I agreed with him, but I did not tell him I found
the artichokes a little uninteresting. They were so very small and there
was so much to do to get what little there was of them that they were
more trouble than shrimps or walnuts. Looked at from the brigadier's
point of view, as a means of passing the time on Sunday, they reminded me
of the Litany; pulling off each leaf was like listening to each short
clause and eating the unimportant little bit at the end was like intoning
the little response; then the larger piece that was left, when all the
leaves were off, followed like the coda and finale of the Litany after
the more monotonous part has been disposed of. The Litany has, however,
the advantage that it comes only one at a time, we do not kneel down to a
whole plateful of it; on the other hand, there was wine with the
artichokes and they were free from any trace of morbid introspection.

The brigadier and Angelo were in earnest conversation about something,
and, as my mind began to wander from the artichokes (here again they
resembled the Litany) and was able to attend more to what was going on, I
became aware that they were talking about the lottery. Selinunte depends
for news upon chance visitors and Angelo had brought the winning numbers
which he had got from a cousin of his in one of the lottery offices at
Castelvetrano. The brigadier had lost and in giving his instructions for
the next week's drawing seemed to experience great difficulty in making
up his mind.

Presently there looked in at one of the windows a hunchback riding on a
mule and carrying a guitar. Several of the guards went to help him in,
greeting him with shouts of--

"Addio, Filippo!"

He lifted one of his legs over the saddle, and then I saw that not only
was he a hunchback but that his legs were withered. He reached up and
hung on to the ledge over the window with both hands and swung himself
very cleverly and with no assistance into a sitting position on the
window-sill; two of the guards then picked him up, carried him into the
room, set him on a chair and gave him some wine and artichokes. Being a
jolly fellow, as cripples often are, he soon tired of the artichokes,
asked for his guitar and began to sing Neapolitan songs. He had not sung
more than two before the brigadier told me I should like to wash my hands
and had better come into his bedroom. I glanced at Angelo who nodded
back and the brigadier took me off with him. He beg