Free Tales of Madness by Luigi Pirandello

is my house! I built it myself with my money and my hands! I sweated blood to complete it! Leave me alone, you heathens!"
    But those heathens wouldn't let him go until evening.
    "Go home!" the police commissioner commanded him. "Go home, and I warn you, be sensible!"
    "Yes, Mr. Pontius Pilate," answered Spatolino, bowing.
    And quite stealthily he returned to the shrine. Once inside, he again dressed up like Christ. He spent the entire night there, and never budged from that spot again.
    They tried to drive him out by starvation; they tried to drive him out by intimidation and ridicule, but all was in vain. Finally they left him in peace, as you would a poor harmless lunatic.
 
    VI
    There is someone now who brings him oil for his lamp and someone who brings him food and drink. Some old woman begins to quietly spread the word that he's a saint, and goes to beg him to pray for her and for her family; another brought him a new tunic made of finer material, and in exchange asked him for three numbers to play in the lottery.
    Cart drivers passing along the highway during the night have become accustomed to that little lamp burning in the shrine, and delight in seeing it from afar. They stop for a while in front of it to chat with the poor Christ, who benevolently smiles at their occasional jokes. Then they set out again. Gradually the noise of the carts fades away in the silence, and the poor Christ falls asleep again or goes off to relieve himself behind the wall, not bothering to consider that at that moment he is dressed up like Christ with the sackcloth tunic and the cloak of red cotton cloth.
    But often some cricket, attracted by the light, springs upon him and makes him awaken with a start. He then resumes his prayers; but not infrequently, while praying, another cricket, that old chirping cricket, awakens again within him. Spatolino then removes from his forehead the crown of thorns to which he has already become accustomed, and scratching himself there where the thorns have left their mark, his eyes wandering here and there, again begins to whistle:
    "Fififi... fififi... fififi.."

Pitagora's Misfortune
    B y golly!
    And, putting my hat back on, I turned around to gaze at that beautiful young bride-to-be between her fiancée and her elderly mother.
    Dree, dree, dree... Oh how happily my friend's new shoes squeaked on the pavement of the sunny square that Sunday morning! And the bride-to-be, her spirit beaming charmingly from her restless, childlike blue eyes, from her rosy cheeks and her tiny gleaming teeth, fanned, fanned, and fanned herself under her gaudy red silk umbrella, as if to temper the bursts of joy and feelings of modesty that she was experiencing. For it was the first time she was appearing this way in public; she, a young lady, with that fine figure of a fiancée at her side — dree, dree, dree — who wore conspicuously new clothes, had not a hair out of place, and was perfumed and contented.
    Putting his hat back on (slowly, so as not to ruffle his well-combed hair), my friend turned around to gaze at me too. Why did he do that? He saw me standing in the middle of the square, and nodded with an embarrassed smile. I answered with another smile and with a lively gesture of the hand, as if to say: "Congratulations! Congratulations!"
    And, after taking a few steps, I turned around again. It wasn't so much the sprightly, slender figure of his little bride-to-be, all excited as she was, that I liked, as the demeanor of my friend, my friend whom I had not seen for about three years. Hadn't he turned around to look at me a second time, too?
    Could he be jealous? I wondered, setting out with my head bowed. After all, he would have reason to be! She's really pretty, by golly. But him, him!
    I don't know why, but he seemed even taller. Wonders of love! Moreover, he was completely rejuvenated, especially his eyes. And his entire outward appearance seemed to have been caressed by certain tender cares that I would never