Dark Night of the Soul

by Kristi Belcamino

  I nudged him and whispered. “It’s time for the toast.”

  He stood and cleared his throat. Everyone quieted. He held up his glass and started to speak. He looked so handsome in the black button down linen shirt I’d bought him.

  His words were drowned out by the roar of several motorcycles pulling into the cul-de-sac. Headlights shining into the tent, made people squint. Anger surged through me. They were ruining a beautiful tradition and moment.

  My chair was closest to the cul-de-sac. I was up in an instant. Stalking over to the boardwalk, I waved my hands, gesturing for them to leave or STFU. But instead of cutting the lights and engines, they revved their motors louder. I stepped into the street. I couldn’t see past the headlights. I glanced behind me. Everybody was up out of their seats, watching.

  These idiots were disrupting this beautiful dinner. Mrs. Marino held her hand up to her mouth. That did it.

  “Vai fuori di qui!” I yelled. I didn’t know much Italian, but I knew how to say get the hell out of here. My godfather used to say it when flies tried to interrupt his dining al fresco experience. A black car pulled into the cul-de-sac, lazily doing a turn so it faced the group of motorcyclists. Its headlights made the motorcyclists squint. The motorcyclists closest to me swiveled his head toward the black car. With a nod of his head, they all zipped off, past the black car, which then followed.

  My heart was pounding. I felt Dante’s arm on my shoulder.

  “They’re all dressed the same as the guy this morning.”

  “Holy shit, Dante.”

  “Yeah. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

  “Do you think they’re targeting you guys?” I glanced at Matt.

  He frowned. “Maybe.”

  “Could be a rogue gang of thugs. We aren’t in Kansas anymore. We’re automatically targets just by being Americans.”

  “That’s true,” he said. I could sense the tension ease from him. He could handle random thugs thinking tourists were easy prey, but he couldn’t bear the thought of someone targeting Matt.

  I totally understood.

  “Let’s be sure your mom has someone with her at all times,” I said. “She’s not allowed to even leave her hotel room to go to the lobby unless someone we trust is with her.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Dante said. “I’ll talk to Uncle Carmelo.”

  I opened his hand and pressed two small iron Italian cornicellos into his palm. It was the same twisting horn he wore around his neck, but these were forged from iron. “I want both of you to put these in your pockets during the ceremony.”

  It was an Italian tradition for the groom to have a piece of iron in his pocket during the wedding to ward off evil spirits. I’d had the horns made in Berkeley by an artisan metalsmith who polished them until they gleamed.

  “Cool! You didn’t forget a thing, did you?” He smiled. “You know I don’t really believe in any of that stuff?”

  “I know. But it can’t hurt, can it?” I smiled up at him. “Let’s go,” I said. “They’re waiting for us.”

  My cell rang and I looked down. Seeing the name made my face grow red. James. My former lover. San Francisco cop. I sent it straight to voicemail.

  When we sat back down, Bobby gave me a look and I shrugged. He finished the toast, but the celebratory mood had been dampened.

  “What was all that about?” Bobby asked when the toast was over and we were working on dessert.

  “The bikers? No clue.” I took a big gulp of my wine. For some reason, I didn’t mention what Dante had told me earlier—about the motorcyclist who had been outside his hotel. I wished I’d been able to bring my gun to Italy. I glanced around. I didn’t suppose there was anybody who worked for the catering company who knew how to get me a piece? I felt vulnerable and anxious.

  Even after the DJ began playing music from the 1930s and all the aunts and uncles got up to dance, I was still on edge. It was only when I relaxed into Bobby’s arms as we swayed to Billie Holiday that I was able to let go a little. I laced my fingers behind his neck, under his silky, auburn hair,

  Later, in the room at the villa, our love making felt desperate. It wasn’t as sweet and passion-fueled as the morning lovemaking session. Instead, it was more urgent, needy, frantic. On both sides. Bobby couldn’t get enough of me and I didn’t want to let him go.

  I hid my tears in the dark, swiping at my face. They were bittersweet tears. I’d never felt more loved or wanted in my life. Bobby made me feel like the most beautiful creature on earth. As if every part of me was exquisite. It was almost too much. It was hard to accept it. Hard to believe I deserved it.

  I fell asleep clinging to him, burying my face in his chest, only surfacing when a nightmare woke me. A black crow had been sitting at the foot of our bed and cawing at us. I shook Bobby, but he was lifeless. I threw my pillow and missed. The crow’s beady eyes glittered in the dark. It was only when I lunged, ready to choke the life out of it, that it flew away and I woke sweating, heart pounding, Bobby murmuring in his sleep beside me.

  Pulling the covers around my chest, I sat up in bed, leaned against the wall and stared at the moon that was low on the horizon above the sea. It felt like I was in a fairy tale. The villa was a castle and I was a princess. But danger lurked, hiding around every corner. I tried to shake off the foreboding, attributing it to the spell of the old country. Italy had an old soul and there were spirits everywhere. Even the most educated and sane people in Italy still believed in witchcraft, spirits, bad omens, and the malocchio. The Italian horn Dante wore around his neck was said to ward off the evil eye, even if he forgot its original intention.

  It was a natural part of Italian life. For some reason coming to my ancestral country had triggered a heightened awareness I didn’t want. It was casting a dark cloud over my dream vacation. Although I had always sensed evil lingering in a place, I had never had a pervasive feeling of doom like I did on this day. I thought back. The first night in the villa there was nothing of the sort. It was a magical night.

  But a darker magic had seeped into our lives today. It had begun with the spilled olive oil and the black bird inside. And then on our way to the florist when the strega had looked at me as if she could see straight through to my very soul. I could still see her face vividly in my mind.

  And then it struck me. The look on her face was pure terror. She’d even put her hand up as if to protect herself and ward something off. At first I thought she was afraid of my car running her down or off the road, but now I realized what it meant and it struck me like a punch to the gut: She was afraid of me.

  Careful not to wake, Bobby, I slipped out of bed and headed for the balcony overlooking the sea. A cool breeze whipped my hair around my face. But the shivers that raced down my spine had nothing to do with the temperature.

  The stars filled the sky as I’d never seen in California. How had I never known that there were this many stars above? I leaned on the rail and looked up, mesmerized, but also chilled to the bone. I grew dizzy and felt unmoored by the vastness of the universe spread before me. The Italian night sky was both beautiful and terrifying. Even though I could hear Bobby’s gentle snores in the room behind me, I’d never felt so alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Last Kiss

  The morning broke with an ethereal blast of sunshine that seeped into every corner of our bedroom, sending the terrors of the night skittering back into their dark crevices.

  Today was Dante and Matt’s big day and I wasn’t going to let a bunch of superstitious nonsense ruin my enjoyment of it. Yesterday was shrouded in shadows and dread and ominous portends, but I was determined to make today full of life and joy. I’d spent too much of my life as an adult shouldering grief. No more.

  Bobby woke up excited to read a new research study he had brought with us about the study taking place in Southern Italy. While Bobby read at the desk in the bedroom, I did some Budo practice by the pool. I was out of shape. As soon as we got back to California, I was hitt
ing the training again hard.

  I swam a few laps and then fixed us a breakfast of toast with jam, the same as the day before, except this time I brought out all the fixings, shaking the memory of Bobby spilling the olive oil. I had breakfast on a tray by the pool when Bobby came out, covered only in a white towel wrapped around his waist. He was waving the morning newspaper at me. Apparently, he’d moved on to news.

  “You’re not going to believe this?” Excitement shown in his eyes, making me smile.

  “Hit me,” I said, buttering a piece of toast and handing it to him.

  “You know that pod of whale sharks that took a wrong turn migrating and ended up in the Mediterranean Sea?”

  “Yeah,” I said, even though I had zero idea what he was talking about.

  “They are down by Ragusa. Between there and Malta. They are everywhere.” He thrust the paper at me. “Look at this aerial footage. We are going to be able to see them. Up close.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes,” he smiled.

  “Wait,” I said worried, not wanting to put a damper on his enthusiasm. “Will they still be there in a few days when we head south?”

  “Yes, that’s the best part. There is such an abundance of food right there, the plankton they eat, that researchers think they will be around for at least a week. They’ve never been seen this far north.”

  “Amazing!”

  “I just emailed my boss. He might even fly out here, too. This is my chance to see these amazing creatures up close, Gia!”

  He grabbed me around the waist and swung me around.

  We spent the day by the pool, eating, swimming, and making love. And I decided I never wanted this life together to end.

  Bobby whistled when I stepped out of the villa. I smiled. He looked pretty damn sexy himself. He wore a gray shirt, black slacks, and shiny Italian black shoes I’d had custom made for him. I wore a backless green dress with gold sandals and gold Wonder Woman cuffs. We were giddy as we drove to the wedding spot, a flat spot carved out of the cliff overlooking the sea. Matt and Dante wore matching black suits. Custom-made. Of course.

  The ceremony—set against a swirling orange, pink, and red sunset backdrop—made me cry like a baby and cling to Bobby’s arm so tightly I left little indentations. He kept glancing down at me, smiling and kissing my brow.

  Mrs. Marino dabbed at her eyes with a small tissue she withdrew from a patent leather silver clutch, blotting tears carefully so she didn’t muss her makeup. I probably should have thought of that. The back of my hand was black with smeared makeup from me swiping at my eyes.

  Our small group joined hands as the ceremony ended with Dante and Matt breaking through the ceremonial ribbon strung between two lemon trees.

  When we got to the small parking lot, Dante and Matt whooped when they saw the flowers and ribbons that covered the front of their car. I gave Bobby a high-five. We’d paid some kids around the corner to decorate the car during the ceremony, hoping they would actually do it and not just run off with our American bills and the flowers and ribbons.

  As we piled into cars, bystanders clapped and shouted “Auguri!” to congratulate the new couple and wish them luck.

  The reception was held at Hotel Rizzoli, an ornate structure with metal balconies peeking out from nearly every window. The backside overlooked the sea. The front faced a narrow street. As we pulled up, I saw the movie star’s Lancia pulling away. When the valet took my keys, I asked him who the man was.

  “The man in the white car?” I asked. “He looks like a movie star?”

  The valet shrugged. I supposed they were used to celebrities here. They were probably commonplace. Another valet, an older man, walked up and overheard the tail end of our conversation.

  “We never talk about our celebrity guests,” he scolded. “We make sure they have upmost privacy. To keep the paparazzi away. But I can say we have movie stars, yes. Presidents? Yes. We have everybody stay here.”

  I smiled. Of course, Dante and Matt would hold their reception at a celebrity laden location.

  A colorful sign saying “Marino/Stinson Wedding” pointed us to a courtyard filled with fountains and flowers facing the sea. After scarfing down a piece of cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto—my favorite—I went searching for the bar. As much as I loved the wine in Italy, I was craving two things from back home: a shot of bourbon and, possibly, a cigarette. I hadn’t smoked for a long time, but I was in a celebratory mood. One wouldn’t hurt. Besides I was on vacation. Besides, we had some time to kill before the main course was served. Dante and Matt were busy socializing with the other politicians who had flown in from D.C. for the reception.

  After I grabbed a bourbon for me and an Italian beer for Bobby, I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward me.

  “Let’s go find me a cigarette,” I said. “And we can check this place out. Let’s play spot the celebrity.”

  Armed with our drinks, we explored the hotel. A grand staircase led to the second floor. A party spilled out from a ballroom. We snuck in and joined a group dancing the Macarena, laughing as people stared at us. Then we raced out like naughty children.

  On the second floor, I spotted a man in a tuxedo smoking on a balcony. Right before we stepped outside, Bobby grabbed me and kissed me deeply, taking my breath away for a moment. When we came up for air, I grinned. “What was that about?”

  “I wanted to sneak in one last kiss.”

  I pulled back. “What do you mean?”

  “Before your sweet mouth turned into a smelly ashtray.”

  “Very funny.” I smacked him in the shoulder. A little harder than I intended, but he deserved it. I drained my glass. The bourbon had warmed my belly and made me feel as if I were melting.

  The man was on his way back inside, but offered me two cigarettes and a book of matches.

  “Grazie.”

  He dipped his head in reply.

  The balcony was filled with flowers. We stepped up to the rail overlooking the street below. If I strained I could see a glimpse of the sea over the tops of buildings. Bobby stood behind me, pressing himself close, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my shoulder as we looked out at the water.

  “This night is perfect,” I murmured.

  “Mmm hmmm,” he breathed into my hair, his breath hot on my skin.

  He pulled back and drained his beer bottle. “I’m going to go get a refill.” He gestured toward my glass. “Same thing?”

  I didn’t want him to leave. On the way upstairs, I had felt such an overwhelming surge of love for him, that I knew I could say the words. I knew this time I could do it.

  “I’ll be back in a sec.” Before I could open my mouth, he took my glass, winked, and left.

  I took a breath. I had about five minutes to get up the nerve. When he came back I was going to do it. I was going to tell him I loved him. Suddenly, it felt so right. I could hardly wait to say the words. I couldn’t wait to look into his eyes and say it. What better time than the day of my best friend’s wedding in one of the most amazing places on earth?

  Leaning on the rail, I soaked in the view. The cobblestone street below was so quaint. All the shops had wooden signs hanging on chains.

  The blue velvet sky was filled with stars. The tiniest breeze brought the smell of the ocean and kicked up the fragrance of the flowers nearby. A valet swinging a set of keys leisurely headed toward the parking garage. A young couple holding hands turned the corner onto the street below, swinging their arms and laughing. An older man came out of an apartment across the street. A woman came out on the balcony next to mine and lit a cigarette. We smiled at each other.

  Then in a rumble that seemed to come out of nowhere, four motorcyclists zoomed up to the hotel entrance. They leaped off their bikes and rushed inside in a blur of black. Terror ripped through me. Everything happened at once. In a flash of snapshots that barely registered: The man who had stepped out of his doorway darted back inside his house. The boy grabbed the girl and jerked
her back around the corner at a sprint. The valet dropped to a prone position and army-crawled to a doorway.

  Muffled popping sounds came from inside the hotel at the same time the woman on the balcony beside me screamed. It took me a split second to realize the popcorn sounds were gunshots. With horror, I realized that everyone I loved was inside: where the gunshots came from.

  Before I could react, the four men, now clearly wielding guns, raced outside. One of them shot a glance up at me before he joined the others, hopping on their bikes and squealing away. Stunned, I watched, unable to move, my feet felt nailed to the balcony. Distantly, somewhere in my head, I knew I needed to get inside. When the gunman had looked at me, I knew that I should duck or run, but I’d been frozen. The signal to move short-circuited on the way to my limbs.

  As I stood there, stunned, a flash of movement on the street below drew my attention.

  A woman with long flowing hair, dressed in skintight black pants and a long sleeve shirt stepped out of a dark alcove across the street. As she did, a gunmetal gray car pulled up, skidding to a stop. She jerked the door open and the car accelerated away before she even had the door shut.

  It all happened in an instant. But the images were imprinted on my memory.

  Heart pounding with terror, I was finally able to move. I spun and ran into the hotel. From the top of the staircase on the second floor, I could see people on the first floor running and screaming, covered in blood. Others were carrying bleeding people. Somewhere in the chaos below me were the people I loved most.

  Bobby. Dante. Matt. Mrs. Marino.

  Chapter Eight

  Eternity

  Down on the first floor, people stumbled around in a daze, some with blood spattered on their faces. Others clutching their sides or limping. I pushed through them. Voices and screaming came to me down a long tunnel. Sounds echoed and distorted. I pushed through the lobby toward the French doors leading to the courtyard.