by Helen Pryke
“And Luisa? Do you think she knew?”
“Mamma? No, I don’t think so. She did tell me once that she was glad he’d died, so she didn’t have to keep imagining him with all his other women. It seems he bedded half the women in the village, one time or another. But no, I don’t think she knew. She’d have killed him herself if she had. She loved us kids, she would have defended us to the death, if necessary.” He stood up and went over to the sink, looking out of the window. “I never married, I couldn’t. How could I trust anyone after everything that happened? I moved out as soon as I could, there were too many bad memories, but I always came back to help Mamma in the Grove. It gave me peace, being there, close to her, to our heritage. My family always meant so much to me, until he destroyed it that day.”
I went over to him and put my arm around his shoulders. “Thank you, Uncle Mario.”
“What for?” he replied gruffly.
“For trusting me enough to tell me. That means a lot to me.”
“Don’t you go telling all the others,” he said fiercely. “It’s our business, mine and Bruna’s, it’s nothing to do with them.”
“It’s all right, I won’t say anything,” I said, taken aback by his sudden outburst. Bella jumped to her feet, whining again, alert to her master’s moods.
“Good.” He snapped his fingers and Bella ran to his side, quiet as a shadow. “I’ll be going now. It’s late, I’m sure you need a rest after all our work. I’ll be back tomorrow morning, then.” And he was gone, leaving me alone in the house to mull over everything he’d told me.
Chapter Ten
The next morning at nine o’clock, there was no sign of Mario and Bella. I’d already drunk two coffees and began pacing nervously around the kitchen. He had said he would come, but after his reaction at seeing the grave, I was worried about him.
I glanced at the clock for the hundredth time. Nine thirty. “Oh, fuck it,” I grumbled. I grabbed my sunhat and set off for Mario’s house. The sun in Italy was already hot at this time of the morning; not like England, I thought grimly, where you needed a jacket until midday even in the middle of summer. The stress made me feel even hotter and sweatier, and I felt that my face was bright red by the time I reached the village square.
“Jennifer,” I heard someone call. My heart sank.
“Mark,” I replied coldly.
“I just wanted to see if you’re OK. I’ve called you a few times but you never answer. We didn’t finish on the best of terms.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to talk to you.”
“OK, have it like that, if you want,” he retorted. “Out jogging, are we?”
I felt a trickle of sweat running down my nose, all the way to the tip, and realised I must look a mess. I shuffled my feet, embarrassed, and tried to brush my hair out of my face, but it obstinately refused to obey.
“Yes, I thought I’d go for a power walk, get away from things for a while.” I glanced at him and saw yet again that smirk of his that made me want to punch him.
“Well, I won’t keep you,” he said politely. “Give me a call if you want to go out again one evening, I enjoyed our last date.”
“Fuck off.” Turning on my heels, I left him standing behind me, vowing I’d wipe that bloody smirk off his face some time soon.
Mario’s gate was locked as usual, and no-one came out when I rang the bell. I called loudly, expecting Bella to come running over, but there was a deadly silence. My sense of dread grew, and I ran around the fence, looking for another way in.
There was a tree just outside the property with low-hanging branches. I clambered up into it, scratching my legs and arms on the rough bark. I crawled along a branch overhanging the fence, gripping tightly as it bowed beneath my weight, expecting to hear a dry, snapping noise at any moment. Luckily the branch held, and I gingerly lowered myself to the ground, inside Mario’s garden at last.
I ran over to the house and tried the door, but it was locked. I peered in through a nearby window, rubbing my hand over the dirty glass to get a clearer view. I jumped back as Bella threw herself at me, barking and whining, her nose bloody from bumping up against the window.
“Hold on, Bella,” I yelled. I looked around desperately, wondering how the hell I was going to get in. I couldn’t break the window, not with Bella there. She’d cut her paws to shreds on the glass. I ran around the house, checking each window but they were all closed. I tried the back door, hardly daring to hope, and it opened. Bella rushed out and jumped up, her front paws on my legs. I lifted her into my arms, and she licked my face, wagging her tail so hard it felt like a hurricane.
“OK, Bella, it’s all right,” I said, stroking her head. “Where’s Uncle Mario?” She wriggled to be set free and I gently dropped her to the ground. She took off into the house and I ran after her.
I skidded to a halt in the living room. Uncle Mario was sitting upright in his armchair as if he was sleeping. But there was no gentle snoring noise, no small puffs of air as he breathed in and out, and his skin had a grey pallor. There was an unpleasant odour in the room, and the air was deathly still, as if all life had been sucked out of it. Bella’s eyes looked up at me and she whined, wagging her tail uncertainly. My steps were hesitant as I walked over to Uncle Mario and my hand shook as I reached out and touched his. I was right: Uncle Mario was dead. I half-expected him to open his eyes and shout “Boo!”
I’d never seen a dead body before, and it wasn’t how I’d imagined it would be. I stood there for a while, looking at him, memorising every wrinkle, every craggy line on his face, the way his scalp showed through his wispy white hair in places, wishing I’d had the chance to know him longer and hear more of his incredible stories. Then my brain suddenly started working again. I took out my phone and started calling the family.
“The doctor thinks it was a heart attack,” Aunt Liliana said, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “He was only sixty-five, even though he looked a lot older. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, always has done since Bruna left, but that’s hardly the right age to die. I’m going to miss the old devil, even if we didn’t get on very well.”
I hugged her. “Me too,” I said. “I got to know him over the last few weeks, and he told me lots of stories about the village, and when he was younger. It was good fun working with him too.” A thought suddenly struck me. “You don’t think it was the work, do you?” I asked, horrified. “Maybe it was too much for him.”
“I don’t think so, dear. And even if it was, he spent his last weeks doing what he loved the most, working in the Grove. He couldn’t have asked for more. I think you made him happy, and God knows he needed it.”
I’d had to shut Bella in the bedroom when the doctor and the police arrived, since she’d tried to attack anyone who went near Mario. I could hear her barking and scratching at the door as I talked with Aunt Liliana.
“What’s going to happen to Bella?”
“Bella? Oh, the dog. I don’t know,” she said. “It seems as wild and anti-social as Mario was. I suppose it’ll have to be put down.”
“No, absolutely not. She’s all right once you get to know her, she only wanted to protect Mario.”
“Well, you take it then,” Aunt Liliana said. “No-one else will want it. We never understood what Mario saw in the creature, it’s ugly as sin. You can keep it at the cottage, you’ve got the space.”
“What about when I go back home?” I asked.
“We’ll decide when the moment comes.” She walked over to the doctor, our conversation forgotten.
After everyone left, I let Bella out of the bedroom and patted her head. “It’s just you and me now.” She looked up at me with mournful brown eyes, her tail between her legs. “Come on, let’s get you home.” We went downstairs and I rooted around in the kitchen for her food, bowl and lead, noticing that the cupboards were practically empty. A wave of sadness crashed over me at the thought of the lonely existence Mario had h
ad. I gathered all of Bella’s things together as quickly as possible, I just wanted to get out of the house.
As I pulled the door to behind me I heard a hushed, whispering sound and felt a light breeze on the back of my neck. “Rest in peace, Uncle Mario,” I murmured, and closed the door with a click.
Bella seemed a bit lost at first. She followed me everywhere, as if she were afraid that I’d disappear too. I didn’t work in the garden that day, or the next. I felt it would be wrong to carry on creating life when Uncle Mario was dead. The grave remained untouched, thick ivy still covering it, waiting until I found the strength to finish the work.
The coroner returned the verdict of a heart attack and, given his age, everyone accepted it. Except me. I couldn’t help having some doubts… I’d watched him working in the Grove, hardly out of breath as he ripped weeds out by their roots or chopped branches off the fruit trees. He’d carted wheelbarrows of detritus out into the main garden, ready for a bonfire, going to and fro without needing to sit down and rest. I’d been more out of shape than him, unused to all the physical exertion. But I kept my thoughts to myself, I didn’t want to create problems for my family. He was at peace now, that was all that mattered.
The funeral was three days later, and when it was over, I decided the Grove couldn’t wait any longer. I grabbed some gardening tools from the garage, whistled to Bella and we made our way down to the Grove. I was determined to tackle the grave that morning, remove all the ivy and clean it up. It seemed the least I could do.
After I’d cleared away all the weeds, I got a bucket of water and a wire brush and set to cleaning the grave. Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I stood back and looked at my handiwork. The marble headstone gleamed in the sun, creamy-white now that the moss and lichen had been removed. I ran my fingers over the engraved writing.
“Rest in peace,” I whispered. The Grove was now completely in order: the bushes all cut back and tidied up, the tree trunks clear of weeds and ivy, their branches already covered in green, unripe fruit. I found that I was looking forward to seeing how much produce I’d get.
“But what are you going to do with it when it’s ripe?” I asked out loud. Bella glanced at me, then went back to sniffing around my feet. “Hey Bella, know any recipes for peach wine?” She barked at me. “I didn’t think so. Bet Uncle Mario did, though.” I paused. “What was it he said, Bella? That Luisa had a recipe book… didn’t he say that?” I looked at her but she ignored me.
“I’m sure he did,” I mused. “What else?” I thought back to that day in the Grove, just before Mario saw the grave. “He said the book was passed down from daughter to daughter, but Luisa didn’t have any daughter left to pass it on to. Mario was the only child left, as her other daughter Teresa died some years ago.” It was difficult trying to piece together the Italian side of the family, it was all so complicated. My head felt like it was going to explode, so I gave up for the moment.
“Come, Bella, I think we’ve earnt ourselves a nice treat this afternoon.” She trotted next to me as we went back to the kitchen. I’d been thinking about the bottles in the hall cupboard for a few days, trying to resist, flashbacks of what had happened the last time I’d given into temptation helping me stay strong. Today, however, I reasoned that after everything we’d been through, we both deserved something special. Ten minutes later we were out on the patio, Bella gnawing on an enormous bone and me with a glass of raspberry wine in my hand.
“This is the life, eh, Bella?” I said, already giggling just from breathing in the fumes. Bella was too busy crunching the bone between her teeth to take any notice of me. I took a long sip, and leant back in my chair.
I thought about Uncle Mario and tried to replay the conversation we’d had that day. The wine seemed to help clear my head, and I could remember everything.
“There were no daughters left, but Luisa had to give the book to someone,” I murmured. It suddenly dawned on me. “She had to give it to someone… but no daughters… so that someone had to be… Uncle Mario.” I was amazed I’d managed to solve the puzzle. Usually wine had the opposite effect on me and turned my mind into a hazy fog. Now the only problem was how to get in to Uncle Mario’s house and look for the book.
“Of course you can have the keys to Mario’s house, dear, it’s kind of you to offer to help,” Aunt Liliana said, fussing around in the drawers of the large oak dresser. “I’ve been meaning to get up there myself, but with one thing and another… I’ll try and go next week, sort through what to keep and what to give away. I know they’re here somewhere. I always kept a spare set, you never knew when the old fool would need some help. Not that he’d ever phone, no. A couple of years ago, I popped in to see him on the off chance, and I found the silly bugger out in the garden, at the bottom of a ladder, unable to get up. Turned out he’d been there for two days, with that smelly dog of his running around like crazy. He’d fallen and put his back out… took three of the men to pick him up and get him back in the house. I told him, ‘You have to carry your phone with you at all times, so you can call us if something like this happens again. You’re not getting any younger.’ And do you know what he said?”
I shook my head, imagining stubborn Uncle Mario withstanding the onslaught of Aunt Liliana’s wrath.
“He just patted his shirt pocket and said, ‘Got my phone right here, woman, but I didn’t want you fussing around me, just like you’re doing right now.’ I tell you, I was flabbergasted. That foolish old man might have died out there, and he could have called us at any moment!”
I burst out laughing at Aunt Liliana’s furious face. She relaxed, smiling with me. “He was stubborn and annoying, but I miss him,” she said softly.
“I know,” I replied. “I didn’t get to spend enough time with him, but I liked him. He was a real character.”
Aunt Liliana sniffed loudly, wiping at her nose. “Here,” she said, handing me a set of keys. “Take your time, I’m sure there’s lots of stuff to go through. He was a bit of a hoarder, didn’t like to throw anything away. Feel free to keep anything you find if you like, it’s your heritage. I’d just like some photos, if you come across them. I think Luisa must have given some to him, I never found them up at the cottage. They were taken after the war, all the family together… Luisa, Ernesto, Bruna, my mum, and Antonio, before… well, we don’t speak about that now. I remember Mamma showing them to me one day at Luisa’s house, but we never saw them again after that.”
“Of course I’ll keep an eye out for them,” I said, grateful that I would be allowed to keep whatever I found. “I’m sure Bella will be happy to see her old house.”
“I’m glad you took her in, and the pair of you seem to be getting on well,” Liliana said. “Mario loved that mongrel, he’d have hated anything happening to it. Here, take these cakes for a snack, I’m sure you’ll get hungry while you’re up at the house.” She handed me a paper bag, a delicious vanilla aroma making my mouth water.
“Thanks.” I gave her a hug.
“What was that for?”
“For being you,” I replied.
“Oh, get on with you,” she said, slapping my shoulder, but I could see that she was pleased.
It was odd being back at Mario’s house again. The rooms echoed with my footsteps and it felt as if it was just an empty shell, its soul missing. Bella appeared agitated and kept close by my legs, bumping her nose against me whenever I stopped.
I went into the living room and stared at the armchair where I’d found Mario. A shiver ran through me and I turned away.
“OK, Bella, where do we start?” Bella wagged her tail at me and trotted off into the kitchen.
“Good a place as any,” I muttered, and followed her. She was stood by the place her food bowl used to be, looking quizzically at me.
“Typical dog, always thinking of your stomach. Shoo, Bella, you’ve already had breakfast.” Looking hurt, she went out into the garden to chase some birds. “Well, let’s get started,” I said, and began opening cupboar
d doors.
It didn’t take me long to go around all the rooms in the house. Mario was definitely not a hoarder; the kitchen cupboards were practically empty, with only the bare essentials necessary for cooking and eating. It was the same story in the small living room and in his bedroom upstairs. I felt like a trespasser, searching through his things, but I focused on the fact that I had to find those photos for Aunt Liliana. Upstairs, his bedroom and bathroom were as bare as all the other rooms.
I slowly turned the doorknob to a third door and found a room that appeared at first glance to be an extension of the garden. Plants, small bushes, transparent plastic boxes with some very unusual insect specimens inside, skulls, skeletons, snake skins…anything of interest that Mario had picked up over the years had found its way into the room. I shuddered, hoping there was nothing alive in there. I cautiously entered and glanced into the various containers, marvelling at the preserved creatures inside.
There was a desk underneath the window, covered in sheets of paper. I picked them up and saw that they were drawings of dragonflies, from every angle and in every position, from resting with their wings folded next to their body to soaring in full flight. It was incredible how he’d managed to capture the delicate fragility of their wings, the brilliant colours, the depths of their bulbous eyes. Almost as if he’d drawn the insects while observing them from close up.
“Impossible,” I murmured, but I remembered that evening the dragonfly had led me to the grave, as if it had been waiting for me. I sat down in the room’s only chair, the one where Mario had probably sat for countless hours, staring out of the window or concentrating on his drawings. I shuffled all the sheets of paper together and stacked them into a neat pile. I thought of framing some, putting them up in the cottage. They would make it seem more like home. There I go again, thinking of the cottage as home. Somehow, the place had worked its way into my heart, and I had a feeling it would be difficult to leave.
