Foxes Hill

Foxes Hill Parte 4

Others flit quickly in pursuit of some insect under the watchful and attentive gaze of the rooster.

We are almost there of the house, when, at a certain point, I hear the rooster emitting a shrill and rather loud cry, which for the hens sounds like an alarm.

He is looking up now, I follow him and I see a hawk flying quite low skimming the treetops; it is big and pretty close: ready to seize a hen.

Grandmother does not give importance to the fact and continues indifferently entering the house.

To me, however, all this arouses interest, it is clear to me that the bird of prey has aimed at what could be its lunch; I stop and shout, waving my arms, and after a while, the hawk goes back up and walks away.

Calm has now returned among the hens, and are scratching again; the rooster remains alert for a while, then he too puts his head down and pecks something.

The pig, in the shade now, is lying down and seems to be sleeping; snores and moves only the short tail slightly.

Some flies buzz on his muzzle, still dirty with now dry bran, but it seems that they do not bother him.

The bucket of his mash is now completely empty, not far away, and overturned on one side.

Grandma is at home and I can hear her fumbling: surely, she is preparing something to eat; I take a walk in the elms grove; I like these trees, their shade is cool; their long branches sway, pushed by this light breeze that never stops blowing.

I go further and enter the cornfield, whose plants now seem much taller, and the cobs, with their blond tuft, larger than those I had seen previously.

I want to take one cob off, but my grandmother had already warned me not to because they are not yet ripe.

At the end I go back, and see a tablecloth lying on the ground, in the shade, with white checks and red stripes; grandmother has an aluminum pan in her hand, the kind used for baking, and tells me to go inside and get the bread and the flask of wine she has left on the table.

I sit on the grass, near the tablecloth, crossing my legs: grandmother is already sitting; I see that she is looking for something, I do not know what, but she doesn't say anything; all of a sudden he gets up and goes to the reeds nearby, where he takes off a dry reed, and from this he cuts a piece.

Having sat down again, she cuts them lengthwise in half with her knife and, on each of the two pieces obtained, cuts one end diagonally only on one side, obtaining, in effect, practical two-pointed forks.

There is no cutlery or glasses, just his little snap knife.

In the aluminum pan there is already prepared, and ready to eat, a very tasty salad based on boiled potatoes, red onions, tomatoes, olive oil, a pinch of salt, oregano and garlic; all, also wet with vinegar of the red wine, it gives off a very inviting perfume.

Grandmother sits next to me, chases away the dog, that according to her has come too close, and with her knife she cuts a slice of bread.

We start eating, and the two-pronged cane forks are very efficient: they do not drop of what was impaled.

We eat greedily, first a slice of potato then a slice of tomato, accompanying them, always, with a piece of bread soaked in oil and vinegar, and with pieces of onion attached.

Now and then grandmother looks at me: she wants to make sure that the salad is to my liking and that she is eating with gusto; I make her understand, nodding, that I like it; which is excellent.

We are halfway through the pan when grandmother takes the bottle of wine, takes away the cork stopper and, handing her to me, smiles at me and says "Drink!"