younger women were flouting the once accepted exclusion of females and, without invitation or explanation, were joining in the path of the passeggiata .
Like the men, these women walked arm in arm and spoke animatedly among themselves. While they kept their distance from male couples who walked in front or behind, and avoided making eye contact, they were in no way deferential, nor did they seem to be intimidated by the other menwho sat almost leering in the cafés, saying nothing but sometimes making sibilant sounds as they forcefully exhaled the cigarette smoke through their teeth.
This new development in the square did not, of course, escape the insatiable curiosity of Maida’s more traditional women—including those elderly, dark-clad ladies who missed nothing even while they sat outside their houses facing the wall, adhering to the discreet style of the ancient Greek and Arab women who once basked in this same sunlight. Nor did it go unnoticed by the village’s nubile young virgins who, wearing white linen blouses and festive skirts, stood on the balconies overlooking the passeggiata as they arranged flowers and furtively exchanged quick glances with the unmarried men of their age who gathered around the fountain on Sundays, singing songs and playing guitars.
The walking women were other men’s women; they were the wives of the ambitious young men who had left the village to make money in America. They were therefore women who were worthy of respect, and in church on Sundays they were often seen lighting candles at the altar and, presumably, praying for the safe and speedy return of their spouses, who were sometimes known to remain away from the village for two years or even longer. Yet very few of these women who were long deprived of their husbands appeared to be suffering from grief or depression. While they may occasionally have felt in private some kinship to widowhood, in public they radiated gaiety and confidence, and they often dressed in the same light colors of the hopeful village maidens. Which was why they were called “white widows.”
There was, to be sure, a certain amount of gossip about them, and all that it took to activate the village’s most tireless tale-bearing tongues was for one of the white widows to be observed in church not receiving the holy sacrament with the regularity of the other female communicants. Envy, of course, circulated as freely as the ever-present flies through the pews and high-vaulted naves, and even the most secure of traditional women felt at times threatened by these relatively free, semi-married signore who, thanks to the profitable efforts of their husbands overseas, had more money to spend on themselves and their children than did the wives of the local men who had chosen to remain on the farms or to struggle as vendors or artisans.
Still, the money sent to the white widows from America bolstered the local economy. The widows spent it at the food market, invested it in farm improvements, and shared it with their parents or in-laws or other relatives in whose homes they often dwelled, providing the primarymeans of support. Such a position of economic power had never before been held by women of ordinary families, and with this new power the white widows personified an evolving matriarchy, a sorority of sorts composed of strong-willed individuals who would assume in their husbands’ absence full responsibility for the rearing of children and the managing of matters of proprietary interest. They also decided how they would spend the idle hours of the day and
This procession around the square was called the passeggiata . And although it took place in the village’s most public place, it was nonetheless a private affair. Except now, as Rosso was becoming aware, a certain number of younger women were flouting the once accepted exclusion of females and, without invitation or explanation, were joining in the path of the passeggiata .
Like the men, these women walked arm in arm and spoke animatedly among themselves. While they kept their distance from male couples who walked in front or behind, and avoided making eye contact, they were in no way deferential, nor did they seem to be intimidated by the other menwho sat almost leering in the cafés, saying nothing but sometimes making sibilant sounds as they forcefully exhaled the cigarette smoke through their teeth.
This new development in the square did not, of course, escape the insatiable curiosity of Maida’s more traditional women—including those elderly, dark-clad ladies who missed nothing even while they sat outside their houses facing the wall, adhering to the discreet style of the ancient Greek and Arab women who once basked in this same sunlight. Nor did it go unnoticed by the village’s nubile young virgins who, wearing white linen blouses and festive skirts, stood on the balconies overlooking the passeggiata as they arranged flowers and furtively exchanged quick glances with the unmarried men of their age who gathered around the fountain on Sundays, singing songs and playing guitars.
The walking women were other men’s women; they were the wives of the ambitious young men who had left the village to make money in America. They were therefore women who were worthy of respect, and in church on Sundays they were often seen lighting candles at the altar and, presumably, praying for the safe and speedy return of their spouses, who were sometimes known to remain away from the village for two years or even longer. Yet very few of these women who were long deprived of their husbands appeared to be suffering from grief or depression. While they may occasionally have felt in private some kinship to widowhood, in public they radiated gaiety and confidence, and they often dressed in the same light colors of the hopeful village maidens. Which was why they were called “white widows.”
There was, to be sure, a certain amount of gossip about them, and all that it took to activate the village’s most tireless tale-bearing tongues was for one of the white widows to be observed in church not receiving the holy sacrament with the regularity of the other female communicants. Envy, of course, circulated as freely as the ever-present flies through the pews and high-vaulted naves, and even the most secure of traditional women felt at times threatened by these relatively free, semi-married signore who, thanks to the profitable efforts of their husbands overseas, had more money to spend on themselves and their children than did the wives of the local men who had chosen to remain on the farms or to struggle as vendors or artisans.
Still, the money sent to the white widows from America bolstered the local economy. The widows spent it at the food market, invested it in farm improvements, and shared it with their parents or in-laws or other relatives in whose homes they often dwelled, providing the primarymeans of support. Such a position of economic power had never before been held by women of ordinary families, and with this new power the white widows personified an evolving matriarchy, a sorority of sorts composed of strong-willed individuals who would assume in their husbands’ absence full responsibility for the rearing of children and the managing of matters of proprietary interest. They also decided how they would spend the idle hours of the day and
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