As Marcovaldo got back from work, the sky seemed to be brighter, the mild sunlight shining stronger than Marcovaldo had remembered it had in the morning. He felt inside his pocket. The ring was still there. He imagined the money the ring would bring him when he sold it to the jewellers down the road. A grin lit up his face as he fiddled with the keys and entered through his front door to the excited shouts of Filippetto and Michelino. “Come on, let me see it, just a look, please Michelino!” It was Filippetto trying to see something his brother was successfully trying to conceal underneath his school overcoat. Marcovaldo ignored the two boys; his naughtiest son had obviously gotten up to his usual round of mischief, and half walked half skipped up the creaky wooden steps.
That night Marcovaldo slept with the ring tightly grasped in his left fist under the pillow and the tranquillity of a man who knew that tomorrow would bring something wonderful.
Marcovaldo woke suddenly to the sound of hundreds of raindrops pouring from the sky. He looked out from his bedroom window to the misty greyness of the beginning of an autumn day. He got up; a sudden wave of excitement overwhelmed him, as abrupt as the flooding memories from the day before. The ring!
Marcovaldo got dressed in a flash, tripping over his own feet and loosely tied shoelaces in a hurry to get out the front door. Heading towards town and the jewellers, he spotted Michelino and Filippetto playing with a shining new slingshot in the middle of the wet street. “You have fun with that my boys, careful not to hit any cars!” he called out in their direction, before turning and heading towards the village. The boys stared in utter amazement, their eyes wide with distinguished disbelief. Their father, encouraging them to have fun with the slingshot of all things! Usually all that came out of his mouth were reprimands for the use of the thing as it was regarded as dangerous a nuisance. Something was up. They followed their striding father halfway into the village, bombarding him with questions. Finally Marcovaldo grew impatient and sent them home to their mother.
He reached the village jewellers. He stopped outside, allowing himself a look at the display full of perfectly arranged lustrous pieces of ornate metal. He was about to become rich. He pushed open the heavy glass door of the jewellers with the sign “Magalli e Co.” engraved on the front, and stepped inside. He addressed the owner and presented his precious prize on the velvet sash which was sat on the high table in front of him He asked the jeweller how much it could be worth, his voice dripping with pure anticipation and an almost electric excitement. His eyes beamed with pride as the jeweller picked up the ring carefully, rolling it smoothly between his fingers. “I will have to test the valency of the gold first, then I can tell you the number of carats and an overall price”. The jeweller’s words almost went unheard as Marcovaldo nodded in reply, too busy drooling at the sky-high figures that had begun to form in his mind.
Marcovaldo watched with a sense of silent rapture as the man brought out an old and dusty machine from one of the thick oak cupboards in front of the desk and began to scan the ring, first once through, then again, and a third time. His elation was so high he did not notice the man frowning as he held the gold ring in the light and shook his head. All he could think about was his wife’s amazement as he came home a millionaire. The jeweller confronted Marcovaldo with a look of veiled derision “I’m sorry, signiore, but this ring appears not to be gold at all. Must be something like coated tin. No value at all I’m afraid!”
Marcovaldo looked up from his shattered daydream. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. Did you say the ring has no value, none at all?”
The jeweller nodded in assertion and Marcovaldo’s face drained. “But it’s golden! Look! It must be gold, what else could shine so brightly? It looks so real!” The jeweller shrugged his soldiers “they make some very good copies nowadays, I’m hardly surprised. I’m sorry, is there anything else I can do for you signiore?” Marcovaldo shook his head slowly, taking it all in. He felt numb, as if something had been sucked out from the depths of his inner gut and he couldn’t quite move in shock. “That will come to five thousand lire then.” Marcovaldo gaped. His ring, his pathway to power and wealth, had turned out to be fake and this man, this jeweller expected him to pay for the disappointment! He reluctantly got out his ever-thinning wallet and paid the amount due.
The walk home was a long one. The sky had only gotten greyer since the day had begun and Marcovaldo’s sodden footsteps echoed in the deserted street like evanescent bells. As he turned into his own road, the figures of Michelino and Filippetto, still playing with the slingshot could be seen like misty shadows in the walls of Marcovaldo’s mind. He approached them and said with all the bitterness and acidity the day had presented him “stop playing and go home to mamma, the street is no place for children!” The children, relieved to see their papa back to normal replied: “yes father, but before we go, look at our new slingshot, it’s real metal! We swapped it for a gold ring we found beside the river. Luca Tognazzi’s dad says the ring is worth millions ‘cause it’s real gold. He’s an expert you know!”. And with those words the two excited children left with their brand new toy in hand. Marcovaldo, mouth open, eyes twitching, looked up at the sky. It had stopped raining and a big, bright, perfectly round, glistening sky was winking at him from the heavens.
