The three went outside to talk. “You can pay by the month,” Alvaro said. “I’ll make the rent very reasonable.” He locked the door and held the key in his hand as if he intended to give it to them that afternoon.
“Buy it,” Willa whispered to Gabriele. Once Alvaro understood that Willa and Gabriele wanted to buy his storefront, which until that very afternoon he had considered worthless, it became so valuable to him that he could not bring himself to agree on a price. Weeks passed. Each time Gabriele made a new offer, Alvaro increased his price or changed his terms. Sometimes he agreed to a particular deal, but quickly found something to dislike, something that felt to him ingiusto, unfair. Meanwhile, Willa’s belly grew, and the baby kicked furiously.
Just days before their baby was due, Willa went to the post office where she found an envelope from her parents. It contained a large money order: For our grandchild with all of our love, the note inside said. Without hesitation, Willa walked to Alvaro’s office and stepped up to the open door. Even at midday the room was in permanent dusk.
“Buongiorno, Signor Alvaro,” Willa said to him. Alvaro’s lips moved slightly, but he neither looked up at her nor acknowledged her presence. He got up, apparently to search for something. Willa saw the stack of papers on his desk, most of them yellowed except for the paper on top, the letter with Gabriele’s most recent offer. Alvaro opened the rusty file cabinet under the windows and took out more yellowed papers. “I’ve come to conclude the sale on the property,” she said.
“All in good time, Signora Marcheschi.” He returned to his chair with the papers.
“I wish to conclude the sale now before my baby arrives.” She needed to sit down, but there was no other chair. Alvaro wrinkled his brow and sniffed like an animal downwind of a hunter.
“Your husband must decide these things, Signora.”
“Gabriele has made you several offers, and now I’ve come to make you a final one.” She quoted the amount of her parents’ check, an amount much greater than Alvaro and Gabriele had ever discussed. “But only if we write out our agreement now and only if you sign it and make no further changes.” Alvaro looked at the papers on his desk and shook his head.
“A wife’s place is with la famiglia.”
“If I leave without an agreement, our offer ends forever.” She waited. She felt a change deep in her belly. “Am I to have a place for my baby or not?” Alvaro looked down.
“It is not possible. Only a husband can buy property.”
“It’s my money and my offer. Will you sell the property to me or not?” She found it difficult to stand and put her hand on his desk to steady herself. Alvaro drew back slightly and looked at her. “Signora, a woman cannot buy property.”
“Signor, we have little time, and it’s in your interest to sell to us.” Willa felt a strong pain in her belly. “Why are you delaying?”
Alvaro shrugged. “Signora, what would people think?”
“They will think that you sold us your building that you aren’t using.”
He shook his head.
“Why not?” she said.
“They would say I sold to la straniera. You’re not one of us.”
Willa looked Alvaro straight in the eye, something she knew people in Orvieto considered too bold in a young woman. “Then why didn’t you sell to Gabriele?”
Alvaro held out his arms to her like a beggar. “Signora, my father was born in that place. Myself also. My wife and I, we lived there when we were young. Our children were born there. When my wife was still young, she died there.” He paused and drew his shirtsleeve across his face. “A terrible thing, the eyes of my children when they saw her. I’ll always remember.” He seemed to regain control of himself. “I cannot bear to live there,” he said, “but what would I do if I sold you my memories? If I could not say ‘the place of all that I have loved is still mine’?”
“I withdraw the offer.” As Willa stepped out the doorway, she had to shut her eyes against the blinding sun.
“Signora, watch out!” Alvaro called out.
When Willa opened her eyes, Alvaro was above her, the bright blue sky above him. Two people stood behind him, violet statues. Who were they? She wished they would stop looking at her.
“Signora, you fell,” one of the statues said.
“I didn’t. I’m fine,” She pushed herself up. She was sitting on the street, on the Corso.
Alvaro pointed to her leg. “Signora Marcheschi. You fell. See?” She looked down at a large splinter protruding from her skinned knee. Alvaro pulled it out and showed it to her.
“Call Dr. Lucarelli,” said one of the statues.
“No!” she said. “Not Dr. Lucarelli.” Willa felt something strong in her belly, something biting her from the inside. Involuntarily, she held her belly, then struggled to her feet, her head swirling. Still another bite in her belly made her gasp.
“What is it, Signora? Are you all right?” Alvaro said.
Willa turned on him. “If anything happens to my baby, it will be your fault.” She limped a few steps and then doubled up in pain.
“Signora, let me help you,” Alvaro said.
“Help me? You’ve done everything you could to hurt me and our baby!”
“No, Signora Marcheschi. I would never hurt you or your baby.”
“Look at me! I’m covered with blood. I can’t walk. I’m in terrible pain. You’ve refused us a place to live again and again even though we’ve made you many generous offers. What kind of person are you?” Willa gasped and doubled over.
“Forgive me, Signora Marcheschi. I didn’t mean to.” Their exchange continued, Willa accusing and Alvaro apologizing, until Alvaro could no longer bear the idea that he was the cause of Willa’s suffering, the reason for her moans. “Please, Signora, I will sell my property to you. I will sign the offer now to prove to you and Gabriele that I haven’t hurt you or your baby.” Despite the intense pain in her belly, Willa took the offer from her purse and handed it to Alvaro. He signed it and gave it back to her. “Thanks be to God, Signora. Now, you will not suffer any more because of Alvaro.” He looked heavenward and crossed himself. “May God forgive me, I’ve sold my property to a woman. To la straniera.”
“Take me home,” Willa said. Alvaro obeyed.
The next morning, Alvaro congratulated Gabriele on the birth of his first child, a daughter named Silvana, and declared that he still intended to honor his contract even though it was only with a woman.
“I know it was really your offer,” he said to Gabriele to avoid any misunderstanding. “Your wife did not seem herself after the fall,” he added as if this information explained his unprecedented decision to sell his property to her. “I didn’t want to upset her when she was in such pain and not in her right mind.”
In any case, people said that after Willa’s fall that day outside Alvaro’s office, she became a person who did things that no one else would think of doing. Buying Alvaro’s property without her husband was just the beginning. In the years that followed, even after she became the mother of two more children, Raffaele and Ettore, it was understood that if you wanted to sell an empty building or a piece of land that produced nothing, Willa would buy it no questions asked. Even the authorities responsible for the transfer of property didn’t ask. People simply said, “La straniera—that’s how she is.” They said Gabriele couldn’t control his wife and that a man with a crazy wife does many things to keep the peace in his family, things other people didn’t have to do. A husband could be excused for his actions under such difficult circumstances.
Of course, no one ever said these things to Gabriele himself or to Willa. Why cause trouble? One might want to sell Willa some property that no one else would buy or one might need Gabriele’s help, a favor perhaps. It’s better to smile and be polite, pretend nothing is out of place, get along. And this was how within a few years Gabriele and Willa became Orvieto’s largest property owners.
20
ORVIETO, APRIL 1944
&nbs
p; Willa lifted Ettore, their youngest child, onto her lap. In the background the radio buzzed with static, but she could still make out the cheers of the fascist Milanesi even though Mussolini had been deposed the previous summer. “You see? Mussolini is right,” Signor Marcheschi said from behind a newspaper that was five days old. “Tutto nello Stato, niente al di fuori dello Stato, nulla contro lo Stato,” Signor Marcheschi murmured. Everything in the State, nothing outside the State, nothing against the State. He never tires of his slogans, she thought. What does Mussolini know about our sick baby?
A week earlier partigiani moving north through Orvieto had described bloody German and Fascist defeats in the south. Behind the soldiers, refugees huddled along the roadsides as if all of Italy had gotten to its feet and filed north in a long, undulating line of misery. Orvieto itself had been bombed again only two days before, frightening everyone, especially the children, and entrance to the city could now be achieved only on foot. Fortunately, she and Gabriel and the children had moved out of the city several months earlier when the allied bombing of the nearby Allerona Bridge in late January had killed the allied prisoners of war who were on the train and left her terrified for herself and the children. At least we still have food and a roof. How long until one army or another takes it?
Willa drew her hand across Etto’s forehead. He felt feverish. His eyes, usually bright, looked glazed and unfocused.
“Mussolini will return to power. We will have a Roman Italy. You’ll see,” Signora Marecheschi added. “Viva il Duce.”
“Mussolini lied. Remember what the soldiers told us the other day?” Willa said before she could stop herself. She ignored her in-laws’ disapproving looks and tried to interest Ettore in some tepid cereal. The baby took some from the spoon, then more. “Look. Etto ate some cereal. He’s getting better.” It had been nearly seven days. He was listless and no longer wiggled from her grasp or followed the older children squealing with delight. A few minutes later the child threw up on her skirt and began to cry. He pulled his legs in, his body stiff. Willa frowned. “Tesoro! Your tummy hurts, doesn’t it? What are we going to do?” There was no one to consult. Dr. Lucarelli had gone into hiding after he had been taken for a partigiano by the Fascists and for a Fascist by the partigiani. In order to escape, he had had to lie in a ditch filled with sewage where he had pretended to be dead until after soldiers had finished looting his house and departed with his valuables.
“All patriots support Mussolini,” said Signor Marcheschi. “Why would you listen to some deserters?” Willa almost welcomed this distraction from her worries about Ettore. Despite her constant efforts to feed him, he threw up everything he ate. Could it be polio? The image of a crippled Ettore passed through her consciousness, but she blinked it back and clamped her jaw against her fears. “Boia chi molla.” Who gives up is a rogue.
She turned to her father-in-law. “What’s Mussolini given real patriots, as you call them, besides empty speeches and endless war?”
“I don’t have time to tell someone who doesn’t want to know.” Willa stiffened. It was Signor Marcheschi who didn’t want to know. She struggled not to argue.
“The country is in ruins,” she replied. “Surely you see that just as well as I can.” Have I gone too far, said too much again? She had promised Gabriele not to discuss politics with his parents.
“La straniera!” Signora Marcheschi hissed. “It’s the Americans and the others who bomb us and destroy our country, not Mussolini.”
The baby gave a sharp cry. Never mind. I must think of what to do for Etto, Willa reminded herself.
There had been other disagreements. “He’s too young to go outside,” Signora Marcheschi had said when Willa allowed him to play outdoors with Silvana and Raffaele. Etto was no longer an infant. He had started to walk. Besides, sunshine is good for children, Willa had said. Signora Marcheschi dismissed these views as “something only la straniera would believe.” Had he caught something while he was playing outside with Silvana and Raffaele? The older children loved to carry him around with them. What could be dangerous about that? Besides, they had all worn their sweaters and what was left of their shoes and socks.
“The malocchio is still on the child.” Willa overheard Signora Marcheschi talking to Grazia. Why do they always talk about the evil eye whenever anyone is sick? The two women watched the fussy infant, but Willa knew Signora Marcheschi’s comment was intended for her because she had resisted Grazia’s efforts to sprinkle salt on Etto to remove the malocchio.
“Fire straightens crooked wood,” Grazia replied, hinting darkly at unknown trials. Gabriele’s mother nodded. Was burning one of Grazia’s cures, too?
Willa kissed the baby and kept her fears and doubts inside. Although she had promised Gabriele that she wouldn’t argue with his parents no matter what they said, she had decided not to give in to their superstitions or their provincial attitudes. It was an uneasy but serviceable peace formed in the aftermath of the difficult times early in their marriage and made manageable because Gabriele and Willa had moved into town years earlier. Gabriele’s mother still had not forgiven Willa for refusing to wear her wedding dress or for bringing disonore to the family by coming to Orvieto without a chaperone.
Wounded by the rejection of her in-laws and the community, Willa had still found happiness in her marriage to Gabriele, albeit of a different kind than she had anticipated. In her diary she wrote:
Marriage evolves and changes. One finally learns to love reality…or at least accept it. Gabriele is a devoted husband, and our children are an endless joy. There’s so little time to paint or even sketch since they were born…perhaps later… but for now, dear God, it’s this endless war. Willa felt Ettore’s arms. They had lost their familiar solidity and roundedness. The energy of his plump body, which had always delighted her, now seemed restrained, like water in a faucet that is constricted by lime deposits. The child tightened his legs against his belly. His thighs looked thin, too. When she lifted him from her lap, he seemed lighter. She wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was simply that he didn’t wiggle and kick the way he usually did. Sometimes movement can feel like weight. She wanted so much to believe he hadn’t changed.
The baby settled into her lap, his limbs flaccid, then whimpered and pulled his legs up again with a sudden cry. She looked into his brown eyes, searching for their usual sparkle, but found them dulled, as if a scrim had been drawn over them; their darkened rims made them seem as if they had receded. She saw in his eyes a new absence, as if Ettore had wandered away from her, withdrawn to a place that she could see, but not reach, a place where she couldn’t protect him. The two older children crowded around her.
“Can we play with Etto now?” Silvana asked, hopping on one foot around Willa’s chair. Willa shook her head and held her finger to her lips. Perhaps, if Silvana and Raffaele were quiet, Etto would go to sleep and wake up well.
Grazia handed her a cup of tea and a spoon and nodded at the baby. “La camomilla is good for babies.”
“Later, Silvana,” Willa whispered taking the tea. “Etto needs to sleep. You and Raffaele can play outside for now, but don’t go near the lane in front. There may be soldiers out there.” She rocked the child. Perhaps they could still find a doctor at the hospital, though the younger doctors, the ones who had trained in Milano or Bologna, had gone to the front months before, leaving only two or three elderly nuns from the convent hospital in Orvieto to tend the sick and wounded. She had heard that there was a doctor in Arezzo. Ettore whimpered. “We must go to Arezzo and find that doctor for you,” she told Etto as she spooned the tea into his mouth. He took it quickly as if he were very thirsty, but then jerked away from her and cried out again. He retched, but brought nothing up.
“Can’t you drink, either, tesoro?” Willa felt his forehead. “He’s very hot.” No one seemed to hear. She got up, moistened a cloth, and wiped the baby’s face and hands. Raffaele and Silvana cooed to him. Around noon, Gabriele returned from town with a large package and sever
al letters.
“Sfolatti everywhere!” he said. Refugees. “There isn’t enough room for all of them. They’re like cattle. They’ve built campfires in the Piazza. The hotels, the schools, the convent—all full. Even the churches have closed. It’s impossible to go anywhere. I only got into the post office because they know me. I couldn’t leave until after the German soldiers had passed by. Everyone is frightened. You must keep the children inside.”
“We must get to Arezzo and find a doctor for Etto,” Willa said. “He’s worse and he seems to be in pain.”
“Let Grazia take care of him. She knows what to do,” Gabriele said. “Babies are always sick. It will pass if you’ll stop fussing over him. He just wants the attention,” Signora Marcheschi nodded in agreement.
The baby lay still in Willa’s arms, his eyes wide and glassy. “Etto needs to go to the hospital. He’s very sick. Something is terribly wrong.”
Gabriele glanced at the child. “There’s no one there to take care of him. No one can get in or out of Orvieto. He’ll be better in a few days.”
“This is different.” Willa put Ettore in the crib that she kept in the living room and gave him a toy, hoping that he would go to sleep. He tried to raise his arms to her, failed, and cried softly. “I heard that the doctor in Arezzo is still there.”
“The road is blocked,” Gabriele told her. “No one can get through. And they said in town that the Allies have bombed Arezzo, too.” Ettore cried out and then lay whimpering softly, a sound that seemed as much an expression of bewilderment as of pain.
The Train to Orvieto Page 14
