Evelina and the Fairies

Abstract

Evelina and the Fairies Simona Baldelli (bio) Translated by Oonagh Stransky (bio) and Enrica Maria Ferrara (bio) Keywords Simona, Baldelli, Oonagh, Stransky, Enrica Maria, Ferrara, Italian writers, Candelara, magical realism, fairies Evelina looked for peace and quiet. To find it, she woke up before everybody else: before her father who had to get to the fields at an early hour, before her mother and grandmother who had chores to do, before her older siblings who went to school, and before the younger ones who slept late. Sometimes she even woke up before the rooster; she’d sit by the window in her room and look out at Candelara. On that particular morning all she could see through the whiteness were the bare branches of the walnut tree. There had been snow on the ground for some time, but so much had fallen the night before that she doubted whether there was any left in heaven to send their way. Evelina observed a new candlestick of ice hanging from the eaves. She watched a robin hop about, searching for something to peck. She pressed her face to the glass and looked off to the left, beyond the elm trees that lined the path leading to her house. The tip of the clock tower and the dark cross on the spire of Saint Stephen’s looked like two lost souls on a mountain of white wool. The snow had fallen heavily over all the houses, chicken coops, and much of the church and sacristy that were built of the same fair-colored stones as the wall that started a bit farther on and that ringed the village like a necklace. The farm where Evelina lived with her family lay just beyond that circle. At times, she felt sad that her home, the Badioli’s house, and a few other neighboring farms were not included in that stony embrace, but other times she was happy to be up high, at eye level with the clock tower: it always told the time, and it was the most beautiful thing in Candelara, together with the castle farther down in the village. That morning, though, all the houses in the village had disappeared in the whiteness. But then, about halfway down the road, she saw the snow moving. Evelina rubbed her eyes to get rid of the flecks of sleep that had formed during the night, but it didn’t help. The whiteness rose and fell. [End Page 345] She went to the basin, broke the layer of ice that covered the water, and plunged her face into it. The freezing cold ran through her body, taking her breath away. She straightened up, her ears ringing, certain of having heard a voice outside calling Evelina, Evelina. She opened the window quietly so as not to wake her sisters and stuck her head out. Beyond the Badioli’s farm the sky was turning pink and the whole countryside had turned the color of cotton candy. Now airy clouds puffed up from that place in the snow, like flour when you knead bread dough. There must be something underneath it, a fox maybe, scurrying from one chicken coop to another looking for hens. Suddenly a heap of rags came to the surface, looked this way and that, and then disappeared again. Evelina was certain she was mistaken: that heap must have been a hare or wild rabbit looking for its warren. Suddenly, a tire appeared. Other bits and pieces followed. This went on for a bit. A hand, a shoe, even the handlebar of a bicycle. When the scuffling snow came up to the gate that led down the path to her house, she saw that the heap was wearing a hat and was actually a person’s head wrapped in rags. She got the hiccups, little bursts in her stomach that turned into spasms in her chest and then gurgles in her throat. She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep them down, but they were so forceful it felt like they wanted to shoot out her back. Meanwhile, as the puffing snow grew closer, with it came the sound of voices, moaning and crying...