The Nightingale’s Tongue
The Nightingale’s Tongue

Summary/Abstract: The unpredictable pulse of the fiery tongue constantly shifted the play of shadows around the seated Italian hunters. I couldn’t fathom what exactly was disfiguring the features of their faces: alcohol or arrogance? Perhaps I should, after all, put the blame for it all upon the distance they keep us at; upon the darkness of the forest that surrounds us. We were in fear: the Italian hunters were known amongst us as very clumsy fellows; usually, a group of local youths would go in front of them and prepare live targets for them by breaking the wings of birds, the legs of hares, only to let them out of cages, so processed, when the hunters appeared on the horizon. It is better for them to have their targets prepared, experience taught us, than to risk their wounding each other; owing to the exhaustion and booze, their fellow hunters would appear to them as deer or boar. All that, of course, was registered in the local sense of humor; when the game was scarce, people would plant domestic hens and rabbits on such hunters. It is said that the Italians will settle for anything, as long as it keeps them away from their homes.

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