Under the carob tree

Alfred Massa: Taħt il-Ħarruba: a novel; a Dom Communications Ltd. Publication, 2014; 175 pp.

Novels have always been popular with the Maltese reader and, in spite of all the countless distractions that today’s technology may wield in the form of challenge, nothing will ever tarnish the charm of a good novel, in whatever language it may be written.

One of Malta’s most prolific novelists is, of course, Alfred Massa. A very worthy poet and still basking in the success of the beautiful Oratorio Marija fil-Qalb Maltija, of which he wrote the lyrics (set to music by Maestro Hermann Farrugia Frantz), Massa is a novelist to the core and a very busy one at that. In fact, this here is his eleventh oeuvre and, like the other ten that came before it, is (again) a guarantee of a very good and enjoyable read.

Massa has two of the most important requisites for a good novel: the ability to create a highly credible plot and, on top of that, a very fertile imagination, both requisites always used in a masterly way in terms of an overall exposition of the narrative line. And these gifts are the secret behind the sense of reality that pervades his every story, particularly in this his latest one.

Pawlu and Katrin Caruana have three children: Stephen, Salvina and Toninu. One day, whilst young Stephen and a friend of his are playing in a small room in a field under a carob tree, the ceiling collapses and, badly hurt, the boys are rushed to hospital, where Stephen eventually succumbs to his injures.

Cut to a flashback: Pawlu recalls his days as a soldier during the war, then his transfer to sexton of the church of the village where he lived. He remembers with angst his disillusive friendship with a Xandru, and with bitter-sweet sadness his love for, and his eventual marriage to, Ġorgina, who dies giving birth to a boy, Stephen, who ultimately ends up in an orphanage.

In time, Stephen is adopted by Pawlu and Katrina, both completely unaware who the boy is. Stephen eventually replaces the couple’s first-born son, who was also called Stephen and who had died previously.

By and by, Pawlu remembers the fateful and bitter events that were witnessed by the old carob tree in his field, hanging over the small room, itself replete with memories…

The story gathers momentum at a breathtaking speed, and the captivated reader will start wondering and asking questions: Will Xandru and Pawlu remain friends? What did actually cause the death of Stephen? How did Ġorġina become pregnant and what was the true cause of her death? Who was the real father of the second boy named Stephen? How was the old carob tree linked with the Caruana family?

As is his wont, Massa indulges in a wonderful exposition of the Maltese language; he roams most comfortably from one situation to another, without ever lapsing into boredom, and his narrative description is vivid to a degree.

The story, which takes place in the forties and fifties, is essentially a social one, and the end is gripping, captivating and unexpected. There is also the added bonus of colourful history, folklore and an exquisite (and often amusing) exposition of many common usages and customs prevalent to the times.

The book, very neatly printed, carries a most attractive cover much worthy of its contents. Indeed, a novel well-worth a place in the library of every true lover of Maltese literature.