A shepherd's dream (II)

Second part of Deledda's story. The shepherd is thinking of the most expedient way of realizing his dream of getting rich, that is, robbing his neighbour.

...

Well, yes, he shall go. The night goes on: the sheep go back to the pen one after the other, and slowly the jingling of their swinging bells stop.
The shepherd sits in front of the door of his hut, and thinks.
The moon walks down along the clear arch of the sky; the stream flows still without noise across the silent plain. Just a red dot shines beyond the river; it is the fire of the shepherd who sold his flock. The man from the mountains looks at that eye of fire and thinks about the easy life that he will be able to live one year from now, about improvised poetry, brandy shots, the serf who will look after his flock.
Well, yes, he shall go. It is time to get over with this nomadic life, it his time to live with his family, to spend Christmas in the village.
He shall go; he goes; he walks silently, without leaving any tracks, as a fox; he fords the stream, he is next to the shepherd's hut, at the hut's door.
The shepherd sleeps, with his head on a stone; under the stone there has to be the pouch, there is the pouch. Our shepherd hesitates for a moment: then enters, gets on top of the sleeping man and kills him; he moves the corpse and lifts the stone.
Horror! Under the stone there is no pouch, but plenty of revolting white maggots that swarm on the damp ground; their small evil eyes have a strange green flash.

The shepherd turns pale, he shivers, turns upside down the whole hut; there is no pouch, his crime has been useless. Then he runs away across the plain, but he has in front of his eyes the image of those white, swarming maggots, with their green evil eyes.
After a long wandering he is back at his hut; his red dog screams desperately at the moon, shaking the chain. What happened?
The shepherd runs to the pen, and the pen is empty. He listens with attention, but the silence of the night is broken only by the hoarse barking of his dog. A deadly sweat wets the nape of his neck: horrid curses come out of his panting chest. He is ruined. During his absence, unknown brigands took away his flock, and disappeared without leaving any tracks, as foxes.
Screaming with rage, the shepherd rushes through the bushes, and keeps running, and crosses the plain looking for the point where the thieves forded the stream.
It is perhaps here; someone stomped on the reeds, the scarce water shines reflecting the clear sky and the twinkling moon.
The shepherd jumps into the water, but the water is not as scarce as it seemed; the more he goes on, the more he sinks: up to his thighs, up to his belt, up to his chest, up to his throat. Ah, he is lost, he is drowning; his eyes don't see anything else than an expanse of gurgling waters, swarming with white maggots with flashing green eyes.
He experiences a terrible feeling, he thinks he is dead, that he will not see again his loved ones, the mountains where he was born: he thinks he will have to spend all the eternity of centuries, aware and throbbing, in the cold depth of those waters, in that world swarming with maggots.
A horrible sense of despair grips him; he wants to move and he can't, he wants to shout and he can't; he puts in a supreme effort and wakes up shaking, sitting down in front of his hut, where he had fallen asleep while thinking of stealing the pouch of his neighbour.
For some long instants his whole body still shakes, still in the grip of the nightmare. Then, slowly, he comes back to reality. His flock is asleep in the pen: over there, beyond the stream, the fire of the other shepherd shines, red and calm. The moon sets down in the calm night.
The shepherd gets up, stirs himself a bit, and a deep sadness comes over his heart. It seems to him that he really committed the crime, he feels a great regret, and a foreboding of sad things to come.
What shall he do to atone his sin? How will he appease the wrath of the Infant Jesus?
Well, he shall confess his neighbour the monstrous idea and the horrible dream he has had: he shall then kill three sheep and distribute their meats to the needy man in the nearby village.

The day after, the neighbour comes to visit his friend. And the friend tells him the horrible dream he had; but he does not find the courage to confess him that he really considered to kill him. The neighbour laughs, our shepherd laughs as well, then together they slaughter a sheep (three, our friend reflected, are really too many!) to distribute to needy people. The poor men are called on and come from the village, they fight for the meat pieces and, going back, they say: - What a good man is that shepherd! Just because he dreamt of killing a man, he slaughtered a sheep and gave it to us people in need. May Our Lord Jesus repay him. -
And the two friendly shepherds, who kept for themselves the best cuts of the sheep's meat, turn their wooden skewers above the embers, and sing heart-felt improvised poetry, taking as their topic the dream, but the dream only.