The Scent Of Rosa's Oil

by Lina Simoni

  “Hi,” Giacomo said, vigorously shaking Rosa’s hand. “I’m glad finally to meet the girl who stole Renato’s heart.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Rosa murmured, blushing.

  Giacomo looked at her with a curious smile. He gazed deliberately up and down her body, occasionally squinting his eyes. Rosa swallowed twice, then turned the other way. I’m busted, she thought.

  Then the circus arrived. They took over the road with ten long, colorful horse-drawn caravans with dancers and tumblers performing on the roofs and bowing every now and then to the passersby. The caravans were preceded by a marching band of drums, timpani, and trumpets, and followed by elephants, zebras, ostriches, and monkeys and by a line of contortionists, sword-swallowers, fire-eaters, jugglers, and clowns. They paraded through the streets of downtown and all along the shoreline with a loud clamor of shouts and music, raising the warm applause of the crowds everywhere. “I’ve never been to a circus,” Rosa said, fascinated, once the caravans had passed by.

  “I’ll take you,” Renato told her.

  With a soft voice that didn’t sound like his at all, Giacomo said, “I’m going with you.” One moment earlier he had fallen hopelessly in love. The girl he had spotted on the roof of the third caravan was a dancer, wearing a white and blue leotard and a shiny diadem on her head. She had long black hair that shone even in the evening’s fading light, pearly skin, and long thin bones that gave her the ethereal look that had instantly captured Giacomo’s heart. She had danced up and down the caravan’s roof gracefully, following the rhythm of the drums, smiling right and left, and seemingly never tiring. That night Giacomo couldn’t sleep. He knocked on Renato’s door at three in the morning, looking like a sick man and rambling incessantly about the girl.

  The circus raised its tents slightly west of Piazza Banchi, in a vacant area two hundred meters from the water. A large red and black sign at the entrance advertised two shows a day, one in the afternoon, one at night. The day after the circus’s arrival, Rosa, Renato, and Giacomo went to the night show, scheduled for eight o’clock. They arrived at the circus around seven-thirty, Rosa still wearing her disguise. “I’ll meet you inside,” Giacomo said, pointing at the big tent. “There’s someone I must find.”

  Giacomo never saw the show. He found the dancer behind a caravan, seated on a chair at the edge of a canopy kept upright by two poles in the front and by the caravan on the back side. She was alone and in street clothes. “You’re not dancing tonight?” he asked.

  “I hurt my foot,” she said in a childish voice.

  Giacomo kneeled by her and, without talking, lifted her long skirt and began kissing her knees and legs, all the way down to her bare feet. She didn’t move, or object, or speak. When Giacomo laid his head on her lap and kissed her belly, she got up, took his hand, and guided him to the caravan door and then inside.

  “Looks like you found your girl,” Renato said, pleased, when Giacomo met him and Rosa at the end of the show. He had noticed at once his friend’s relaxed attitude and smile. “You no longer look like a madman. Maybe we’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

  Giacomo returned to the caravan every night while the eight o’clock show was ongoing and he and the girl were certain they could be alone. They never asked each other questions and, indeed, hardly spoke. The only information they had exchanged, after making love the first time, were Giacomo’s occupation and their respective names. Hers was Camila Besic. Giacomo guessed she must have been fifteen. They made love furiously, with the desperation of those who are aware of the end being near. The circus was scheduled to leave town after two weeks, and throughout those two weeks Camila exaggerated the pain in her foot to make sure no one would ask her to perform, day or night.

  “Don’t go,” Giacomo told Camila on the eve of the circus’s departure. “Stay in Genoa with me.” It was almost the end of the show. They were both naked on her bed inside the caravan, their bodies entangled and still sweating from their lovemaking.

  “It’s late,” Camila whispered with a hint of worry in her eyes. “You need to go.”

  He stood up and began to put on his clothes. “Take your things,” he told her, “and leave this circus now.”

  He was buttoning his pants when the caravan door unexpectedly opened and a man walked in. He was gigantic, with muscles bulging in his arms and legs, a shaven head, one earring, and a mean pair of eyes. He was a sword-swallower and also Camila’s father. Since her birth he had been very protective of his daughter and recently he had been seriously worried about her foot that, strangely, refused to heal. When he saw a half-dressed stranger in the room and Camila naked on the bed, it took him only a second to figure out what had been happening all that time. “I knew it,” he shouted. “I knew that your foot injury was a lie!” He turned to Giacomo. “I’ll kill you.” He grinned, grabbing a kitchen knife. “And I’ll chop your body into a million pieces!”

  In a stupor, Giacomo darted away from the bed, trying to reach the door. The sword-swallower grabbed him by the neck, dragged him back across the room, and threw him on the bed, where Camila was curled in a corner, shaking. “You’ll die right here,” he said, “where you committed your sin!” He lifted the knife and lowered it, aiming for Giacomo’s heart. Giacomo managed to roll away slightly, so the knife landed in his left shoulder. Camila screamed.

  Bleeding, blinded by the pain, Giacomo wrestled with the man to get hold of the knife’s handle. The more they wrestled, the more the knife sank into his flesh. At a certain point the pain became so unbearable that Giacomo, in desperation, with a power he never suspected he had, kicked his assailant in the groin, forcing him to take two steps back and lose his balance. That was enough for Giacomo to run out the door, still holding the bloody knife. Quickly, the sword-swallower recovered his balance and ran after him. He managed to grab Giacomo outside, a couple of meters away from the caravan, in plain sight of all the performers, who were returning to their homes at the end of the night show. There were shouts and moans as the performers made a circle around the two men, who were by then wrestling on the ground. “Let them fight,” said an old man dressed like a magician, waving away those who were trying to separate the rivals. “When two men wrestle with such anger, only God is allowed to intervene.”

  The size of the sword-swallower was imposing. He had Giacomo on his back and towered over him, his knees firmly planted on Giacomo’s legs. At the same time, he had taken possession of the knife, pushing it again toward Giacomo’s heart. Giacomo held on to the man’s wrist in an attempt to push the blade away. “You’ll rot in hell,” the man shouted, “for violating Camila’s innocence and pure soul!”

  As the blood from his shoulder wound spread to his chest and face, Giacomo realized that his strength was about to leave him. He closed his eyes and dug the fingers of his right hand into the ground, trying to hold on to life. That was when he felt the stone. He took it and slammed it on the other man’s head three times. The sword-swallower screamed and let go of the knife. Giacomo grabbed it and turned the blade around. When he hit the sword-swallower’s head with the stone for the fourth time, his combatant fell on the blade, emitting only a short sigh. There were cries coming from the crowd. “He killed him!” someone shouted. “The stranger killed Manari!”

  In a daze, Giacomo stood up and, wobbling, headed as fast as he could for the nearby street. “Let’s get him!” someone screamed. “Don’t let him get away!”

  Giacomo’s advantage was that he knew the town. He was bleeding copiously and crying from the pain when he reached the caruggi and vanished into the friendly darkness of those streets. He staggered his way east, leaning against the ancient walls, until his legs gave way and he sat down behind a pile of broken furniture at the end of an alley so dark and narrow it was practically invisible from the street. What a stupid place to die, he thought as he tore his shirt and held it against the blood that flowed out of his shoulder. It was a pointless effort, and Giacomo realized it. With his eyes closed, he could hear
the sounds of the circus people running about, looking for the man who had killed Manari. “He can’t be far,” one shouted. “He was bleeding like a pig.”

  “We’ll find him,” another voice said. “Half go this way. The rest with me.”

  In that dark labyrinth, the circus people soon lost their bearings. They realized they were walking in circles: in the darkness they couldn’t tell one caruggio from another and couldn’t remember which ones they had already checked out. Defeated, they returned to the circus and did two things: they called the police, and they interrogated Camila about her suitor. Pressed by her people, particularly by the old man in the magician suit, who was the head of the circus and her baptismal godfather, Camila had no choice but to reveal the only two things she knew about the suitor: his name, first and last, and that he worked at the cotton warehouse.

  Giacomo, meanwhile, was still in the alley, barely breathing. In his fading consciousness, he was aware that the circus people were no longer there. So when he thought he heard steps approaching, he gathered all the strength he had left and kicked repeatedly a piece of wood that hung from the pile of broken furniture he was hiding behind.

  It was past midnight. Rosa was on the way back to the distillery from making love at the shack with Renato. As usual, she had taken the long way home, because even though Renato had stopped following her or asking her questions about her whereabouts, she took precautions so she wouldn’t lead him straight to Isabel’s in case he changed his mind. She was only two short blocks away from Isabel’s booth when she heard strange sounds. She stopped, surprised. Usually, at that time of night there were hardly any sounds in the streets, and the only ones she heard occasionally were those of the stray cats pawing through the garbage. For a moment, she thought she had dreamed the sound. Then she heard it again and when she realized it was coming from the alley, she took a few steps in that direction, stopping halfway in. She noticed the pile of broken furniture and saw a few pieces of wood shaking. Her first thought was of rats, and she decided to leave. But then, out of curiosity, she asked, “Who’s there?”

  Practically unconscious, Giacomo moaned.

  Rosa heard him and looked gingerly behind the pile. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Giacomo’s shirt was soaked in blood, his face was pale, and his eyes were wide open and fixed on the sky. She bent down and took his hand. “Giacomo! Giacomo! What happened to you?” When she realized he couldn’t answer, she ran out of the alley to Vico Usodimare, where she knocked frantically on Isabel’s door. “Come help me!” she said. “Giacomo is dying!”

  Isabel, who had no idea who Giacomo was, followed Rosa to the alley and to the furniture pile. When she saw Giacomo, she took a step back and her hands began to shake.

  “Don’t be afraid. He’s a friend,” Rosa said. “A friend of Renato’s. What do we do?”

  “I’m not sure,” Isabel replied faintly.

  “Shall I call the police?”

  Isabel shook her head. “It seems to me that this man is hiding from someone.”

  “Can we take him inside?” Rosa asked.

  “He’s too heavy,” Isabel replied. “You and I won’t be able to move him.”

  “Stay here,” Rosa said, then, before Isabel could object, ran out of the alley. She arrived on Vico Cinque Lampadi short of breath and banged her fists on the door of Renato’s apartment. Marco came to the door. “I must see Renato,” she said in an agitated voice.

  “Who is it?” Renato’s voice asked from inside.

  “It’s me,” Rosa shouted. “Giacomo’s in trouble!”

  At once, Renato rushed to the door, freezing in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on Rosa. “What?” he blurted.

  In an instant, Rosa realized her mistake. She opened her eyes wide as she fingered the short strands of her red hair. “I…” Her words died in her throat. With guilty eyes, she kept feeling her hair tips and staring at the stunned Renato. “I’ll…I’ll explain,” she finally stuttered. “Now come with me. We must rush!”

  He took Rosa by the arm. “Your black hair…was a wig? Why?”

  “You don’t understand,” Rosa shouted. “Giacomo is in an alley, unconscious and bleeding. Hurry up. He needs you!”

  He didn’t budge. “I want to know why.”

  “Because you thought I was a prostitute,” Rosa shouted louder, “and I’m not!” She grabbed him by the arm. “If you don’t go with me now, Giacomo may die!” She pulled him out of the apartment. “Let’s go!”

  By the time Rosa and Renato arrived, Isabel had placed rags under Giacomo’s head and was blotting his wound and singing to him in Spanish. Renato took a long look at her and at Giacomo lying on the ground. “What happened?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rosa said. “I found him here.”

  “Giacomo,” Renato called, “can you hear me?”

  “He can’t hear you,” Isabel said. “Let’s take him inside.” She turned to Renato. “We can use an empty eucalyptus bag as a stretcher. I’ll be able to do something for him back at the distillery.”

  “Eucalyptus bag? Distillery?” asked the astonished Renato.

  “Please,” Rosa said. “Do as she says.”

  With an effort they got the unconscious Giacomo onto one of Isabel’s eucalyptus bags and then slid the bag up the street to Isabel’s booth. Inside, they set the wounded man on Rosa’s bed in the flower room, and Rosa placed fresh rags over his shoulder, which was bleeding even more copiously than before. Renato watched with astonishment as Isabel made a poultice of leaves and petals and placed it gently on the open wound. Then she rubbed Giacomo’s temples with two different oils. “Let’s pray,” she said.

  “I should go find a doctor,” Renato said.

  Isabel made the sign of the cross on her. “Don’t go,” she said. “There’s nothing a doctor can do that these leaves and oils can’t do as well. His wound is clean. All we can do now is sit and wait.”

  The night passed slowly, with Giacomo unconscious though breathing regularly and Rosa, Renato, and Isabel seated quietly by his side. Renato turned to Isabel at a certain point and mimicked sarcastically: “The only girl in this joint is me?”

  Isabel smiled at him. “She wasn’t ready.”

  He turned to Rosa. “Are you ready now?”

  She nodded.

  He said, “I can’t believe you went through all this trouble to hide your identity from me.”

  “I was afraid of losing you.”

  “Do you have so little faith in me?”

  “No.” Her eyes clouded. “I have no faith in myself.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a long story. It has to do with the people who raised me. And with things that happened while I was growing up.”

  “I want to know everything.”

  She nodded and dried her tears. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  He asked, “Do you love me? Or was it all a joke?”

  She caressed his cheek with a shaky hand. “I love you more than anything in the world.”

  He asked, “You’re not going to lie to me again, are you?”

  She shook her head. “I only lied about my name.”

  He raised his voice a little. “You’re not going to lie to me again, are you?”

  “No.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth now?”

  She swallowed twice. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m not lying?”

  He kept silent a moment. “Look me in the eyes,” he finally said, “and tell me one more time that you’ll always tell the truth to me, no matter how difficult, no matter how painful.”

  “I promise,” she whispered. “I’ll always tell the truth, no matter how difficult, no matter how painful.”

  “Good,” he said, taking her in his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and began to sob. He kept holding her. “I love your red hair.”

  “Did you know?” Rosa asked after a moment.

  “That’s not important,” he replied.

>   She whispered, “It’s important to me.”

  He kissed her on the hair and cheeks. “The only things that matter are that you and I are together and Giacomo is safe.” He paused then spoke with emotion. “I look at you in your red hair and I’m falling in love with you all over again.”

  Rosa gave him one of her radiant smiles.

  “Try to sleep a little,” he said.

  She nodded, cuddled up against him, and closed her eyes.

  The following day, a report of the murder of the sword-swallower was on the front page of the late edition of the newspaper, together with the name of the killer—Giacomo Gattamelata. The circus was offering a reward of one thousand liras for his capture and one of five hundred liras for information on his whereabouts. The article contained interviews with the circus people, who described the victim as a talented performer and a good father and the killer as a libertine with no scruples who had forced an innocent girl to sin in secret for a long time. Everyone in town was talking about it. Renato read the newspaper and then heard the gossip when he briefly left the distillery in the early afternoon to buy food:

  “I can’t believe how vicious the murder was.”

  “They say he smashed the guy’s head open with a stone and then stabbed him in the heart three times.”

  “I always say that the circus people bring trouble.”

  “I hope they get him. Then the circus will leave town.”

  Renato returned to the distillery with the news. “I know what happened,” he said, then told the whole story to Isabel and Rosa.

  Meanwhile, Giacomo’s breathing had stabilized, and the blood from his wound had stopped flowing, though he remained unconscious, moaning softly on occasion. When he slowly woke up, around four in the afternoon, his first thought as he looked about the flower room was that heaven was a very strange place. Then he saw Isabel, and his body twitched with fear. “This is no heaven,” he murmured. “I was sent straight to hell.”