The Healer's Secret

by Helen Pryke

  “Really? ’Cause Carla said it was only a matter of time before it gets here too. Her grandchildren go to one of them posh schools down there, says her daughter’s got ideas above her station and doesn’t want them mixing with the likes of yours.” She nodded towards Bruna, who blushed.

  “I’d better start making some cordials, then,” Luisa said, a heavy feeling in her heart. She remembered her mother telling her about an outbreak of scarlet fever some years earlier, and how helpless she’d felt as people had come to her for a miracle cure, only to see their child die a few days later. ‘These illnesses are terrible, Luisa,’ Emilia had said. ‘We can’t do anything, can’t give them anything to make them better, just things to alleviate the pain and hope that prayers and time will save them. It was soul-destroying, not being able to do anything… I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.’ Luisa broke out in a cold sweat and shuddered as Signora Conti continued with her doom-laden prophesies.

  Luisa found out for herself exactly what her mother had been through during the scarlet fever outbreak. A couple of weeks later, the villagers started beating a path to her door. Just a trickle at first, then it was as if the dam had broken. Desperate mothers knocking at the door every hour of the day and night, begging for salves for the painful rash and cordials to bring down their children’s fever. Luisa snatched a few hours’ sleep here and there, whenever she got the chance, but she felt permanently exhausted. Her mother came to stay at the cottage to help out, and between the two of them they managed to keep up with supplies.

  She made sure to keep her own children away from everyone, and wouldn’t allow them to go down to the village, nor even to school. Even though they protested vociferously, she stood her ground.

  “Wait until the epidemic has passed, then you can see your friends again,” she told them, ignoring their sulking faces. Teresa loved to stamp her feet and throw the nearest object at her mother, earning herself a slap from Bruna and a telling-off from Luisa. Antonio didn’t seem to care. He didn’t have many friends down in the village, and found schoolwork hard, so he was quite content to run around the garden all day long.

  Until the day he woke up with a runny nose and sore throat. By the afternoon he had a high fever, and Luisa and Emilia took turns sponging him with flannels soaked in cold water. Ernesto stormed into the house after work, his face black with anger.

  “I told you to keep them away,” he snapped at Luisa. “They’ve brought the measles here to the cottage, in my house, and now my son is ill.”

  “I had to help them, Ernesto, they had no-one else to turn to,” Luisa protested. “I kept the children in their rooms whenever there were people here, I don’t know how he got it.”

  “You and your damned medicines, they’re a curse. If anything happens to him, it will be all your fault,” he said, slamming the door behind him as he headed off to the bar.

  “Luisa…” Emilia began.

  “Don’t, Mamma. I’ll deal with him later. Let’s concentrate on Antonio now, shall we?”

  Teresa and Bruna burst into the room. “Mamma, can we go and see Antonio?” Bruna asked anxiously.

  Luisa shook her head. “You girls must stay away from him, with a bit of luck you might not have caught it.”

  “He was infectious before he began showing symptoms,” Emilia said. “Prepare yourself, Luisa, it’s going to be a rough ride over the next few days.”

  Emilia was right. The next morning, all three children had runny noses, sore throats and fevers. Antonio couldn’t bear the sunlight in his eyes, so Luisa closed his shutters and sat with him in the penumbra, damping him with a cool sponge to try to bring down his temperature. Emilia made a chicken broth and came upstairs with three bowls on a tray. The girls gulped it down greedily but Antonio showed little interest.

  “Mamma, he’ll be all right, won’t he?” Luisa asked, coming out of his bedroom.

  “We’re doing everything we can, Luisa, we can only pray it’s enough,” Emilia replied.

  They both jumped as they heard the front door slam. Ernesto stomped up the stairs, stopping outside Antonio’s room.

  “How is he?” he asked gruffly.

  “No better,” Luisa answered. “He doesn’t want to eat, but Mamma says that should pass and he’ll probably start to have more of an appetite tomorrow.”

  “Humph.” He frowned at her, not convinced.

  “The girls seem to be coping well, thanks for asking,” Luisa added.

  He didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm in her voice. “I knew they’d be all right, and anyway there are two of them.”

  Luisa stared at him, shocked. “They’re all our children, male or female,” she said quietly.

  “Don’t start, woman, you know how I feel about this.” He went into Antonio’s room, leaving the two women out on the landing.

  “He’s just worried, Luisa, he’ll feel differently when all this is over,” Emilia tried to reassure her daughter.

  The next day, all three children were feeling better and their fevers were almost gone. That evening they all ate together in the kitchen, and even though Antonio was still quiet, Luisa dared to hope that the worst was over.

  “Look at Antonio’s face,” Teresa said suddenly, giggling.

  “What?” Antonio looked around at them all, bewildered.

  “Ha ha, look at those spots,” Bruna said.

  Emilia smiled. “That’s normal, girls, with measles. Don’t worry, you’ll have them too by tomorrow.”

  “Mamma, I don’t feel so well,” Antonio said. His face went deadly white and he suddenly vomited in his plate.

  “Eww, that’s disgusting!” Teresa squealed, pushing her chair back hurriedly.

  Luisa leapt to her feet and caught her son just as he fainted. His skin felt burning hot and his hair was wet with sweat.

  “Ernesto, take him upstairs to his bed.” She tried to keep her voice calm, but he must have caught the note of urgency as he didn’t argue for once. He took his son in his arms and carried him out of the kitchen.

  “And girls, you clean up this mess,” she said. They started to protest but one stern look from Luisa shut them up.

  “Mamma, can you bring the medicine, please?” she said as she was going out of the door.

  Emilia nodded, grim-faced. “Girls, do as you’re told and clear everything away. Your mamma needs all the help you can give her right now.”

  “W-will Antonio be all right?” Bruna asked. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her brother was always so full of energy, seeing him like this was a shock.

  “Of course he will,” Emilia said with forced brightness. “He’ll be as right as rain in the morning.”

  They stayed up all night, Emilia and Luisa going from one child to another, trying to bring down Antonio’s temperature and comfort the girls, who were restless and agitated. Ernesto sat by his son’s bedside, holding his hand and murmuring reassuring words over and over again. Antonio’s black hair lay in stark contrast to the white pillowcase, his eyes moving restlessly as he mumbled, his sleep disturbed by horrific, fever-induced dreams.

  “We have to call the doctor,” Luisa said the next morning. The girls were covered in a thick rash but seemed to be on the mend. Antonio, on the other hand, burned hot with fever and wouldn’t wake up.

  “You call yourselves healers, but you can’t save your own son,” Ernesto said bitterly. He remained sitting at Antonio’s side, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “We’ve tried everything we could, Ernesto, you know that,” Emilia retorted. “Luisa and I haven’t slept for two days.”

  “But your stupid medicines don’t work, do they?” he shouted suddenly. “Pots boiling constantly on the stove, all those bottles in the pantry, that stupid garden out there… all those hours wasted, and for what? Where’s your magic now? Why can’t you help Antonio?” He paused, breathing hard, then glared at Luisa. “Unless you don’t want to help him,” he said. “Is that it? You hate me so much that you’d let your own son die?” />
  Luisa burst into tears. “How can you be so ignorant?” she screamed at him.

  Antonio stirred, sighing in his sleep.

  “All right, the both of you,” Emilia interrupted. “This isn’t helping anyone, least of all Antonio. I’ll go and fetch the doctor. You stay here, Ernesto, call Luisa if there’s any change. And you, Luisa…” She glanced at her daughter’s exhausted face. “You go and get something to eat, and sit down quietly for a while.”

  Luisa started to protest, then nodded. “But you call me, if anything happens,” she said to her husband.

  She left the room with Emilia, her heart heavy with foreboding. “Can the doctor do anything, Mamma?” she asked quietly.

  “At this point, we have to try,” Emilia replied, avoiding her daughter’s eyes. “Our medicines are no good now.”

  Luisa, Bruna and Teresa sat at the kitchen table, too shocked to say anything, their eyes red from crying. Emilia busied herself in the background making a pot of tea.

  “Where’s Papà?” Teresa said suddenly.

  Luisa stirred, irritated by the interruption. “He’ll be here soon,” she said sharply.

  “Don’t lie,” Bruna cried. “He didn’t care about anyone except Antonio, and now he’s d-de…” she stopped, unable to continue.

  Luisa went over to her daughters and wrapped her arms around them. “I’m so sorry, girls,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “He’s in shock at the moment, as we all are. He’ll come back, you’ll see. He loves you too, just as much as he loved Antonio.” She pretended not to see the look of disbelief on their faces, and hugged them close to her.

  It was the morning of the funeral, and they were all still stunned by the swift turn of events. The doctor had visited four days earlier and told them they were doing everything right, they just had to wait until Antonio got better. But he hadn’t got better. He had got steadily worse, and he could barely breathe by the third evening. Emilia, Luisa and Ernesto had been by his bedside as his breathing became more and more shallow, until he had taken one final breath and died before their eyes.

  Ernesto had let out an anguished howl, a sound that Luisa had never heard a human being make before and hoped never to hear again. He had picked up Antonio’s lifeless body and crushed it to his chest, as if hoping to bring him back to life by the sheer force of willpower. Luisa and Emilia had left him there, lying on the bed next to his son, tears streaming down his face. Once downstairs, they had given vent to their own grief, holding each other while crying, wailing their desperation.

  Stunned villagers had dropped by to express their condolences, bringing home-cooked food for the family to live on while they struggled to get through the days. The epidemic had passed, leaving several families in the valley grieving over the deaths of their children. Eight-year-old Antonio had been the only child to die in Gallicano.

  A couple of hours later, they watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground, Emilia, Bruna and Teresa sniffing loudly as tears poured down their cheeks. Everyone in the village was there, lending solidarity to the two women who had worked so hard to save their children. Ernesto grasped Luisa’s hand as workmen shovelled earth into the hole.

  “I’m sorry, Luisa,” he said quietly.

  She glanced up at him, startled. He stared off into the distance, as if lost in his own thoughts.

  “I didn’t mean what I said, you know, when… when Antonio was…”

  “I know. It’s all right, Ernesto, honestly. We were all stressed, it was a horrible time.” She squeezed his hand to let him know she had forgiven him.

  He turned towards her. “I’ll try to be a better husband,” he murmured, putting an arm around her shoulder. “And father,” he added, looking at the forlorn faces of his two daughters.

  True to his word, he began taking more notice of the two girls, going on long walks with them in the countryside, helping them with their schoolwork, smiling at their conversations about hair and makeup. Luisa began to fall in love again with the man she had married. And when he asked her if they could try one last time for another baby, she didn’t hesitate to say yes. He’d stopped going to the bar, the other women in the village no longer sniggered as she walked past them, and she became hopeful for their future.

  Mario was born ten months later, conceived almost straight after they’d buried Antonio. Luisa looked at his wrinkled little face crowned with a shock of black hair and immediately fell in love with him. Bruna adored him, carrying him around in her arms and crooning lullabies, but Teresa didn’t want to even look at him.

  “He’s not Antonio, Mamma,” she said after he was born. “He’ll never be Antonio, will he?”

  Luisa shook her head sadly. “No, darling, he won’t replace Antonio, but he is your new brother. Come and say hello to him.”

  Teresa ignored him from the start and continued to merely tolerate his presence. She could be a prickly character at the best of times, and resented this new intruder in their lives.

  Ernesto seemed happy with his second son but kept his distance, as if afraid that his happiness would be destroyed once more. He remained close to his daughters, and Luisa was pleased to see that he no longer neglected them.

  “The men in the village have asked me to drop in at the bar, just to wet the baby’s head,” he said to Luisa. She looked up from the magazine she was reading while the baby was sleeping quietly in his cradle.

  “All right, just don’t come home too late.”

  “Really?” He looked surprised. “I know you don’t like me going there any more…”

  “It’s fine, really,” she interrupted him. “You deserve it, you haven’t been out for ages. Try and be back by eleven, so I can get Mario settled for the night.”

  He leant over and kissed her forehead. “You’re a wonderful woman.”

  “And don’t you forget it!” she said, laughing. “Get on with you, and enjoy yourself.”

  He left the room, whistling.

  “Just not too much,” she whispered, her hands clenching the magazine tightly.

  He came back after midnight smelling of whisky, cigarettes and cheap perfume. Luisa said nothing as he climbed into bed beside her, but her heart broke one final time. She knew that she would never trust him again. Tomorrow she would tell him that their marriage was over; she might not be able to divorce him, but from now on she would be his wife in name only.

  Chapter Thirteen

  1959-1960

  Luisa smiled as she watched Mario chase a butterfly around the garden. He was an odd child, she thought; he seemed to avoid human contact as much as possible, but was fascinated by the wildlife around him. She often found him sitting in the grass, absorbed in the behaviour of the ants by his feet, carrying insect wings or leaf fragments back to their nest. He hated rainy days when he was forced to stay indoors, it drove him crazy. If she wasn’t careful, he’d sneak outside so that he could jump and splash in the puddles.

  The only person he tolerated for any length of time was Bruna. Luisa was allowed to kiss him goodnight, or brush his hair, or straighten his clothes, but after a minute or so he would start wriggling to get away. With Bruna, instead, he would sit for hours on the sofa next to her while she read to him, or suffer her smothering him with kisses at bedtime. And Bruna adored him. She found Teresa to be too prickly and hot-tempered, and so she devoted her spare time to Mario, who was a lot calmer.

  Luisa turned her mind back to the plant she was tending. This particular bush needed special attention: it was centuries old and had been the first one to be planted in the Grove. She bent her head and was soon lost in her own little world, where nobody else existed.

  Bruna threw her handbag down by the front door and sighed, happy to be home again. She headed into the kitchen, eager to tuck in to whatever her mother had prepared for her. She had just sat down at the table to eat when she heard the front door open.

  “Is that you, Mario?” she called. “Want some of this soup Mamma made?”

  “T
hat would be great,” her father said, striding into the kitchen. “I’m starving.”

  “P-papà.” Bruna’s heart sank.

  “Don’t sound so pleased to see me.” He stopped and frowned at her.

  “No, it’s just that I thought it was Mario…” she began.

  “Mario, Mario, it’s always Mario with you,” he roared. “It’s like no-one else exists here.”

  “I-I’m sorry, Papà. I didn’t think you’d be home till later.” She put her spoon down, all appetite gone.

  “There was an accident, they sent us home early today,” he mumbled. “Giovanni got his arm stuck in some machinery.”

  “Oh. Is-is he all right?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. Got a few bruises but he’ll survive. Anyway, I came home to see how my favourite daughter is.”

  “Th-that’s nice,” Bruna replied. She desperately wished Teresa was there, but she’d gone to a friend’s house.

  “Where’s your mother?” he suddenly asked.

  “Out in the Grove, and Mario’s out in the garden as well,” she said quietly. Her stomach twisted in a knot.

  “Good, good… they’ll be out there for ages then, won’t they?”

  Bruna nodded, feeling miserable inside.

  “You finished?” he asked, nodding towards her half-empty bowl.

  “Yes, I’m not that hungry.”

  “Neither am I. So, come and give Papà a hug, then.”

  She reluctantly got up and went over to him. He gathered her in a bear hug, his strong arms crushing her body to his. He stroked her hair, over and over again, until she thought she would scream. Then he said it, as she knew he would.

  “Let’s go for some of our special time. What do you think?”

  She didn’t answer, her eyes full of tears as he guided her over to the stairs. Slowly she walked up, every step feeling like she was walking through thick mud, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Every time she felt like a condemned criminal walking towards the gallows. Her father had changed, ever since he and Mamma had had that furious row one evening. And now he had invented this special time, just for the two of them… and she wanted to die.