Sicilia!

There is no cheese like ours.

You are not Sicilian, are you?

Why not?

A Sicilian

never eats in the morning. You are American,

aren't you?

Yes. I am American.

For fifteen years.

I have cousins in America.

An uncle and cousins.

And in what place? In New York or in Argentina?

I don't know. In America.

From what place are you?

I? I was born in Syracuse.

No. From what place are you in America?

From... from New York.

How goes it in New York? Is it going well?

One doesn't get rich there.

What does that matter? It can go well without getting rich.

Better, in fact.

Who knows! There's also

unemployment there.

And what does unemployment matter?

It is not always the unemployment

that does the damage.

That's not it. I am not unemployed. None of us is.

We work. In the gardens.

Did you return for unemployment?

No. I returned for a few days.

Right. And you eat in the morning.

Does everyone

in America

eat in the morning?

I think so.

And at midday does everyone eat?

In one way or another...

And in the evening?

Well or badly.

Bread? Bread and cheese? Bread and vegetables? Bread and meat?

Yes, bread and other things.

They are eaten in salad.

In America?

No, here by us.

Here by us? In salad with oil?

Yes, with oil. And a little garlic, and salt.

And with bread?

Surely, with bread.

I always ate that as a boy.

Ah, you ate that?

It went well for you then, too?

So-so.

You never ate oranges in salad, did you?

Yes, sometimes. But there is not always oil.

It is not always a good year.

The oil can cost a lot.

And there is not always bread.

If one doesn't sell the oranges there is no bread.

But why?

Is it so difficult to sell the oranges?

They won't sell. No one wants them.

Abroad they don't want them.

And the boss pays us this way, he gives us the oranges.

And we don't know what to do. No one wants them.

We come to Messina on foot and no one wants them.

We go to see if they want them in Reggio, in Villa San Giovanni,

and they don't want them. No one wants them.

We go back and forth, we pay the way,

we don't eat bread,

no one wants them.

As if they were poison. Accursed oranges.

But what did this fellow want?

He seemed to protest.

He had it with someone.

I would say he had it with everyone.

I would say so, too. He was a starveling.

If I had been down there I would have arrested him.

You would only have done your duty.

Naturally.

Such fellows are always to be arrested.

Definitely. You never know.

Every starveling is a dangerous man.

Capable of anything.

Of robbery.

That goes without saying.

Of stabbing.

No doubt.

And also of political crimes.

Whatever class... Whatever status...

Be they ignorant... Be they educated...

No difference.

Shopkeepers...

Lawyers...

My grocer in Lodi...

And in Bologna, a lawyer...

You see, they have no respect.

They have no consideration.

But it is because we are Sicilians.

That's it, because we are Sicilians.

But in this country, in Sicily, it's even worse.

In Mussumeli, I...

In Sciacca, my mother

does not say what I am, she is ashamed to say it,

and she says I am an employee at the Land Registry.

An employee at the Land Registry!

It is a question of preconceptions.

I know. Old prejudices.

I don't know why I return there.

And do I know, perhaps?

What do we get out of it?

Rotted bowels.

Poisoned blood.

You didn't smell the stink?

The stink? What stink?

What? You didn't smell it?

I don't know.

I don't understand what stink you are talking about.

Unbelievable! He doesn't know what stink I am talking about.

I really don't understand. I don't smell any stink.

The gentleman is talking about the stink that came from the corridor.

Stink was coming from the corridor?

That's unbelievable! He didn't smell it!

The gentleman is talking about the stink of those two.

Those two?

Those two at the window? They stank?

Ah, the stink, the stink!

It's strange. There's no place in the world

where they are in worse regard

than in Sicily.

And yet they are almost all Sicilians, in Italy,

who have this trade.

All Sicilians?

Really!

For fifteen years I've toured through Italy. I have lived

in Florence, I have lived in Bologna, in Turin,

and I live in Milan,

and wherever I have found a Sicilian,

he had this trade.

That's what my cousin says, too,

who travels.

Bah, besides, it's understandable.

We are a sad people.

Very sad. Gloomy even.

Always ready,

all of us, to see things darkly, always hoping for something else, better,

and always despairing of having it. Always discouraged.

Always beaten down. And always

with the temptation in us of taking one's life.

It could be that it is true.

But how does that enter into taking up such a trade?

I don't know how to explain it, but I believe it enters into it.

What does one do when he abandons himself?

When he throws himself away as lost?

He does what he hates doing most.

I am from Leonforte,

up in the Val Demone between Enna and Nicosia,

I am a landowner with three beautiful daughters,

one more beautiful than the other,

and I have a horse

on which I ride across my lands and then I believe I am a king.

But it doesn't seem to me to be everything,

believing I am a king when I mount my horse,

and I would like to acquire some other knowledge

and feel myself to be different with something new in my soul,

I would give all that I possess

and the horse, too, the lands,

to feel myself to be more at peace with men,

as one who has nothing to cause self-reproach.

Not that I had any particular cause for self-reproach.

Not at all. And I'm also not talking in the sense of the sacristy.

But it seems to me that I am not at peace with men.

I would like to have a fresh conscience

and that would require me to fulfill other duties,

not the usual, other, new duties and higher,

regarding other men, because in fulfilling the usual duties

there is no satisfaction and one remains, as if one had done nothing,

discontented with oneself, disappointed.

I believe man is ripe for other things. Not only

not to steal, not to kill, etc. And to be a good citizen.

I believe he is ripe

for other things, for other duties, new ones.

That is what one feels, I believe,

the lack of other duties, other things to fulfill. Things to do

for our conscience in a new sense.

I believe you are right. Are you a professor?

Nothing to laugh at, little Grandpa. Nothing to laugh at.

Ah I believe that is just it. We feel no satisfaction any more

in the fulfillment of our duty, of our duties. To us the fulfillment is

indifferent.

We feel bad all the same.

And I believe, it is just because of this,

because these are duties that are too old,

too old and become too easy,

without significance any more for the conscience.

But really you are not a professor?

Have I the air of a professor?

I am not ignorant,

I can read a book, if I want to,

but I am not a professor. I was with the Salesians as a child,

but I am not a professor.

You will permit me, won't you?