Tommaso could not see it, but he heard the noise made by the damp dirt clumps as they fell on his mother's coffin. She gently pulled him back, turned him away from the grave, as the men shoveled dirt into the hole.
One of the women slowly stepped forward, pulled her handkerchief, took the boy by his hand, wiped the water out of his face - but more followed. And then, there was no way to keep playing the stoic man. He had plucked it before the funeral, and carried it close to his heart. He stepped to the very border of the grave, and let a single red flower sink over the wooden box. A tear rolled over his cheek, while he struggled to keep his eyes on his mother's last dwelling. Not many people had come The priest, who was here on duty, the coffin carriers, who would have much preferred to stay at home around the cozy fire, a few neighbors, mostly women, and a boy, Maria's only son.Īs the coffin was lowered into the grave, and the priest said a prayer requesting the Lord to take this good soul into His eternal reigns, the boy lost the last control he had so fiercely exerted over his emotions. A light rain was sprinkling over the people assembled at the cemetery behind the church, presenting their last respects to the widow Maria Pinetti. It was a cold, gray spring afternoon in the town of Ortona.
