by David Elvar
I got to my room and closed the door behind me, my heart thumping. He’d lied to the court! He’d lied to the court! That was one thing but what troubled me more was the fact that he seemed to think he could get away with it. Well, he wouldn’t! I’d make certain of it.
‘Elisa?’
I froze. It was my father’s voice, calling me from the bottom of the stairs. Had I left something undone, some clue that I’d been snooping in his desk? I opened my bedroom door, stuck my face out.
‘Yeah?’
‘Ah, Elisa. I have just walked into my study and found the photocopier on. Have you been using it?’
Damn! In wanting to get away, I’d overlooked that one little thing. No help for it, I’d have to wing it.
‘Er…yes,’ I said. ‘I was copying stuff for homework, something from a book I wanted to use. I must have left it on. Sorry.’
He waved my excuse away, apparently satisfied it was nothing more sinister, and I could breathe again. I had to hand it to him, he didn’t miss much. And on that count alone, I would have to be more careful in the future.
EIGHTEEN
‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’
It was the first thing she said when she opened her door and saw me standing there.
‘I should, yes,’ I said, ‘but this is more important.’
‘You’d better come in, then.’
I slipped inside, heard her close the door behind me.
‘I take it you have found something?’ she was already asking.
‘You bet I have!’ I said, rummaging in my bag.
‘Not here. Come into the living-room. If we have to take your father apart, let us at least do it in comfort.’
I followed her in. We sat down, she opposite me, the coffee table between us like before.
‘So!’ she went on. ‘What have you found that is so important that it makes you want to skip school for the morning?’
‘He’s lied,’ I said simply. ‘My father has lied to the court.’
‘And this is news?’
‘You’re not surprised?’
‘Not in the least. He is my brother, I know him too well. What you have found, show me.’
I delved into my bag, pulled out the first of the papers, the supposed letter from mum.
‘Read it,’ I said, handing it to her. ‘I found it in the court papers. They were there, just as you said they’d be. I copied a couple of things that I thought might be interesting.’
She read it quickly, flipped it over to check there was no more on the back. ‘You mother did not write this, I take it.’
‘Got it in one!’
‘And this is not your mother’s signature?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said truthfully. ‘We were rarely apart so she wasn’t in the habit of writing to me. And anyway, does it matter? If I don’t know her signature, I’m pretty sure no judge will.’
‘Hmm. But surely this would be exposed as a forgery by the defence. How could he hope to get away with it?’
‘I wondered that, too,’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s such an outright lie that it’s bound to fall at the first hurdle. Mum’s lawyer would tear him to bits and I don’t suppose the judge would be too happy about it, either.’
‘Hmm. You said you copied a couple of things. What else is there?’
‘Just this.’ I handed her the second sheet. She looked it up and down. ‘It’s those three words centred on the page,’ I went on. ‘I guess it’s something legal but my Italian isn’t good enough to translate them.’
‘It has some legal meaning, yes,’ she said. ‘And now I see all too well what he is trying to do.’
‘You do? You can translate it, then?’
‘Yes. And it isn’t Italian, it’s Latin.’
‘It isn’t? I mean, it is? I mean—’
She laughed. ‘I know what you mean and yes, it is Latin.’
I got up, went to sit beside her, to look down again at the words, at the way they seemed to jump out of the page as if to emphasise something.
INAUDITA ALTERA PARTE
‘So what do they mean?’ I asked.
‘Literally, “without hearing the other side”. It means, dear Elisa, that your father wanted this case pushed through without your mother being able to defend herself against it.’
‘He can do that?’
‘Up to a point, yes. It’s usually used where the case needs to be heard without delay, where there may be danger to someone or something if time is wasted in hearing a defence. In this case, he is hoping to persuade the judge that there is a danger to you if his application for custody is delayed.’
‘So that’s it!’ I breathed. ‘That’s how he hoped to get this pile of garbage through: no one would be in court to expose it.’
‘That depends on whether the judge agrees to this. He has the right to refuse it if he considers it not appropriate.’
‘I have to tell him!’ I said firmly. ‘I have to find this judge, whoever he is, and tell him!’
‘Finding out who it is will not be difficult. Keep checking your father’s papers, since you now know where they are. There will soon be a note of the date of the hearing and the name of the presiding judge. Get the name, go to the court and see what you can do.’
‘I will,’ I said. ‘You can bet your last dime I will. He’s not getting away with this, Eliana.’
‘Mmm. Do what you can. If you can pull it off, both your father and his lawyer will be in a lot of trouble.’
‘His lawyer, too, huh?’
‘Oh, yes! His lawyer is supposed to make sure that his client’s testimony is above reproach. But just remember one thing, Elisa: you may get to this judge and you may expose this lie but it may make no difference to the outcome.’
‘But—but he has to listen! He can’t allow a blatant lie to be used in court, surely.’
‘Can’t he? It is said that in Sicily you can buy anything, even a judge.’
I stared at her in horror. I knew of cash changing hands so you could get a new driving licence issued more quickly or get the police to turn a blind eye to a traffic offence but this? Suddenly, the whole country seemed more than ever like a Banana Republic rather than a civilised European nation.
‘I wish mum was here,’ I said thickly. ‘I wish I could at least let her know what’s going on over here.’
‘Still no contact with her, then?’
‘None. My father won’t allow it at home, half the public telephones don’t work and getting to the Post Office for a stamp is just impossible.’
‘Well,’ she said, getting up, ‘perhaps I can help there.’
‘Yeah? How?’
‘On the table,’ she said, nodding in its direction, ‘is pen and paper. Write her a letter, give me her address and I will post it.’
‘Really?’ I leapt up, threw my arms round this special aunt who understood me so well. ‘Thank you! Thankyou—Thankyou—THANKYOU!’
‘Enough already!’ she laughed. ‘Just go and write your letter while I fix us something to eat. Is there anything special you would like?’
‘Uh…yeah…anything,’ I said, heading for the table.
I wasn’t listening, of course I wasn’t. I mean, would you? I just made myself comfortable on the chair, picked up the pen and started writing a letter to my mother, to mum. I had a lot to tell her.
NINETEEN
‘Remember what I said, Elisa.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Say-please-and-thank-you-and-try-to-look-interested-in-whatever’s-being-said-to-me.’
‘Enough! I see you have started before we even enter. It will stop! Understood?’
‘You want it stopped?’ I muttered. ‘Just leave me at home when you come to these gigs.’
‘I’m warning you, Elisa. This is your last chance.’
‘Can I have that in writing?’
He didn’t answer, just stabbed me with his eyes as he pressed the doorbell. I shrugged it aside, didn’t let him get to me.
Like last t
ime, there were cold footsteps on the stone floor…the door being thrown wide open…the over-acted greeting fit for someone who hadn’t been seen in years but in reality had been there only the week before…and the total ignoring of me. Like I cared.
The ritual over, we were allowed to enter. I followed at a safe distance, trying to look inconspicuous while not needing to. There were about a dozen people gathered in the living-room, most of them leftovers from last time but one or two new faces. I didn’t look too closely at them, didn’t look to see if anyone was another Eliana. If they were here, they’d been invited. If they’d been invited, they could be expected to toe the family line. I think you can guess where I’m coming from here.
‘Girl! Come here!’
I snapped round to the voice. Beloved nonna was bearing down on me, my father in her wake like a dutiful convoy escort. But you know, I’m kind of not used to being given orders.
‘Are you speaking to me?’ I asked.
‘Are you in some doubt of that?’
‘Well, let’s just say the way you were speaking, I thought there was a dog loose in here somewhere.’
‘Elisa!’ —My father, right on cue— ‘Show respect to your beloved nonna!’
I didn’t answer, just waited for the next round.
‘It is against my wishes that you are here,’ she said. ‘It is only through the intervention of your father that you find yourself among us here today. I trust you will behave in accordance with the gratitude you feel for this concession.’
I went to open my mouth, to tell the old witch what she could do with her concession but…yeah, you guessed it.
‘She is grateful, mama,’ my father jumped in. ‘And she hopes her previous behaviour will not bar her from such gatherings in the future.’
Yeah, I could have spoken out, said something that would have shot him to pieces, but I didn’t. I let it ride. I could afford to. But then I thought again. And you know, it was really too good a shot not to take.
I looked round at the gathering, all of them looking at me, all of them no doubt forewarned.
‘Where’s Aunt Eliana?’ I asked.
Beloved nonna stiffened. ‘She is not here. She was not invited.’
‘That’s a shame,’ I said. ‘I enjoyed talking with her so much. She filled me in on a lot of family history.’
‘Elisa,’ my father began, ‘perhaps this is not the time—’
‘She made special mention of a great-uncle who also didn’t get invited to family gatherings,’ I went on.
‘Elisa, please!—’
‘Oh, what was his name, now?…Raffaele, wasn’t it?’
‘Enough!’ Beloved nonna rapped her stick on the floor. ‘The person you speak of is not discussed in this house. You will not mention his name again. Now we eat.’
And she turned and led everyone into the dining-room, everyone glancing daggers my way, everyone erasing the discussion as swiftly as family honour could manage it. But that didn’t matter. I’d made my point. You see, every bloodline has its skeletons rattling around in cupboards somewhere, and this was a particularly rattly skeleton so I could see beloved nonna’s point. After all, how would you feel if you were even distantly related to a man who all through his life had sought the close company of young boys?
Family history, don’t you just love it?
The meal followed pretty much the same formula as last time…and the time before…and the time before mum taking me on holiday to England, before mum had “abducted” me. As I sat there, I began to wonder if you could buy these family gatherings ready packaged. You know, shake the contents of the box into a bowl and just add water. Guaranteed results every time. I was sure if beloved nonna could have done so, she would. And looking at them all, it was easy to believe she actually had.
As before, no one was speaking to me. Maybe they thought it safer not to. After all, I think I’d established that I could turn pretty much any conversation any which way I wanted if the mood took me, and it always seemed to. So yeah, best to say nothing to her. Pretend she isn’t there. Just get on with talking at your neighbour while totally ignoring anything they might have to say.
Most of them there I’d seen before. The aunts and uncles I didn’t know I had seemed to be a fixture, but whether through loyalty or trying to make sure they wouldn’t be left out of beloved nonna’s will, I couldn’t tell. There were a couple of distant relations who’d been at the last of these fiascos but not the first, none of them worth worrying about, all of them nodding and murmuring in all the right places, in just the way my father no doubt expected me to. There were a few new faces, though, seated at the far end of the table as though to keep them quarantined against me. And looking at them, I couldn’t say I was particularly bothered by that.
They seemed to be all of the same family—father, mother and son who may have been about my age. Look at it this way, he looked about my age but there any assessment stumbled. You know when you see an accident about to happen and you know it’s going to be ghastly but you can’t look away, you still watch? Well, that’s how I felt then. Everything the mother said seemed to be centred round the one and only interest in her life—her darling son.
It was pretty sickening to watch, actually. She would say something to a neighbour, to someone across the table, and while she was doing it, she’d ruffle his hair or stroke his cheek or squeeze his arm. And he…well, anyone else his age would have been embarrassed, would have tried to pull away while saying something like ‘Mu-um! For God’s sake!’, but this kid was lapping it up. He smirked and simpered, sat there smug and self-satisfied while waiting for the next glowing compliment, the next flowery list of his achievements to be tossed to the rapt audience. Yeah, pretty sickening. I finally managed to look away just as proud mama was about to plant a slobbery kiss on his cheek.
Lunch finished, people rose and left, and I was alone again. As they gathered in the living room, proud mama’s voice bludgeoned everyone else’s into silence with an account of darling son’s performance in the school play five Christmases ago. I got up and went into the kitchen, wanting to get as far away from it as possible.
I walked in to find it silent and empty. That could change at any moment but I knew I could claim it for my own for a few minutes, at least. So I slumped down in a handy chair, gazing round, not looking at anything in particular. The place looked ancient, like something fresh out of a kitchen museum. You won’t find a microwave in a Sicilian kitchen. Nor a dishwasher, Even an electric kettle would be considered a modernism that people could do without, thank-you-very-much. You might find stacks of shelves with rows of labelled jars neatly arrayed down their lengths, a carry-over from the old days when anything that could be preserved was, the seal only being broken when a new supply of something was needed. In a way, it’s kind of quaint. That’s if you’re being charitable, of course.
It was then that I saw it, sitting alone on the topmost shelf, and I knew what it was. I’d seen it before, the last time being when it was hurriedly brought from the kitchen to be dispensed to beloved nonna in one of her fits of vapours. Her “medicine”. And like me, this bottle was sitting apart from the others. In the same room as me. It was almost too good to be true.
Fight dirty, Eliana had said, and fight dirty I would. I got up and began opening cupboard doors. I was looking for Tabasco. You’ll know what I mean by that, it’s a kind of sauce that sets your mouth on fire one day and your butt the next. It would be there, I knew: it’s pretty much a standard ingredient in Sicilian cooking. And it was there, standing front and centre in the third cupboard. Stage One complete.
I glanced at the kitchen door, listening, but the one-sided conversations hadn’t let up any. Proud mama was launching into another syrupy something that I could barely hear and couldn’t be bothered to listen harder to. The main thing was that no one was going to be barging in at a crucial moment.
I yanked the bottle out and slipped across to the shelf where beloved nonna’s medicine sat wai
ting for me. I set it down on the table, picked up the other and unscrewed the top. Then I stopped. I was curious about this stuff. I’d seen her drink it many times but had no idea what it tasted like. Gingerly, I lifted it to my nose, took a sniff…and pulled back, my eyes watering, my nostrils stinging. Strong? Hell, you could clean toilets with it! How she could drink it was anyone’s guess.
I undid the top of the Tabasco, took hold of each, held them up and tipped one against the other. I felt mean, felt like a crackpot scientist trying an evil experiment that would end all life on Earth, though anyone who’d ever met beloved nonna would probably forgive him for it.
One…two…three…four—all the way through to twelve drops I tipped into that medicine before hastily screwing the tops back on and returning both bottles to their places. I was just in time, the kitchen door swinging back to reveal my father even as I turned away from the shelf.
‘Lissetina!’ he beamed. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come and meet your cousin.’
‘Cousin?’ I repeated warily. ‘Since when did I have a cousin?’
‘But you have many cousins! You just haven’t met them. Come! He and his mother are anxious to meet you.’
He and his mother…I think I understood then. I stepped forward, stepped past my father to meet my cousin. Yeah, I was happy to give it a crack. After all, what could possibly go wrong? All that could happen was I could say the wrong thing.
TWENTY
Up close, he looked even more of a simpering little jerk than before. As my father presented me to him and his mother, he gazed up at me with vague, almost sleepy eyes, his lips locked into what seemed to be a permanent smirk. In that moment, I knew what he was: a little emperor, a prince among boys that mama would dote on and wait on and generally smother with kisses and platitudes until he was so puffed up with himself, he could float away. And in that same moment, I found myself wishing he would do just that.
