by David Elvar
‘She is my mother!’ I yelled. ‘And whatever she’s done, that doesn’t change!’
‘It is of no consequence,’ he said, trying to pull away again. ‘Your life in England is ended, your life here is all that matters now.’
I held on, wouldn’t let him off the hook. ‘I want an answer. Why did you tell I didn’t want to speak to her any more? Why did you lie to her?’
‘But Lisettina,’ he pleaded, ‘it is not a lie, it is true! You do not need her now, you have me. I am all you need.’
‘Oh yeah,’ I sneered. ‘So if you’re all I need, why did you hire that Russian battleship upstairs? If you’re such a model father, what can she give me that you can’t?’
‘I have explained this to you already,’ he said abruptly. ‘She will cover for me when I am working or at my conferences.’
‘If you were such a perfect father, you wouldn’t even go to your precious conferences so don’t give me that. Again: why did you tell mum I didn’t want to speak to her?’
‘But you do not—’
‘I DO!’ I screamed back. ‘I’VE NEVER WANTED TO SPEAK TO HER SO MUCH IN MY WHOLE GODDAM LIFE!’
He eyed me steadily, ignored me, all at once. ‘Your contact with her is at an end. You do not need her any more.’
‘You want to put money on that?’ I retorted quietly.
He grinned, shook his head indulgently, like I was a child who was having trouble learning a hard lesson.
‘One day, you will understand,’ he said gently. ‘I am the only parent you need now. One day, you will come to realise this.’
—and he was gone, waddling back off to his study, nothing more to say.
I watched him go, muttering every insult under the sun after him. Only when he closed the door behind him did I glance down at the phone, wondering if maybe I could…but no, that would be dangerous. Not for me but for mum. But I’d find a way. He’d taken me from her, no way was he going to take her from me.
NINE
School. You know, I’d never figured with all else that had happened that life would then throw a curved ball like school at me. I mean, hadn’t I suffered enough already?
You have to understand something about Sicilian schools: they’re not exactly your gleaming academies full of sparkling students eager to learn and surrounded by all the facilities they could ever dream of to help them do it. Like as not, there won’t be enough staff, not because there’s a shortage of teachers but because the government can’t afford to hire them. There might not be enough desks to go round, nor might there be enough chairs, so at any one time in any Sicilian school, you’ll see a set proportion of the students doing physical jerks in the playground. Solves that one neatly and keeps them fit, too.
Books are another matter. Again, there might not be enough to go round. Worse is that they might be old. Even ancient. Like, no-longer-relevant ancient. Russia and America still in the race to see who will get to the moon first? Yeah, the margins were full of notes and updates in that one. And then there’s the more basic stuff. Toilet paper, for instance. That one, they leave to the parents to solve, and sometimes, the kid’s daily supply isn’t enough. In schools in England, you’ll often find a healthy underground trade in cigarettes. In Sicily, it’s in toilet paper. The going rate is set by just how desperate the buyer is so you might say the market is constantly in flux. You’d think someone should maybe kick up a stink over such basics being ignored but they don’t. Like the heat, like the scarafaggi, like the constant threat of earthquakes, they just accept it as part of life.
My father took me to the school himself on that first day, sneaking us in after the bell and presenting the two of us before the headmaster’s secretary, a shrivelled mouse of a woman with wiry black hair. She looked up as we entered her office, squinting coldly at us as though we shouldn’t be there.
‘Yes?’ was all she said.
‘I am here to see the headmaster,’ my father barked. ‘Kindly inform him that I am here.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’ she asked calmly.
My father’s face turned red—no, not through embarrassment but from the exasperation of not being accorded the importance he thinks he deserves.
‘I need no appointment!’ he shouted. ‘Kindly inform him that Dr. Vittorio Pellegrino of the State University is here and wishes to speak with him on a matter of the utmost importance!’
She didn’t answer, didn’t move, just sat there looking at him for a moment as though weighing up whether or not to make a fight of it. Eventually, wearily, she sighed, picked up the phone and pressed a button. A few moments then a click and we could hear a muffled voice on the other end of the line.
‘There’s a Dr. Pellegrino here to see you, headmaster…No, he doesn’t say what it’s about. He has someone with him, though, a girl…I see.’ She cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and looked up at my father. ‘The headmaster is very busy. Can this wait?’
‘No, it cannot! Tell him I demand to see him immediately!’
She removed her hand and went to speak but was cut off by the door to his office opening. A man stepped through, a big man full of authority, eyeing us steadily as he spoke to his secretary.
‘Thank you, Maria, I heard that for myself. I’ll take it from here.’
He stepped aside and gestured into his office. ‘If you would be so kind…?’
The office wasn’t big and had a used and dusty air about it. Like most of Sicily, it looked faded, worn out. Only this man held it together, I felt, only his word stopped the whole school from descending into the chaos it probably aspired to.
He followed us in, closed the door and sat down, gesturing us to do likewise. We took the two chairs obviously set there for visitors. He glanced at us, from one to the other.
‘So, what is this about, Mister, er…?’
‘Pellegrino,’ my father reminded him, looking like thunder because someone had failed to note either his name or his title. ‘Doctor Pellegrino. We are here to—’
‘All in good time,’ the headmaster interrupted. ‘I have yet to be introduced to the young lady.’
He turned his gaze on me. It was warm, his eyes dancing with a mischief that set me at ease, and I smiled.
‘I’m Elisa,’ I said quietly. ‘Elisa Robinson.’
‘That sounds like an English name. Are you English?’
‘I was born in England, yes.’
‘I see.’ He turned to my father. ‘You have an explanation for this young lady’s presence here?’
‘To begin with,’ he spat, ‘her name is Elisa Pellegrino, whatever else she may tell you. Secondly, she is here because of a criminal act committed by her mother—’
—and he launched into a short tirade that was supposed to be a summary of all that had happened over those past few months but which turned out to be only what he wanted this headmaster-who-dared-to-not-remember-his-name to know. All the while, the headmaster was sitting back in his chair, his hands clasped across his chest, two fingers tapping together like he couldn’t wait to get this over with and this clown out of his office.
At last, my father finished and sat back, waiting for this headmaster, someone of note and therefore someone worth impressing, to pronounce judgment on his tale by agreeing wholeheartedly with him on every point: that my mother had indeed committed a crime of the most serious nature and it was to his eternal credit that he’d got me back and she deserved to be put into prison and all the rest of it that I couldn’t possibly know for certain but somehow did. I knew my father well enough to be sure of it.
The strange thing was, this headmaster did nothing of the sort. He just sat there. Looking at him. Not saying a word. Then he was leaning forward in his chair…leaning his elbows on his desk…resting his chin on his fingers. He looked like he’d just been listening to some long and not very convincing excuse that he didn’t believe and was now deciding what punishment to dish out.
‘A most uncommon tale,’ he said at length. He turned to me.
‘And what does Elisa have to say about it?’
‘What she has to say is of no consequence!’ my father interrupted. ‘She is fourteen years old, not yet able to judge what is best for her.’
‘This may come as something of a surprise to you, Dr. Pellegrino, but we place great store in what our students have to say. It makes for a more harmonious atmosphere when all voices feel they are being heard, don’t you agree?’
My father said nothing, just sat there glowering. The headmaster sat back again, slapped both hands on the desk as though coming to a decision.
‘This can wait till later,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, I have questions. The first is, why is she not being returned to her old school, the one she attended before she…ah…went away?’
That was a good question, one that hadn’t occurred to me. I glanced at my father, waiting for an answer. It seemed, too, that it hadn’t occurred to him that he would even be asked it.
‘It is…complicated,’ he said, ‘of no consequence here.’
‘According to you, Dr. Pellegrino, many things are of no consequence. Well, no matter. The state records will show her last attendance, and I am on good terms with all the headmasters around here. I am sure one of them will be able to tell me all I need to know. In the meantime, I have to decide what is to be done here.’
My father looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean, what is to be done here? She attends school here. What else is there?’
‘I’m afraid it is not as simple as that,’ the headmaster replied easily. ‘One doesn’t just barge into a school, dump a child there and say ‘Here she is. Teach her.’ There are certain, shall we say, formalities to be observed.’
At that, my father grinned. ‘I begin to understand,’ he said. ‘How much?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I think we can dispense with the play-acting. We both of us are men of the world who understand how things work. Name your price. It shall be met.’
I looked on, horrified. So that was it! The tried and trusted Sicilian way of getting something done. I glanced back at the headmaster, knowing I’d made a terrible mistake in my judgement of him. A good man, I’d thought, one I could maybe trust. Not any more.
But he, this headmaster who dared to not remember my father’s name, made no move. He just sat there watching him with disdain, almost distaste. When at last he spoke, the words were slow, measured.
‘And if I begin to understand you,’ he said, ‘you consider it acceptable to deal with government officials in a certain and, may I say, unsavoury way. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that that is a criminal offence?’
‘But—,’ my father blustered, ‘—but I thought—’
‘I’m sure you did!’ the headmaster thundered. ‘But you may be certain, sir, that that is not the way we do things in this school. And if I ever hear such an infamous suggestion pass your lips again, I shall have no hesitation in reporting you to the authorities. The procedures I was referring to relate to the seeing of previous school records, performance reports and suchlike. These I shall need if I am to determine if this school is appropriate for her level.’
‘But—but she is my daughter! I am a scientist of international standing—!’
‘All of which I do not doubt but is also meaningless in this situation.’
‘But she must be educated! She needs a school!’
‘I had a school in England before you took me away from it!’ I snapped.
‘You will be silent!’ he shouted. ‘You will leave these matters to the adults in this room!’
‘There appears to be some question of your daughter’s desire to be here, Dr. Pellegrino,’ said the headmaster. ‘This, too, will be taken into consideration in my deliberations.’
My father snapped his gaze back. ‘How long will these “deliberations” take and what is she expected to do until your decision?’ he asked acidly.
‘I will follow the set procedures and do what must be done. In the meantime, Elisa is welcome to join the classes here on a temporary basis.’ He turned to me. ‘Would you at least like that?’
I nodded.
‘Good! Now, Dr. Pellegrino, if you will excuse me, I must set the wheels in motion if Elisa is to be permitted to stay here.’
My father nodded curtly and went to get up. ‘Come, Elisa,’ he was saying. ‘We will find out from the secretary which class you must join.’
‘I think you misunderstand,’ said a voice. ‘My first duty is to interview Elisa.’
‘Then I hope this will not take long,’ said my father, sitting down again. ‘I have a lecture to give at the university in an hour.’
‘You may leave whenever you wish,’ the headmaster replied evenly. ‘The interview will be with Elisa alone.’
‘No, I think I should stay—’
‘Good day, Dr. Pellegrino.’
My father didn’t answer, just sat there for a moment. Red-faced. Furious. Then he was getting up…striding to the door and yanking it open…storming past it…slamming it shut after him, the sound resounding through the office like a thunderclap. He was gone.
But the moment he was gone, strange things started happening. The headmaster picked up the phone and I heard a buzz in the secretary’s office next door.
‘Maria, be so good as to bring in coffee for two, would you? And perhaps some biscuits, of the sort we keep for students in times of upset?…Thank you.’
He set the phone back down and looked directly at me.
‘Now then,’ he said gently, ‘what’s all this about?’
TEN
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s to trust your first instincts about people. If someone feels wrong, steer clear of them. You don’t need to have a reason, there probably isn’t one. All you can be sure of is that they won’t be good for you. But if you feel immediately at home with someone, keep them close. Be good to them. Call them friend. Trust me, you won’t regret it.
We talked a little until the secretary brought the coffee. I glanced up as she entered, saw her smile. That alone made her seem less shrivelled and mouse-like, even made her seem less forbidding, and I guessed that was the look she reserved for unexpected visitors like my father. And with people like him around, I figured she could be forgiven for it.
The interview, if that was what he actually intended, started easily enough. He poured coffee, shoved the plate of biscuits to me across the table—not the fatty kind my father liked for his breakfast, I was glad to see—and started chatting.
‘Your father,’ he began, ‘he is…How can I put this?…something of a special person, is he not?’
I grinned. ‘Depends what you mean by special. If you mean he thinks he’s special and deserves special treatment then yeah, I’d go along with that.’
‘It is a tactful way of putting things, I suppose,’ he agreed. ‘There is some hostility between you, I see.’
‘You don’t miss much, do you?’ I muttered,
‘It does not take genius or rare vision to see it. It was clear from the moment the pair of you walked in.’
‘That obvious, huh?’
‘So would you like to tell me the story? This is not by way of prying, you understand. I just—’
‘You just need to know this stuff to help you make your decision about me staying,’ I finished for him. I looked at him sidelong. ‘So what’s the score with that? I mean, what are the chances of me coming here?’
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, you can stay here. The hesitation was for the benefit of your father—a man used to getting his own way without question, I think.’
‘You did it deliberately? Hey, respect!’
‘It was nothing. People like him…it is sometimes good to let them know once in a while that not everyone will jump when they snap their fingers. So, about staying here, you can but would you like to?’
‘Yeah, I mean…Why not?…I mean, if the teachers are anything like you…’
‘I will take that as a comp
liment. Consider it settled but don’t tell your father.’
‘You mean let him stew a little. I can go along with that.’
‘Indeed. Before you go, though, I will want you to sit a short test—that will help me decide which class to place you in. Would that be all right with you?’
‘Do your worst,’ I shrugged. ‘I can handle it.’
‘Good. So this situation with your father, I assume it has something to do with your coming from England. You did not want to leave, I take it.’
‘Understatement of the century,’ I muttered. ‘Look, that long spiel he gave you about my mum being a criminal, it’s a pile of crap—you know that, don’t you?’
‘Why do you think I asked for your side of the story? In every dispute, there are always two sides, and I like to hear both before I make a judgement.’
‘Are you always so impartial?’
‘In this job, I have to be. For example, the other day, two boys were brought to me for fighting in the playground. One was a known troublemaker, a bully. The other was a quiet, studious little lad who no one would even know was there if he didn’t consistently get such high marks in his tests. You’d think on the face of it, it was an open and shut case. Well, I thought so, too, until I had the explanation from them.
‘It seemed the bigger of the two had by accident brushed past the smaller while in a hurry to get to his lunch and knocked him over. Well, for once in his life, he did the right thing: he picked the lad up, apologised and asked if he was all right. And the smaller just let rip with his fists.’
‘Cracked, did he?’ I said. ‘Yeah, I’ve seen it happen: push someone too far and suddenly you’ll find them pushing back.’
‘Indeed. And this “fight” turned out to be more a case of the one trying his damnedest to hit the other and that other simply trying to ward off the blows. So as you see, not quite as clear-cut as first sight might suggest. And when your father gave me that long tale of woe about your mother and you being kidnapped and his long legal fight to get you back…let’s just say I thought there might be more. And there is, isn’t there?’
I looked down, nodded.
‘And I would like to hear it,’ he went on. ‘Start with telling me why you don’t want to be here.’
So I told him. I didn’t hold back, I told him. I told him about mum and my father, her miserable life here with him. I told him about the holiday and her decision to stay in England. I told him about John and how I’d never seen her so happy, so alive. And all of it…gone. Snatched away from me by me being snatched away from it. And because of a father who’d ignored everything I had to say before, during and after his stupid “abduction” case, who was still ignoring me and who seemed determined to sever every last connection to my mother, the only parent I’d ever really had while he bent over his precious laptop and his precious work.
