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Updated: June 11, 2025
Crossi rests his red head against the bench in a certain way, so that it looks as though it had been detached from his body and placed there separately. Nobis complains that there are too many of us, and that we corrupt the air. Ah, what an effort it costs now to study!
But at that moment Crossi turned round; I was embarrassed; he smiled, and then my mother gave me a push, so that I should run to him and embrace him. I did embrace him: he rose and took me by the hand.
The master cried out once more, raising his voice still louder, "Who is it?" Then Garrone, moved to pity for poor Crossi, rose abruptly and said, resolutely, "It was I." The master looked at him, looked at the stupefied scholars; then said in a tranquil voice, "It was not you." And, after a moment: "The culprit shall not be punished. Let him rise!"
Derossi and Coretti were still laughing at their encounter with Crossi, the son of the vegetable-seller, in the street, the boy with the useless arm and the red hair, who was carrying a huge cabbage for sale, and with the soldo which he was to receive for the cabbage he was to go and buy a pen. He was perfectly happy because his father had written from America that they might expect him any day.
He announced the problem loudly, staring now at one, now at another, with terrible eyes; but we understood that had he been able to announce the answer also, so that we might all get promoted, he would have been delighted. After an hour of work many began to grow weary, for the problem was difficult. One cried. Crossi dealt himself blows on the head.
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