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Concetta hugged him, almost knocking the breath out of him.

“What’s happened?” Ture asked, puzzled.

“My son,” his mother answered, “they say a postcard has arrived for you in the village.”

“Postcard? What postcard?”

His mother, drawing all the strength she could from her heart, said: “The war, Ture. They called you to go to war!”

V

Ture skipped dinner, dismissed his family with a brief wave of his hand, and had Concetta bring him a basin of cool water to wash his face.

He was about to stand again when he saw that, in the meantime, he had been surrounded by Santo, Betta, Nino, and Calogero, his younger siblings, who tried to comfort him with their candid innocence.

Ture dried his face, moved the basin of water aside, and held Calogero, who was not yet three years old, in his arms. He kissed him on the neck as he always did and then knelt and hugged the other three, trying to hide the tears that welled up in his heart.

Concetta and Sina, his other two sisters who were already girls, made up the bed for him, so their brother, leaving the little ones, spread his arms and held them close to him. Then he got ready for bed.

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