by Helen Pryke
I opened the drawers underneath the desk, one by one. They were full of pens, pencils, erasers, elastic bands, bits of paper, all the usual stuff you’d expect to find in an artist’s desk. But in the last drawer, I found something different. A wooden box, with a dragonfly carved on the lid and bronze handles at the sides. I carefully lifted it out and placed it on the desk.
Bella trotted into the room, her paws clicking across the tiled floor. She wagged her tail at me, then lay down with her head on my feet, sighing happily.
“It’s good to be home, isn’t it, Bella?” I said, scratching her head. Her tail thumped a couple of times. “Right, let’s see what’s in the box, shall we?”
I ran my hand over the engraving, feeling the cool, smooth wood under my fingertips, following the tiny crevices that outlined the dragonfly’s body. It was truly stunning, its intricate design etched into the wood in minute detail. I wondered if Uncle Mario had carved this himself. Looking inside, I saw a bundle of old photographs. I lifted them out and flicked through them, smiling at the old black and white pictures of a family I’d never met. Luisa and Ernesto stood at the back of the group, their hands on their children’s shoulders in front of them. Ernesto was a giant of a man, towering over the whole group, a dark frown on his face. Luisa was turned slightly away from him, looking wistfully at something in the distance. I looked closely at the children who all stood in a row. The tall, blonde girl must have been Bruna, next to her was Teresa, Aunt Liliana’s mother, then a boy; Antonio, I presumed, as he was almost as tall as Teresa. There were several faded photos of these people, frozen in time, my family I’d never had the chance to meet. They were all dead now and I wished I’d had the chance to get to know them.
I laid the photos down on the desk and looked back inside the box. There was an envelope with my name on it, and as I picked it up I noticed a thick, leather-bound book at the bottom. I took that out as well and placed my treasures on the desk next to the photos.
The envelope felt crisp and new, and the scrawling, immature writing made me think that Uncle Mario had written it. I took a deep breath, opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
Jennifer,
I didn’t expect to enjoy our time together over the last few weeks as much as I did. I’d been meaning to go back to the Grove for some time, but kept putting it off. It took you, girl, to give me a reason to return.
I have one more thing to tell you. Your great-grandmother was the last of the healers – a position that has been passed down through the generations of our family for many centuries. When Bruna refused to take on the role, it broke Mamma’s heart and she believed it would die with her. I believed that too, until I met you and I saw how much you love the cottage and the Grove, almost as much as she did. Read the book, Jennifer. Maybe one day your name will be in it, with your recipes. Only you can decide.
I’ve left you the book with their knowledge and cures, added to over the centuries by all the healers. And my mother’s recipe, the one that gave me the way out. My mother had her faults, but what she did, she did because she loved us and for that, I forgive her. This will make no sense to you but, believe me, some secrets are best left untold.
Don’t be angry with me, I am tired of living and I just want to be at peace. It will be painless and quick, quite the opposite of the cancer they found a few months ago.
Uncle Mario.
I read the letter in Uncle Mario’s voice, picturing his hands shaking as he wrote each word. Tears pricked at my eyes. That last paragraph had me thinking. So it wasn’t a heart attack as the doctor had said, Mario had killed himself. I wondered how; which recipe had he found that would give him such a painless death and release him from his cancer’s grip?
Bella whined. “Are you bored with staying still for so long?” I murmured as I scratched behind her ears. “Well, I’m pretty sure this is what we were looking for. Let’s go home and start reading the book, shall we?”
She jumped up and barked, eager to go. I couldn’t blame her, it felt creepy being in Mario’s study with all those dead insects and animals staring at us with lifeless eyes. I put everything back in the box, and added Mario’s dragonfly drawings as well.
Aunt Liliana was over the moon with the photos. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked through them. “Oh, you have no idea how happy you’ve made me,” she said, hugging me tightly. “I thought they were lost, and I so wanted to see them all once more.”
“Can I make some copies? I’d like to show them to Mum when I go back home.”
“Of course, of course,” Aunt Liliana replied. “There’s a shop in the village, I’ll get them done tomorrow. But there’s no need to take them back to England, your mum’s coming here in a few days.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded. “What? When?”
Aunt Liliana seemed a bit flustered. “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t realise you didn’t know. I spoke to her yesterday and she said she’d like to come over one last time to see the cottage and her family. I think she said her flight would be arriving Friday…” She leafed through some pieces of paper by the telephone. “Yes, you see, I wrote it down. The flight number and arrival time.”
“I only spoke to her the other day, she didn’t say anything to me,” I said, hurt.
“I think it was a spur of the moment thing,” Aunt Liliana said, trying to reassure me. “She’ll probably phone you later to let you know.”
“Hmph.” Why was I always the last one to know everything around here? Then I remembered something Aunt Liliana had said when she’d given me the keys earlier.
“What did you mean, you don’t talk about that now?” I asked.
“Wh-what?” she replied, bewildered.
“When you were talking about the photos, you said there were photos of the family before… then you said you don’t talk about it,” I insisted. I was fed up with not knowing anything about my family and feeling excluded all the time.
“Oh, ah, well…” Aunt Liliana seemed flustered. “It was a long time ago, there were a series of tragic events in the family. We don’t really talk about them because, well, you know…”
“I know about the baby,” I said. “I found the grave, and when Mario came to help in the Grove, he saw it and fell to pieces. He told me about Bruna killing the baby.”
“Yes, well, you can understand why we don’t talk about it, then. Sometimes things are too painful and we keep them inside, where they can’t harm anyone.” She folded her arms and avoided looking me in the eyes.
I realised that she wouldn’t tell me what she knew of the story, perhaps she didn’t trust me enough. Tears prickling at my eyes, I picked up the wooden box and whistled for Bella. “Well, I’d better be getting back to the cottage.”
“I’ll get those copies done for you,” she called after me. I raised my hand in acknowledgement but didn’t turn around.
After dinner, I poured myself a large glass of Luisa’s wine and sat down on the sofa with the recipe book. Bella was lying on the rug, belly full, snoring softly as she slept. I glanced over at her, smiling. I was glad to have her with me, she was good company on nights like these.
I sipped at my wine as I opened the book and started looking through the pages. I marvelled at the beautifully-written recipes, amazed to think that some of them were hundreds of years old and written with a quill and ink. Some of the pages had drawings on them, and I recognised a few of the plants from the Grove. The recipes seemed quite innocuous, and mainly consisted of steeping leaves and flowers for several hours before drinking. However, the range of ailments they purported to cure was incredible: mouth ulcers, psoriasis, gastroenteritis, emotional imbalances, broken hearts, the list went on. One entry made me smile. I knew it had been written by my great-grandmother as she’d included the date.
Signora Conti swears by the pomade for her haemorrhoids, says nothing else will ease the swelling and pain. She can even sit down again now. Success! It seems we have perfected the recipe at long last. 4
th June, 1952.
“So it’s not all fame and glory, then, being a healer,” I murmured. “But judging from the notes, their ointments and cordials seemed to work.”
The lights in the room suddenly flickered several times. Bella woke with a jump and barked angrily. Startled, I almost spilt my wine over the book and just managed to recover it before any damage was done. I leapt up off the sofa, meaning to put the glass on the coffee table, and the book fell to the floor.
“Shit,” I muttered, my heart thumping wildly. I’d learnt that the electrical grid here in the mountains was unreliable at the best of times; there must be a thunderstorm about somewhere nearby. I put down my glass and bent to retrieve the book. Several pages had come loose and lay strewn about. Praying it was reparable, I picked everything up. Making myself comfortable once more, I flicked through the book trying to find where the pages had come from. A folded piece of paper fell onto my lap.
Bella came over to investigate, sniffing at the book. I gently pushed her away. “Don’t want you slobbering all over everything, Bel,” I said. “Let’s see what this is.”
I carefully unfolded the paper and saw from the elaborate signature at the bottom that it was written by my great-grandmother Luisa. As I read the first sentence, my blood ran cold. I took a very large swig of wine, desperately in need of it, then another. Surprised, I noticed that the glass was empty. Everything around me faded away, the living room, Bella, the cottage, until it was just me, alone in the light from the lamp beside me. I felt as if I were suspended in time, bodiless, a mere spirit lost in the cosmos. There was a flickering all around me, like an old black and white film about to start up, and an image appeared projected on the wall in front of me, only I was the one on screen, in the middle of a set that was curiously familiar. My eyes widened as the film started, watching the woman who was meant to be me… or was I meant to be her? My head started to spin as she hurried along the street, hugging the collar of her coat tighter to keep the chill of the evening air out…
Luisa
1940-2014
Chapter Eleven
1940-1943
She hurried along the street, hugging the collar of her coat tighter to keep the chill of the evening air out. She always finished late on a Friday; Signora Bianchi would punctually arrive one minute before closing time and keep them there for ages while she looked through all the fabrics, ribbons and buttons, only to leave without buying anything. Luisa hated working in the haberdashery and couldn’t wait for Sara to have her baby and return to work. Then she could go back to being a housewife and working in her beloved garden, hopefully before spring was over.
She passed the bar, thanking her lucky stars that at least she didn’t have to work there. It was always full of rowdy workmen, spending their week’s wages, intent on getting drunk. Including her husband. Ernesto dropped in on a Friday night after work, regular as clockwork, which gave her time to get home and prepare dinner.
She heard a noise and stopped to listen. There it was again, a scuffling sound coming from the alley along the side of the bar. She hoped it wasn’t rats again, they’d had problems just the year before with the disgusting vermin.
She stepped into the alley, straining to see in the dark. More noises; whatever it was, it was bigger than a rat. The side door opened and the raucous sounds of men laughing suddenly filled the night. A bag of rubbish flew into the alley, thrown by an unseen hand, and then the door banged shut once more. In that brief moment when the light had flooded the alleyway, she’d seen them. A man and a woman against the wall, her white pudgy legs wrapped around his waist while his naked arse pumped backwards and forwards, grinding into her, both of them grunting and groaning. He’d looked round at her just as his body contorted and he came, a crazed, triumphant look on his face.
Luisa turned and ran, as fast as she could, all the way to the cottage. She slammed the front door closed, threw her bag on the sofa, and rushed up to the bedroom. Huge sobs shook her whole body as she sat there, stunned, the image of her husband and the woman replaying over and over again in her mind.
He found her there some time later, still wearing her coat. He sat down next to her, the bed sagging under his weight. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and it made her feel sick. He put an arm around her.
“Don’t.”
“Come on, Luisa, don’t be like that,” he said, slurring his words. “It’s not what you think.”
“I know what I saw,” she said, her voice sounding hollow. “And you know I saw you.”
“She’s just the local tart, everyone’s had a go at one time or another.”
“And tonight it was your turn?”
“It didn’t mean anything, Luisa. I love you.” He leaned over, trying to kiss her.
“I said no,” she shouted, pushing him away. “You think I want you touching me, after seeing you with that... that...”
She screamed as he shoved her down onto the bed, grabbing her arms. “You’re my wife, and you’ll let me kiss you, or so help me God!” he yelled. He kissed her roughly, cutting her lip with his teeth. She struggled to get away, suffocating under his weight, his fingers digging into her arms.
“Stay still, damn you.” He hit her, hard, with the back of his hand, and she stopped moving, stunned. He pulled at her dress, tugging it up above her waist, then pulled down her tights and knickers.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she whimpered. He didn’t reply but started unbuttoning his trousers. “No, no, no,” she screamed, terrified.
“Shut up or I’ll hit you again,” he said, pulling down his trousers. He grunted as he forced himself into her, gripping her hips as he thrust violently.
Tears streamed down her face as he raped her, his hands leaving bruises on her legs and arms, his mouth biting her nipples through her clothes, leaving her sore and bleeding. He lay on top of her when he’d finished, panting heavily. She shoved him off and sat up.
“Don’t you ever do anything like that again,” she said quietly.
He looked up at her, bemused. White-hot anger surged through her, shocking her with its intensity. She got up and walked towards the door, then changed her mind and went back to stand over him.
“If you touch me again after you’ve been with one of your whores, I’ll kill you,” she said quietly, and slapped him on the cheek with all the force she could muster. A bright red mark instantly appeared on his pale skin. She stormed downstairs, into the kitchen, and leaned against the sink as she stared at her reflection in the curtainless window.
Luisa pushed the pram down the street, glancing in at the baby’s sweet sleeping face every now and then. Ernesto had barely touched her since the night he’d raped her, but that was all it had taken to conceive their daughter. Bruna was so innocent and unsuspecting, and she wondered how she could feel so much love for this tiny being created in such violence.
“Morning, Luisa,” she heard as she passed two women talking outside their front doors.
“Morning, Rita,” Luisa replied, ignoring the sniggering behind her back. It was common knowledge that Ernesto was working his way through all the women in the village, but everyone usually had the decency to keep quiet about it. Now that Luisa had Bruna to care for she no longer had to work in the haberdashery and put up with the other women staring at her in pity or triumph. She enjoyed pottering about her garden up at the cottage and only went into the village once a week to pick up anything they needed and to visit her mum.
Noticing that Bruna had fallen asleep, she sat down on a bench and took out the book her mother had given her the day of her wedding to Ernesto. Barely two years earlier, it had been the happiest day of her life. Before war had broken out, before their lives had been turned upside down, before they’d had to face the possibility of poverty and hardship like they hadn’t known for a long time.
She knew that she should consider herself lucky. Due to the discovery that he had severe scoliosis during his medical examination, he hadn’t been sent to the front. In
stead, he worked in an ammunitions factory in Lucca, coming home every evening to her. His ego had been bruised at first, he’d wanted to go marching through the town in his smart, new uniform with his friends. She’d had to convince him that he was needed at home, to protect her and the people left behind in the village. He’d seemed happier, and they’d had the chance to enjoy precious time together. Unlike many of her friends whose husbands had gone off to war, never to return.
Nineteen years old, with my whole future ahead of me, she thought bitterly. But she had been content back then, she was sure of it. Until that night at the bar. She shook her head, putting the image out of her mind. She held the book to her face, breathing in the musty odour of the ancient pages within it, and memories of her wedding day flooded her mind…
Emilia entered the room as cousin Fausta put the finishing touches to Luisa’s dress and hair. Shooing Fausta out of the room, she sat down next to Luisa and passed her a hand-wrapped parcel.
“So, my little girl’s getting married today,” Emilia said, her eyes misting. She rubbed at her cheek, unused to the heavy makeup she was wearing.
Luisa nodded. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“You’re sure it’s what you want?”
“Mamma! You’re not going to try and put me off, are you?” Luisa said, laughing. “It’s a bit late for that.”
“No, of course not. Not after your father and I have spent so much money. It’s just that being married, well, it’s forever, Luisa, for better or for worse. You’ll find out that he’s got some habits that you’ll grow to love, some that you’ll put up with, and others that will drive you crazy. But you’ll have to learn to put up with them all, carry on regardless, no matter what. Once you’re married, that’s it, forever.”
