by David Elvar
The official announcement, if you can call it that, came that evening. There had been two more calls during the afternoon, neither of which I could be bothered to listen in on. Putting things in place, probably, and I knew what my father’s plans were now, didn’t need to know the details. So it was that he appeared at my door with my supper, but instead of hammering it and leaving like he’d taken to doing, he knocked and waited. I yanked the door open, was only half-surprised to see him there. Come for Round Two? I didn’t get the chance to ask.
‘You will start packing,’ he said simply. ‘You will be ready to leave by tomorrow midday at the latest.’
‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘So where are we going?’
‘This not your concern. All the arrangements have been made, all you have to do is be ready at the appointed time.’
—and with that, he thrust the tray into my hands and was gone. I stood there dumbly, holding the tray and staring after him. Was that it? Dismissed from his life without a single explanation, a single word of regret at having to do this but it was for my own good and I would come to understand in the years to come and blah—blah—blah? I knew he could be cold but…
I retreated into my room with my supper, closing the door softly on him. I had packing to do, would be ready at-the-appointed-hour.
Of that he could be certain.
THIRTY FIVE
I didn’t have much to pack, just my clothes and a few things, personal stuff that mum had given me and I’d had to abandon when we decided we were going to stay in England. A small price to pay at the time, they seemed suddenly to be more precious than anything else in the world.
I sat on the edge of my bed and gazed round at my room, its shabby furniture and faded walls glowing apologetically in the feeble morning sun. It was almost midday, almost the time my father had dictated that we were to leave. So this was it. I was being kicked out. Sent packing. I was a non-person, dismissed from my father and his family. If anyone mentioned my name, beloved nonna would reply stiffly that the person you speak of is not discussed in this house and you will not mention her name again. And then she would pronounce it time to eat and they would follow her in close pecking order into the dining-room.
But you know, I could live with that. I might now be a non-person but I’d given them a run for their money, had left a mark on them they wouldn’t forget in a hurry. In the years to come when they had spaghetti and meatballs made to beloved nonna’s own recipe, they would remember me. And if that didn’t do it, the hopefully indelible stains on the family heirloom tablecloth certainly would.
It was strange but I wasn’t scared to be leaving this place, this house my father still insisted was my home. Whatever the immediate future held for me, I could handle it. He still hadn’t told me where I was to be sent and I figured there was something in that. No doubt he’d tracked down the worst boarding-school imaginable, one that would be run more like an army unit than a place of education. No doubt he’d found one that would instil the love of my home country that he demanded and the respect for his family that they all demanded while shovelling down my throat as much culture as he thought fit for the daughter of a distinguished scientist of international standing. Looked like I had another fight on my hands. Same tactics, different enemy. But I was ready for it. All this time with my father had prepared me well. So yeah, I was ready for it…
‘Elisa?’
I glanced up. ‘I’m here.’
‘It is time to leave. I will be in the car.’
I didn’t answer and he didn’t wait for one. I heard his footsteps receding down the hallway and the front door being opened. He had issued orders and they would be obeyed. The story of our family life for as long as I could remember.
I got up and heaved my two bags off the bed. But as I got to my door, I stopped. Turned. Took one long last look at the place. It wasn’t anything sentimental, I just didn’t know when I would be seeing it again. I mean, would I be allowed home in the holidays? Next year, maybe. But this year…I didn’t want to think about it. I turned away, yanked the door open and went down the stairs to take on my future.
The journey was both short and long. Short because of the distance, long because of the silence. On the way, not one word did my father say to me. And he drove more sedately, not like the maniac that I’d always known him to be. Oh, the other drivers weren’t having any of it, sure, with two minor collisions, several near-misses and a whole chorus of Italian curses to colour the ride, but he seemed oblivious to it all. It was like he was frozen inside, was just a robot going through the motions—handbrake off, change gear, give way at junction. Not once did my seatbelt cut into me as he stepped on the brakes, not once did I flinch as he left only just enough room to get past the car in front. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn we were back in England, he driving the small hatchback the University had lent him, his incredulity over the comparative politeness of English drivers mounting with every trip.
It was strange but I knew the route he was taking—or at least, I knew where it led to. The airport. So that was it: he was sending me to a school on the mainland. It wasn’t that they were any worse than the schools in Sicily, it was more that when he’d told beloved nonna that he wanted me out of the way, he meant he really wanted me out of the way. It also meant that visits were going to be more difficult, even almost impossible, but I figured he’d planned it for that reason, too: he wouldn’t be able to take time away from his work to visit me and I wouldn’t be able to just slip back for a weekend if I ever felt the need for it. Not that I ever would but I think you get the picture here.
I glanced sidelong at him. He still seemed frozen, like he was following some set ritual like a Sunday lunch with the family.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, ‘I’ve worked it out for myself. Do I get a ticket or am I expected to pay for my own exile?’
No answer. Was I surprised? Given the treatment I’d had from him over those past few days, you do the math.
‘So where am I going?’ I asked next. ‘Rome? Naples? I’ve guessed the half of it, you might as well give me the rest.’
No answer.
‘And how often do you want me to write? A lot will depend on my studies but I think I might be able to manage maybe once a year. Will you be okay with that?’
No answer. I settled back in my seat. It wasn’t far to the airport now. I could ride out the silence.
Inside the terminal building, I was reminded of my arrival there, and it seemed so long ago. Had it been so long? I counted off the weeks, counted off all that had filled them: school, Anya, the bikini, beloved nonna and her medicine, Aunt Eliana and her help, the headmaster and his kindness, the fathers group, the judge—so much had happened! I’d lived a whole life in those weeks, had blasted my way through the whole range of human emotions in that short time. I was not the same person as the one that had arrived here on that terrible day.
‘You will wait here,’ said a voice, and I snapped round to my father standing beside me. ‘Someone will be along to pick you up.’
‘But—aren’t you staying?’ I asked. ‘You know, make sure I actually leave?’
‘There is no need.’
‘And what about my ticket? I can’t get on a plane without a ticket.’
‘It is all taken care of. Goodbye, Elisa.’
He turned to go. I grabbed his arm, stopped him. I had something to say, something he probably wouldn’t want to hear but which I had to say, anyway.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I just want you to know…I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry.’
His eyes squinted at me, like he was peering disgust at me, then I saw they were misting over, like he hadn’t been expecting this but also like he understood. But he didn’t speak. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, nodded once then was gone, striding towards the exit. He did not look back.
And so I was alone. I glanced round at the bustle, couldn’t see anyone looking as though they were looking for me. There was a coffee bar off
to the side, and I figured I could maybe fix myself up with—
‘ELISA?’
—a frothy cappuccino before flight time, whenever that was—
‘ELISA!’
—and…Only then do I register the voice, only then do I turn to it. I know it. And it knows me. Its owner is hurrying towards me, arms outstretched as though that will get her to me more quickly. I want to speak, to call back to her but…but I can’t. Somehow, I can’t.
And there’s someone with her, someone hovering in the background, a faintly embarrassed smile curving his lips. I know him, too, know that one leg is longer than the other so he can stay upright as he walks along the sides of Scottish mountains. And I understand. I understand where I’m being sent to, where my place of exile is to be.
And then the arms are upon me…are around me…enfolding me. And she’s telling me something, something I’d heard from another someone another lifetime ago, telling me everything would be all right, that I was with her now, I didn’t need to worry any more. And I’m holding her back, holding like I never want to let go. And my eyes feel strange and I can’t see properly. And—and—
What happened next, you don’t want to hear…
~oOo~
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