They lived on the outskirts of one of the most lively and charming villages in the Logudoro Mountains, their modest black house overlooking slopes covered with wide swathes of broom and mastic.

From the doorway, Saveria could view the distant sea, the horizon blending with the platinum sky in summer and the mists in winter. As she was sewing by the window, she would catch sight of the wide expanse of valleys stretching from the foot of her mountains. She could smell the warm scent of golden crops swaying in the sun and hear the stream rushing as it flowed among the rocks and mountain brambles. For two years, Saveria lived the happiest life imaginable in that little, black house, shaded by an old pergola. Its roof, covered in yellow and red moss, was surrounded by a celebration of blue skies and an immense, silent horizon. She lived with her young husband, who had large, passionate eyes and lips as red as the heath berries
in the fields through which he led his herds, his only source of income. His name was Antonio.

Ever since marrying the girl of his shepherd dreams, he too had lived very happily. After two years of complete happiness in the bright sky of his existence, however, a tiny cloud appeared. Saveria had not made him a father, nor did it look like she ever would! It was so sad! He had dreamed so much about having a little scamp, with dark hair like his own, who would follow him up and down, through woods and valleys, helping him with the hard work of shepherding. He hoped for a boy who, once he had grown up big and strong, would be his family’s hope and joy. By marrying his son would in turn pass on their name and the lineage of herding to another son, and so on for centuries! Antonio’s ancestors had all been shepherds, and he dreamed of continuing the glory—but how could he if he had no heir?

They tried everything: promises, novenas, pilgrimages. Antonio walked barefoot and bareheaded to the famous sanctuary of Madonna dei Miracoli in Bitti. He arranged for a procession and solemn Mass, promising to give the Madonna as many pounds of sculpted wax as his future son would weigh, but it was all for naught. Saveria remained slim and elegant in her dress with the yellow corset and embroidered shirt. Nor did the house come alive with the longed-for child’s cries or the mother’s lullabies singing over a rocking cradle.

It was terribly sad! Saveria had already given up hope when a friend of hers came to visit one day and, after first greeting her as locals do, said to her, as though it were a big secret, “You know what, Comare Sabé? Peppe Longu told me that you don’t have children because …”

“Because … why?” asked Saveria eagerly, her eyes wide.

“Because …” the other continued, lowering her voice. “God forbid, but you know, Peppe is a first-rate wizard, at least that’s what everyone says … and he’s the one who told me that his magic is the reason you don’t have children.”

“Oh, God help us!” Saveria burst out laughing and made the sign of the cross. Like all the women in the village, she was superstitious and believed in magic. Indeed, she had once even seen with her own eyes of a white ghost wandering the mountains. But to think that Peppe Longu, magical as he might be, would go that far—that was too much!

But the other woman, offended by Saveria’s skepticism, insisted. She talked so much she ended up convincing her. After an hour chatting by the fireplace, where Saveria had put coffee on to boil, she fully believed in Peppe’s magic, and asked her friend thoughtfully, “Do you think… Could this devil’s work be undone?”

“He told me that it can’t! It appears he bears a grudge against your husband!”

That evening, Antonio appeared at the end of the rocky road, riding his black pony and carrying a sack bursting with fresh cheese and ricotta. As he unloaded the sack under the pergola, Saveria told him everything. He did not laugh at all, but instead shook his head and frowned. After everything—the horse and the sack—were put away, Antonio sat cross-legged by the fireplace, and had Saveria tell him the astonishing news again.

“But what the devil is wrong with Peppe? What does he have against us?” Saveria ended with her earnest question.

“Nothing!” Antonio answered. “Unless… it’s because I always laugh at his magic!”

“That’s awful! Didn’t you see how he got rid of the locusts ruining Don Giovanni’s vineyard? And Jolgi Luppeddu’s, too?”

“True… true.… But I’ll talk to him tomorrow and we’ll see!”

“If he could only undo the magic!” exclaimed Saveria.

And that night the couple dreamed again about a handsome dark-haired little boy.

The next day, however, despite Antonio’s many entreaties and even threats, the village wizard absolutely refused to undo the spell.

This wizard was quite a mysterious character. He lived much like everyone else in the world, but never held a job. Admittedly, in addition to the spells he boasted about publicly and for which he accepted no payment, like killing locusts and healing sick sheep with a few mysterious words, he also received many nighttime visits… but no one paid much attention. Generally, it was believed that the spirits he commanded provided him with the abundant money and goods he had in his hovel. But perhaps Antonio thought otherwise, because after all his pleas and even threats failed, he went to Peppe one night and promised him a shiny gold coin if he would at long last undo the destructive magic.

At first, Peppe played deaf, even pretending to be offended, like an artist receiving a business proposal that would compromise his ideals. But then, after observing the coin’s true worth (no one knows where the shepherd got it!), he eventually yielded and decisively announced, “Very well, yes! I’ll do it, but only out of friendship and pity for Saveria. You don’t deserve it, you know. You’ve always made fun of my magic!”
Antonio protested.

Then Peppe told him to be at a deserted location in the mountains the following night, with an unloaded rifle, a white tablecloth, and two candles. Antonio left the coin with the wizard and promised all would be done. But when he was out on the dark road, he turned toward the wizard’s dilapidated house, shook his fist, and smirked, “We’ll see!”

The next night, Antonio was first to arrive at the meeting place. It was a frightening and rocky spot made otherworldly by the glow of the moon at sunset. There wasn’t the slightest breeze that peaceful night—among the mysterious silence of the moonlit rocks, and the flowering brambles, black vines, and moss filling the air with perfume.

The shepherd placed the rifle, which was unloaded, according to Peppe’s instructions, the tablecloth and the candles all on a boulder, and then waited. Peppe arrived soon after. His first words were, “It’s the perfect time! Midnight.” He spread the tablecloth over a massive, bare rock, set apart from the others, stuck the candles in the ground, and made the shepherd lie face down for a moment.

When Antonio got up, he saw the candles were lit and the rifle placed on the tablecloth.

“Let us begin!” Peppe cried.

Then he began to perform a thousand pantomimes that Antonio sullenly watched, a scornful smile on his lips. Now more than ever, he felt the urge to mock the wizard. But how terrified he was when Peppe turned to the tablecloth-covered stone and asked it a question in a strange language, probably meant to pass for Latin, and then in a faint and mournful voice that seemed to come from underground, the stone answered in the very same language!

Just then, the candles went out without any wind blowing or Peppe bending over them. He turned to the shepherd, who was trembling from head to toe, and said, “The stone has declared the rifle will tell us whether the magic is undone or not!”

“How?” asked Antonio, brought back to his senses by the wizard’s voice.

“Was your rifle unloaded?”

“Yes, by God!” declared the shepherd.

“Well, take it and shoot into the air. If it fires, it means the spell is broken!”

Prepared to witness all the world’s wonders except this last one, Antonio went over to the talking stone, grabbed the rifle, and fired. Peppe fell to the ground without a single groan, his heart pierced by a bullet.

Rather than shooting into the air, Antonio had aimed straight at him.

After his crime, which was involuntary because, despite everything, the shepherd thought the rifle would not fire, Antonio thought about running away, but then he considered that no one knew about this whole business, and.… He folded the tablecloth, took the candles and the rifle, and returned to the village, walking on the rocks so as not to leave a trace. He spent the rest of the night quietly with his beloved Saveria.

Always incredulous about magic, the mighty shepherd with passionate eyes never knew how the stone had spoken, how the candles had blown out, and how the rifle had fired. Nine months later, however, he felt the joy of holding a lovely little boy in his strong arms and being a father. Then he bitterly regretted not having fired into the air. Although he was unable to bring the wizard back to life, he contented himself with having a Requiem Mass said for him in the old mountain church.

Born 1871 in Nuoro, Italy, Grazia Deledda was a self-taught writer from a middle-class Sardinian family. She wrote over sixty novels, blending Sardinian traditions with themes of beauty, morality, and social change. In 1926, she became the first Italian woman to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.

Anne Schuchman is an award-winning writer and translator, published in both academic and literary journals, including The Southern Review, The Saranac Review, and The Journal of Italian Translation. She holds a PhD in Italian Studies from NYU and a MFA in Creative Nonfiction and Literary Translation from Fairleigh Dickinson University. (anneschuchman.weebly.com)