Richmond Hill High School - Archway / Dome Yearbook (Richmond Hill, NY)

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THE GHOST'S BLOOD I e BY MICHAEL cocc1ARD1, '34 My mother, as a native of Old Italy, is a veritable store of su- perstitions and tales in which Italy is steeped. Like Jimmy Durante she has a million of 'em . With a little persuasion she can be made to divulge them to anyone who cares to listen. The following is one of her favorites. My mother is telling the tale. ' Quite a few years ago when Italy was still divided into tiny towns, each with its own religious tales, and superstitions, an in- cident occurred which is still fresh in my memory. My family and their friends had started out for the regular routine of picking grapes from the innumerable vines which covered the land all around us. The day was soft and warm with the green-leaved vines sprawled indolently all over the surrounding terrain. Occasionally a caressing gentle wind would blow, turning the drooping, long-veined leaves until their gray underparts ilickered in the bright sunlight, thus causing the vines continually to change color from olive green to glimmering gray. The only cleared space in this unbroken field of burdened vines was a patch of bare earth at the back of one of the small houses. In this tiny space was chained a mighty bull. He was colored a dirty black, and possessed huge shoulders, powerful legs, barrel body, and wicked, sharp-pointed horns which had never been sawed. These horns were poised above two gleaming eyes that peered forth from beneath a heavy forehead. This was the famous 'Black Devil' of our town, reputed to have killed three men who had endeavored to break its wild spirit and tame it. Now he stood, alone and friendless, in the -middle of a trampled plot, doomed to spend the rest of his life chained by the nose to a heavy stake buried deep in the ground. His wicked eyes glared at our colorfully attired party as we gayly walked past him, -baskets balancing precariously on tilted heads and gay bandanas swinging loosely from arms and necks. HOV, laughed Peter, a stocky, broad-shouldered youth, 'and how is our playful devil this morning? The bull's only answer was to stop his continual pawing and stare malevolently at his jovial tormentor. ' Peter, incensed at the baleful glare of the rnad brute, and pro- bably intent on showing off to the dark-skinned girls who were apprehensively watching him, walked closer to the bull and, in spite of the cries and warnings of his now serious companions, yanked the red bandana from his swarthy neck and waved it vigo- orously before the snorting bull, laughing and taunting him mean- while. . . Snorting and pawing wildly, the frenzied bull jerked his head THE SENIOR DOME -:- Page5

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I r i i u , t + MR. DANN Benjamin Seger

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savagely, but the cruel pain of the ring in his tender, flaming nostrils held him steady. Emboldened by the bu1l's helplessness, Peter stepped nearer to the frothing animal, crying shrilly and temptingly waving the bandana before the beast's snapping eyes. With the snort of a mind gone completely mad the bull jerked savagely, the chain tightened, and the ring pulled loose from his pain-ridden nostrils, leaving his nose in bloody shreds. Lowering his head, he hurled himself forward and before the terror-stricken Peter could budge, the long, heavy horn passed clear through him, impaling his wildly beating heart and pumping lungs. The crazed bull began to race around the tiny space, kicking and stabbing at the limp, broken body that dangled gruesomely from his bloody horns. The horror-stricken and screaming spectators were trans- fixed for the momentg then Peter's father with a hoarse, broken cry, leaped forward with a workman's pickaxe in his hand and buried its point in the seething brain of the bull. With a gasping cry the heavy bulk crashed to the ground, the body of its victim hanging limply from the upright horn. With muttered cries and heavy hearts the brothers of Peter gently disengaged his dead, mutilated body from the weapon which had done such havoc, and tenderly carried it to the nearest house where they laid him upon the bed of Maria, the beloved widow of our town. In spite of the gaping wounds and rivers of blood the sobbing mother refused to believe her son was dead, and even after the hasty arrival of the village curate she had to be led from the room. That night the poor broken body of Peter was lowered to its last resting place after a briefly muttered prayer. Then it was that there began to be strange happenings in that once peaceful village. Maria, upon whose bed Peter's body had been laid, complained that she had heard footfalls during the night fol- lowing Peter's burial. After the village had been awakened twice by her silence-shattering screams in the middle of the night, a party of men and women offered to stay with her the next night. All during the day the frightened villagers huddled together and whispered about ghosts and spirits and men who returned after a violent and sudden death. That night a group of men and women sat close to- gether in the one room of Maria's house, talking and joking in almost hysterical tones as they sought to hide their fear of the unknown behind a mask of nonchalance and carelessness. But as the room dark- ened the talk fell to low whispers and the people began to glance nervously at the dusky corners of the room, feebly lighted by the sputtering candle. Then suddenly there was a poignant and heavy silence. The closed door had begun to open. The round, horrified eyes of every person were riveted on the portal. Were they about to come face to face with the dreaded supernatural? Sharp, distinct, clearly-spaced pages THE SPNIOR DOME