"good-bye, libereso."

"wait a minute."

"but i must go and finish washing the dishes. tile signora doesnt like me coming out in the garden."

"wait. i want to give you something. something really nice. come along."

she began following him along the gravel paths, what a strange boy this libereso was, with that long hair, and picking up toads in his hands. 

"how old are you, libereso ?"

"fifteen. and you ?"

"fourteen."

"now, or on your next birthday ?"

"on my next birthday. assumption day."

"has that passed yet ?"

"what, dont you know when assumption day is ?" she began laughing.

"no."

"assumption day, when theres the procession. dont you go to the procession ?"

"me? no."

"back home there are lovely processions. its not like here, back home. there are big fields full of bergamots, nothing but bergamots, and everyone picks bergamots from morning till night. ive fourteen brothers and sisters and they all pick bergamots; five died when they were babies, and then my mother got tetanus, and we were in a train for a week to go to uncle

carmelos, and eight of us all slept in a garage there. tell me, whyve you got such long hair ?"

they had stopped.

"because it grows like that. youve got long hair too."

"im a girl. if you wear long hair, youre like a girl."

"im not like a girl. you dont tell a boy from a girl by the hair."

"not by the hair ?"

"no, not by the hair."

"why not by the hair ?"

"would you like me to give you something nice ?"

"oh, yes."

libereso began moving among the arum lilies, budding white trumpets silhouetted against the sky. libereso looked into each, groped around with two fingers, and then hid something in his fist. maria-nunziata had not gone into the flower-bed, and was watching him, with silent laughter. what was he up to now?

libereso had now looked into all the lilies. he came up to her holding one hand over the other.