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Monsignor Antonio Albamonte could be seen along with the young parish priest, Don Mario, who held up a tall metal crucifix. On either side of them, a swarm of altar boys scurried along to keep up with the procession, and behind them came the women of the cathedral’s congregation. Don Mario chanted litanies that were repeated first by the pious women and then by everyone else, with the same cadence and intonation.
    As the saint passed by, farmers came out of their doors and tossed handfuls of wheat grain, saved from the last sowing, at her effigy, to promote the coming harvest and bring good luck to the family.
    In the crush of the procession, Mena and Saro seemingly by chance found themselves side by side again. Saro had made quite an effort to reach her.
    â€œWhere are you going to watch the fireworks?” he asked.
    â€œIn the piazza,” she replied, speaking loudly to be heard over the boisterous din of the crowd.
    â€œI know a fantastic place where we won’t miss a single burst,” he said, fearful that she might reject him.
    â€œSaro, see Nennella?” She pointed to the heavyset woman in front of them, she too dragged along by the flow of people. “She’s always with me.”
    â€œSo we’ll bring Nennella along with us,” he said with a smile, glad of the complicity that had been established between them. He wanted to add that he was happy to see her again, but the crowd separated them: Saro was pushed in the opposite direction from Mena, and as they were drawn apart, the two smiled at each other, surprised by the feelings welling up inside.
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    The stentorian voice of Ninì Trovato read the number that a child had pulled out of the tombola drum: “Forty-three!” he shouted, showing the ball to the villagers crowding Piazza del Castello, to prove the actual drawing of the number.
    â€œ Quaterna ! Four in a row!” A girl’s voice rose in the piazza, and an arm waved the ticket with the number that had been drawn. The voice was Mena’s, and the lucky ticket was the one that Saro had given her. “I won! I won!” she cried excitedly.
    Nennella, standing beside her, smiled happily at the win as well.
    Ninì Trovato invited the lucky girl to come up to the platform, while a young man from the planning committee hung the chosen number on the large bingo board.
    Mena made her way through the crowd and headed for the spot where the prizes were on display.
    When she reached Ninì, a barrage of jubilant whistles and warm applause showered her. She laughed good-naturedly and waved the ticket at the crowd. Then she approached the loudspeaker and repeated the four numbers that had won her the quaterna . “Three, seventeen, twenty-nine, and forty-three!”
    â€œAre you Mena Losurdo?” Ninì asked her, though he already knew the answer.
    â€œYes, I’m Mena.” Ninì brought his mouth to the microphone. “The young woman, ladies and gentlemen, has won four bottles of red wine, four salamis, four caciocavallo cheeses, and a dozen feet of sausage,” the crier announced.
    Everyone clapped, and the prizes were placed in a gunnysack that was then given to the lucky girl.
    â€œCan you carry it?”
    â€œYou fill the bag, Ninì, I’ll do the rest,” the winner replied with a contagious smile.
    Coming down the steps of the podium, Mena looked around for Saro as everyone congratulated her.
    But there were too many people in the piazza, and finding him was impossible. When she reached Nennella again, the woman threw her arms around Mena and took the bag from her to peek inside.
    When a half hour later the tombola was awarded to the person getting all the numbers on the card, and the swaying crowd erupted into applause for the lucky victor, Mena felt someone take her hand. She turned and saw Saro, who had once again materialized beside her. She didn’t have time to tell him that she’d won with his ticket