I didn’t know why but a few hours ago while I was packing I got the strongest feeling that I needed to go talk to this woman and so here I was, standing here feeling stupid while this sophisticated Italian woman stared at me. I waited. It seemed like she was never going to answer.
She let out a big breath of air. “That is Strega Nimonetti.”
“A witch.”
Simona shrugged. “She helps me with spiritual things. She was supposed to come see me the day your friend had the appointment, but she never came up to the house. She saw something that spooked her, she said.”
“Me?” I remembered the woman putting up her hand to ward off my car. The fear in her eyes.
“No.” Simona seemed confused. “The client I had before you. A Sicilian man. A rather brutta figura man, if I do say so myself.”
An ugly figured man.
“He looked attractive when I saw him drive by.”
“I’m not talking about his physical attributes.”
“Aha.” A la bella or brutta figura—a beautiful or ugly appearance—also had to do with attitude, poise, and grace. Not just physical attractiveness.
“Strega Nimonetti lives down across from the butcher’s. She is on the second floor. First door on the right.”
I stood in front of the door, heart pounding, feeling foolish. My knock remained unanswered. I tried again, harder this time. Then I heard a shuffling sound. The woman was coming up the stairway behind me carrying a bag bulging with food, fruit spilling out the top. I’d passed the market on the way here and knew she had walked several blocks.
She was concentrating on each step and then looked up and noticed me. She froze and her hand slipped. The bag tilted and an orange spilled out and rolled down the stairs. We met eyes. She didn’t look afraid, only resigned.
I only hesitated a moment before I rushed down past her and retrieved the fruit that had toppled down the stairs. I came back up and plopped it into her bag with a smile.
“Come,” she tapped me with a gnarled hand and pushed me toward the top of the stairs.
I held her bag as she carefully unlocked the door and entered, leaving the door open behind her. I peered in. She flicked on a light and gestured for me to come in.
Following her into the kitchen, I helped her unpack the bag. The apartment was tiny. A one room studio with a small galley kitchen and table at one end and a twin bed and TV on the other. The fruit was placed in a large bowl on the table and she put some pasta and cheese in a tiny refrigerator under the counter. She put a kettle on the stove and set out two cups with tea bags in them, gesturing for me to sit at the table. I did and she placed a plate of biscotti before me and then threw open the curtains and lifted the window by the table. The window offered a spectacular view of the sea. A cool breeze filtered in, ruffling the flowered curtains. As she bustled at the stove, tending the kettle, I sneaked a glance around the small space.
There were no strange satanic ritualistic black magicky stuff or even items I would image a superstitious old woman to have. Instead, it was a tidy small home.
Finally, she poured our water for tea and sat down with a content sigh.
“Do you speak English?”
“So-so.”
“I saw you. At Simona’s.”
She nodded.
“You were scared?”
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
She pursed her lips together and shook her head.
“Of the other man?”
“A little.”
But I didn’t buy it.
“I saw you look at me when I passed. You put up your hand like you were afraid of me. I don’t understand.”
“You are Bonadonna.”
I drew back and raised my eyebrows, opening my eyes wide.
“What did you say?”
“Bonadonna.” She said it matter of factly.
“What do you mean by that.”
“I saw.” She took a sip of her tea as if she hadn’t just blown my mind.
I tilted my head now and leaned forward. “Saw what?”
“The bad things.”
A chill ran over me. “What bad things?” I could barely get the words out.
“The death. The hotel.”
“My boyfriend?” My voice grew shrill. “The shootings? You saw that.”
She looked sad and pressed her lips together as if she hated to confess this.
“You knew they would be shot at the hotel? You saw this?”
“No, not hotel. Not guns. I just saw death. Blood. Close to you.”
I closed my eyes for a second. What the fuck was going on?
Then I stood, angrily. “I don’t understand. How could you know?”
She shrugged nonchalantly and dipped a biscotti into her tea water, ignoring my distress.
I leaned over the table, flabbergasted. She offered me the plate of biscotti. I shook my head and sat back down. For a few seconds, I stayed silent watching her sip her tea and munch, or rather, gum her biscotti.
Her words ran over and over in my head. Nothing added up. An old Sesame Street skit came back to me: Which one of these things is not like the other. It kept running through my head until I hit on it.
“What does my mother’s maiden name, Bonadonna, have to do with any of this?”
“Maybe nothing.”
I waited.
“Maybe something,” she said.
“Which one is it?”
“You will find out.”
“How? When?”
“I do not know.”
“Are you saying my mother’s name has something to do with all of this?”
She nodded. Or did she? “Is that a yes?”
This time she shrugged. It was infuriating. “Then why did you say that about my name?”
“You look like her.” She was lying. My mother was blonde. We looked nothing alike.
“Like who?” My voice grew shrill.
“Your Nona.”
That stopped me. I’d never seen a picture of my grandmother. My mother had never told me I looked like her mother. But then again, I was only a teenager when my mother died. I know I looked different now.
“Did you know her?”
She shook her head.
Again. Someone who knew what she looked like but didn’t know her. I took out the prayer card from my phone case and pushed it across the flowered tablecloth toward the woman. “Her?”
She took it and read it, her lips moving and then smiled. “Yes.”
“When am I going to find answers?” I’d decided to play it vague like her.
Scooting forward, she sat upright and grew somber. “You will know all. All the answers await you in Sicily.”
Then she stood and started bustling around her kitchen, washing dishes and her counter and ignoring me. I retrieved the prayer card, putting it back in my phone case, and stood to leave.
She walked me to the door and patted my cheek with her gnarled hand. “Stai attento.”
Be safe.
Chapter Nineteen
Gladiatura Moderna
The marine biology research center was out on a rocky promontory. It was a squat square building with antenna and satellite dishes sticking up everywhere and surrounded by fences on all sides. I’d given my name at the gate and was told to drive down the peninsula to the building.
Once there, a man in a tan shirt and khakis came out to greet me. He had thinning hair, deep tan skin, a sunburst of smile lines, and white teeth.
“I’m Dr. Cronk. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” I sounded gruff. It was surreal having strangers offer condolences.
“I have arranged to take you out to the whale sharks. Is that what you wanted?”
“Yes.” It was hard to get the word out. Like visiting the witch, this was something I felt I needed to do. Bobby had been so excited about this opportunity. I would do it for him. I didn’t need to catch the train to Sicily until seven.
He led
me through the small building. It was filled with screens and what looked like broadcasting equipment. I followed him to a small stairway that led below the building. A small boat launch and dock was underneath, at sea level. He tossed me a life jacket and then donned one himself.
“I’m a really good swimmer,” I said, letting the life jacket dangle on my fingertips.
“I insist.”
Fine. I shrugged it on.
There were two small boats. One about the size of a rowboat. The other a large fishing boat. To my surprise, he gestured for me to get into the rowboat.
“You’re joking, right?” I scoffed.
But he looked at me dead serious.
“That’s why you must wear your life jacket.”
I stepped in to the rowboat. He started a small engine and we pulled out from under the building into the sunlight. Even so, I still expected him to motor us over to a large fishing vessel and say, “Just kidding.”
But he didn’t. He headed straight out to sea.
God damn.
I sat in the front at the bow. The doctor sat behind me, manning the engine and steering. The wind blew my hair back. The sun warmed my face. I was relieved the engine noise made it impossible to talk. I closed my eyes and thought of Bobby. Tears slipped out, but they were unnoticed, blown back along my temple, into my hair by the wind.
We rode for about forty-five minutes until I couldn’t see land in any direction. Dr. Cronk killed the engine and I looked around expectantly.
“Here?” I asked.
He nodded and tossed a small anchor and rope overboard. Guess we were staying for a while. A large ripple rocked the boat and I looked over the side, eagerly, but did not see a damn thing. I even leaned over the front of the boat, gripping the sides tightly. The water was crystal clear turquoise for a few feet and then grew dark. I saw a few small fish but nothing big. No whale shark.
The boat was rocking more and then I realized it was Dr. Cronk. He was stripping behind me. He must have seen the look on my face because he tossed me a snorkel mask.
“You coming?”
“What?” I was stunned. He didn’t give me time to answer. Shod only in his white underwear, his life jacket shed, he perched on the edge of the rowboat and tipped over backward into the water, coming up sputtering and laughing and adjusting his face mask.
“The water is spectacular. Come in. They are everywhere down below us. They will come say hi. Just wait.”
“Um, I’m fine right here.”
“I thought you said you were a good swimmer?” he said. “It’s okay you can leave your life jacket on. You won’t see as well, but you can still see them.”
He dipped below the water again. When he didn’t come up for a few seconds, I stood, craning to see him. He surfaced, again, laughing. “They are magnificent!”
Just then, about twenty yards away, a flat spotted head rose from the surface and did a small leisurely roll before disappearing into the water again. That’s when I noticed small movements like this in circles around us. Jesus Christ, we were surrounded.
“They’re sharks, right?” I asked.
“They would only gum you to death.”
“Come on!” he said. “This is a once in a lifetime experience.”
He dipped his head back under and from out of nowhere, I began to weep, sobbing big fat snotty tears, swiping at my face with my sleeve, choking loudly on my sobs. I held the whale tail necklace between two fingers manically rubbing it. This time when Dr. Cronk surfaced, he didn’t say a word, only sat silently, holding onto the sides of the boat, treading water. Finally, the tears stopped.
I shed my life jacket and stripped down to my bra and panties. In one smooth motion, I stepped onto the front of the boat and dived in, hoping I didn’t smack right into the back of a whale and knock myself senseless.
The water was clear as a swimming pool and when I straightened out from my dive, I turned around underwater, spinning in a circle. Dark shapes were everywhere and one was up close. Super close. The blue-spotted creature was a few feet longer than me. I treaded water, marveling as it got closer. Soon it swam past me close enough for me to reach out and touch its side. I was running out of air when I sensed rather than saw something enormous behind me.
I turned and a whale shark at least four times larger than our boat was heading my way. I tried not to panic remembering that Dr. Cronk had told me the worst that could happen is it would gum me to death. But as it drew closer and opened its mouth, I realized that shit, it could also possibly swallow me. I kicked away just as it brushed up against me and passed me by.
Kicking to the surface, I came up gasping for air. The boat seemed far away. I made it over to the side and held on. Dr. Cronk appeared beside me, again giddy with laughter.
“What do you think?”
“Unbelievable.”
But I suddenly sobered.
“It is right that you came alone.”
I turned to him. “Do you think so? Do you really think so?” My voice was pleading.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” He smiled. “One more dive before we head back?”
“Yes.”
This time we remained nearby one another underwater. There were probably about ten whale sharks around us, some close enough for me to see the spots on them and some just shadows flitting by. At one point, Dr. Cronk touched my arm. When I looked, he pointed toward one large whale shark. I looked at him questioningly and he gestured to his belly.
I looked at the whale sharks belly and saw a baby swimming underneath its mother. A sense of peace inexplicably filled me. Watching the mother and baby, kicking my feet so I wouldn’t sink, I reached behind me and unclasped Bobby’s necklace. I held it in my palm for a second, closed my eyes, sent my love to Bobby, and let it go. It caught a beam of sunlight for a second and sparkled as it dropped and then disappeared. I ran out of air and kicked to the surface.
Back at the research center, I was too emotionally exhausted to say much more than a thank you to Dr. Cronk.
“I will never ever forget this,” I said after he walked me to my car.
“The pleasure was mine.”
Once I arrived in Pizzo, I still had two hours before I had to catch the train to Sicily. During my first trip to Sicily, I’d taken a ferry, but this trip I wanted to take the train from Pizzo. The train cars were rolled onto barges to cross the Straight of Messina.
After I turned in my rental car, I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and headed for the town square. This time it was a lot different. The strawberry festival had ended. The square was mainly empty except for a few kids playing ball with sticks. I looked for the boy I had seen who had called me his queen.
That’s when I remembered where he had taken me to get the special ice cream. I headed there. This time there was a young woman behind the counter. I hesitated and then ordered the tartufo di Pizzo.”
“Two dollars, please.” She seemed proud of her English, so I didn’t make a big deal of it, but I was excited.
“I was here the other day and there was a boy here, who said the man behind the counter was his uncle. Do you know where I might find that boy? He was about ten years old?”
“Rafello?” She held her palm out to show how tall he was.
“Yes!”
“He is at school.” She glanced at the clock. “No. He is on his way to play with the other boys. You will find him there.” She pointed to the square.
Sure enough, a large group of boys came crowding up a narrow street joining in the ball game with the others. I spotted Rafello’s head and stood watching for a few seconds.
He must have noticed me because he looked up, did a double take, and then his cheeks grew red. He said something to the other boys, who all looked over at me and then pushed him and teased him. He broke free and was at my side.
“Rafello?”
“Si? I mean yes.”
“I’m sorry to disrupt your game, but I have a question for you. Your brother kept calling me quee
n and you said Queen of Spades. What do you know about her? Have you seen her?” I leaned down. “It’s really important I find her or find out where she is. Do you know where she is?”
He shook his head slowly, but then his eyes grew wide. “Come.” He ran off and I jumped to follow him, my ice cream dripping in the heat.
“Wait?” I said, hurrying to catch up, my ice cream leaving a trail of small drops behind us. “Are you taking me to her now?”
He didn’t answer, only led me down a narrow street and then down an even narrower staircase that seemed as if it were going to take us to the sea. He stopped part way down and climbed off the stone stairs into some brush. I hesitated. “Come on!” His voice was urgent so I hurried after him.
Branches swatted at my face as I tried to duck and follow him on a narrow dirt trail scaling the hillside. Finally, he came to an abrupt stop and put his hand out behind him to stop me. I started to speak and he jerked his head at me, gesturing for me to be quiet. He stared intently in front of him. I could see a drop off just beyond his feet. I crept closer to him until I could see what he was looking at it.
A giant stone patio shot out from the back of a home and we were looking at it from the side. It was large enough to fit three large swimming pools. There was no furniture, however. It was a smooth stone open space dotted with women dressed in black doing karate, expertly fighting with longswords, rapiers, daggers and dueling knives.
I leaned toward him whispering. “What is it?”
“Gladiatura Moderna.”
Fuck an A. Italian martial arts. I’d heard of it, but never seen it.
He motioned for me to crouch down. I did and he leaned over, his breath hot in my ear, whispering “The Queen of Spades. Her soldiers are all experts in Gladiatura Moderna.”
“Are these her soldiers?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
Just then my phone buzzed with a text, making us both jump at the same time there was a loud whistle. The women scurried off and out of sight.
We made our way back to the square. I checked my text. It was from James.
Dark Night of the Soul Page 12
