I suppose I am a coward. I let Nonno tell you about everything. Your father wanted to talk to you years ago, to write to Angelica. But I thought you were both too little. I was afraid. And then, suddenly, we’d left it too late. You must understand, Roberto, I have never been very brave. I hope you can forgive us. I’ll write to Angelica very soon, when I get the courage up. Tell her she’s my dear girl. I love her very much.
She went on then about other everyday things, like her work and Dad having the flu and how he’ll only eat soup. She ended up saying that she can’t wait till I get home, and then we’ll all have a big talk.
I folded up the letter. What a joke, a big talk. Our family? When have we ever really said what we felt? All those weeks when she and Dad haven’t spoken, except to say ‘The steak was good’ or ‘Let’s watch that Nature program on TV’. How could Dad have let Mum’s family push his only daughter away? Maybe he’s never forgiven her. I don’t know how I ever can.
But she sounded so guiltless. Almost happy. Does she think these few measly lines will explain away all these years of secrets?
She thinks it’s all okay now. She doesn’t know that something terrible is only just beginning.
I threw the letter down on the chair next to me, and went on staring at the fire. A while later Angelica came over.
‘I’m going to bed now,’ she said, and bent over to pick up the letter. ‘May I?’ She cradled the piece of paper as if it were the crown jewels and carefully put it in her pocket. ‘Sweet dreams,’ she whispered, and kissed me on the forehead.
chapter 10
THE DREAM
It is night. A man is marching down the street, holding a flaming torch. His boots ring on the cobblestones. But now there comes a low roaring, as a crowd hurtles around a bend, running to catch up with the man.
They are chanting something, old words that I can’t understand. There is something wrong, terribly wrong, like the beginning of a war. I run with them, and they are frenzied, like animals in a pack. I am so small and no one swings me up on their shoulders, so I have to weave in amongst knees and feet kicking constantly against me.
I have to reach the man with the flaming torch.
I run until I am alongside the man and then I see what he is carrying under his other arm.
It is a little girl, no older than me. In the light of the flames I see a dimpled chin and eyes huge with horror. My eyes, her eyes.
‘Save me!’ the girl cries, and suddenly I know where the man is taking her. I know what he is going to do with the flaming torch.
‘Strega! Strega!’ the crowd is chanting, and now I understand. Witch, they are going to burn the witch.
I open my mouth to shout but no sound comes out. My lungs are burning, my throat stings with the need to scream but still there are no words.
The girl looks at me and then she closes her eyes. As if she is already dead.
Then the man and the crowd drift away like coloured smoke and I am left alone on a grassy hill, and it is daytime. I have a beautiful green kite and I’m trying to fly it. Suddenly the wind catches and it soars up, dipping and diving above me. The cord breaks and as the kite sails away the tail flutters and three lemons drop from it and land at my feet.
I put the lemons up to my face and they smell bitter and cold. The saliva fills my mouth and now I am no longer running through grass. I am on top of a mountain, deep in snow and my back is leaning against a chestnut tree.
In my lap the lemons are turning to ice, stinging my skin. So I dig a hole deep in the snow, and bury them there. When I finish I put my face down, into the snow, and cry.
It is like drowning, the crying. It goes on forever, the grief just flowing into my mouth and out through my eyes, and I need something warm, like my mother’s arms, around me.
When I woke up my face was wet. My skinny old chest was heaving away, and I could still feel the emptiness. I rolled into the hollow of the bed and buried my face in the sheet.
Feet pattered across the room. Angelica leant over and stroked my shoulder. She had on a long dressing gown and her hair was stuck up in tufts around her face.
She sat on the bed and patted my back, saying nothing. The patting felt good.
Lying there I thought of the dream. It was strange the way I could pick out scenes, and replay them in my mind. Before, dreams had always disappeared so quickly. It was as if there were some kind of tube at the back of your head and in the instant you woke up, all the images flowed down the tube, down, down, quick as a waterfall, until they dissolved into the swim of your body.
But this dream was different.
It stayed, and grew, until it seemed just as real as the touch of Angelica’s hand.
I knew I had to sit up soon and explain myself and act normal but I hung on just a bit longer. What a luxury it was to think all kinds of thoughts, just sort of lay them out like things on a blanket, and pick them over while somebody hugged you. I suppose babies get to do that. And twins.
‘So, are you going to tell me?’ Angelica said into my ear.
I lifted my head and blew my nose. ‘I had a dream,’ I muttered, ‘it was awful.’
Suddenly Angelica shivered. I pulled the doona around her shoulders, then folded up a pillow for her to lean on.
‘Grazie,’ she said. ‘Now, quick, before Nonno comes and makes plans for the day.’
And so I told. As I talked certain images became clearer, connecting with other parts of my life.
When I came to the end Angelica was frowning. She looked at me, but said nothing, as if she were waiting for more.
‘Why couldn’t I save you?’ I said. ‘Why couldn’t I say the words?’
‘You were only three,’ Angelica replied gently. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘The man with the torch,’ I began slowly, gropingly, ‘he seemed familiar, but remote, like Nonno.’
‘Like Nonno, like the Inquisition, like all those men who used to punish witches,’ Angelica said.
‘But Nonno wasn’t going to burn you!’
‘No,’ said Angelica. ‘But when Nonno came to take me away, how did you know where I was going? You only saw all those suitcases and Mamma crying, and Papà shouting, and me clinging onto your hand. You were only three.’
I really didn’t know if I wanted to sit through this movie again. There weren’t enough tissues. I could feel the sobs creeping up my throat. For a moment I pictured how it would have been for me, for Angelica, to have our hands wrenched apart. I could see with a clarity that hurt, how frightened her little face had been, how she’d cried.
‘What I don’t understand is why the sadness only came at the end of the dream,’ I said. ‘When you and the crowd and the man had gone, and there was just the kite and the lemons.’
‘Sì, è strano, but feelings in dreams are often unexpected, aren’t they?’ Angelica was considering. ‘But it fits, you know. With the kite, I mean. Listen, the day of our third birthday you were given a kite by Uncle Silvano. You don’t remember, do you? Well, he gave me a set of hair ribbons. I was really annoyed, especially when he took you to the park to fly it and I had to stay home with Mamma and boring Aunt Rosa. So I went to my room and did something I’d never done before.’
Angelica paused and she looked out through the window. ‘I concentrated hard and I drew a shape in the air and I magicked up my very own kite. It was even more beautiful than yours. I was so pleased with myself, and then I looked up and there was Mamma in the doorway. She had seen everything. Her face was white. She ran across the room and snatched the kite away from me. Its colours shivered and it melted away through her fingers.’
‘So that’s when she knew you had the power.’
Angelica nodded and we looked at each other in silence. I felt so full of regret, helpless, the way you do when you look back, and wish you could have acted differently. Stopped time. Asked Angelica to come with us to the park. But I knew that it was bigger than that, that the power couldn’t be changed by one small inc
ident, it was too big, too free, and inside the sadness, I felt a strange kind of joy – an understanding that filled me up.
‘You said that there were eyes painted on the kite,’ Angelica said after a while. ‘Can you describe them for me?’
‘There was one on the side, big and black, but its lashes were strange. Fringed with . . . white.’
‘Lucrezia!’ We both said it together.
‘She’s got her eye on me!’ I couldn’t resist it.
‘Lucrezia’s eye,’ Angelica repeated slowly. ‘She visited you in this dream, I’m sure of it, Roberto. You know, it’s funny, she’s just stopped coming to me – I wonder if she’s started working on you. I wonder why.’
‘And why did the kite drop the lemons?’ I shivered. ‘I can feel them now, they were so cold, as cold as the snow where I buried them.’
We sat there, thinking.
‘Lemons are bitter,’ Angelica was trying to make connections, ‘and Lucrezia painted the cold for me. Is Lucrezia burying herself somewhere, somewhere cold and bitter, just like you buried the lemons?’
‘Somewhere in the mountains. There was a mountain in the dream, remember, and there were mountains in your painting, too.’
‘Mountains and lemons,’ said Angelica. ‘In Italian, lemon is limone.’ She stopped and caught her breath. ‘Limone! Of course, Limone is a village on the French border, about three hours drive from here. It is a mountain village –’
‘That’s it!’ I cried. ‘I bet that’s where she lives. She’s telling us where she is. Oh, God, do we have to go there?’
I knew the answer even as I asked the question. Dread was building up in my heart and I wished like hell that Nonno would wake up and interrupt us. But the house slept on, patient and waiting.
‘Yes,’ said Angelica. ‘We have to find her.’
‘But what does she want from us? Does she want us dead or alive?’ I felt like a 007 agent setting out on a mission with no training and zero experience. Out to find an invisible enemy.
‘I think she wants some kind of revenge,’ Angelica said slowly. ‘She can’t bear us to be together again, she lost her love, her sister, and you’ve found yours. She hates this family.’ Angelica paused. ‘I think she wants to destroy it.’
‘What a family we are!’ I jumped up and paced about the room. ‘What do you think she is going to do?’ I was trying to get a handle on it all. ‘What are we going to do when we get there? Drive a stake through her heart?’
Angelica gave a grim little smile. ‘We’ll just have to see what happens, Roberto. We’ll have our power, and each other –’
‘And she’ll have hers,’ I finished. ‘Enough power to have turned this country into an icicle. Great, looks good. And anyway, how in hell are we going to get to Limone? The grandparents would never agree to go up there, it’d be as cold as the north pole. What are we going to do, run away in temperatures thirty degrees below zero? I’m too young to die!’
‘So am I,’ said Angelica seriously. ‘And that’s why we have to go. I’ll think of a way, just give me some time. Now, let’s go and get dressed before Nonno finds us conspiring.’ And she bundled herself off the bed and swished out the door.
Later, when I was dressed (this took some time as I had to put on the usual five layers) I went outside for a walk before breakfast.
There was just me and the snow, and that’s the way I wanted it. I had a lot of thinking to do, and a mountain of energy to burn off. I don’t know where it was coming from, this fear, panic, excitement – what was it?
Here I was about to set off on a mission of destruction, as far as I could see, and I was tingling all over with some kind of joy. It didn’t make sense.
I listened to the squelch of my boots and the pull and suck were loud in the silence. I looked at the black wet boughs of the trees, delicate as ink drawings against the snow. The cold blue sky seemed to burn, the roofs of cottages were red shocks in the white. Everything seemed to breathe and shudder with colour. It was as if I’d only ever seen the world in monochrome before.
It must be like being in love, this feeling. I hugged myself and marched on, the cold stinging against my face. In that moment it seemed that the whole of my life came scrambling up that tube at the back of my head, the shimmering colours and fireworks of childhood, tears and adventures and dreams and stories, and in that one second in the snow with the trees and the sky and fires burning in the cottages, I saw it all together, and I knew I was awake. Truly awake.
When I got back to the house, there was a strong smell of coffee. Nonno was reading the paper and Angelica and Nonna were munching brioche. Suddenly I was starving and I sat down at the table and poured myself some coffee and hoed into the pastries.
‘Last night in Torino, the temperature fell to thirty below zero,’ Nonno was reading from the paper. ‘Schools are closed due to a sudden fall of snow along the main bus route. A woman, eighty years old, was rushed to hospital suffering from frostbite.’ Nonno put the paper down, and shook his head.
‘Accidenti, you picked a good winter to come to Italy, Roberto,’ Nonno said drily.
‘Well, in a way he did,’ Angelica said quickly, looking at Nonno.
‘Of course, we’re glad to have him,’ Nonno blurted heartily, ‘no matter what the weather!’
‘No, no, I mean, this could be a great holiday for Roberto,’ Angelica went on, ‘with all these record snow falls.’
There was a light in her eyes and I began to suspect what was coming next. I tried to look eager, but it wasn’t easy. I was suddenly filled with apprehension.
‘You have never been skiing, have you, Roberto?’
‘No, never.’
‘What, never been skiing?’ Nonno looked at me as if I were some new species landing from Mars.
‘And I think this would be a perfect time for him to learn, with all this fresh new snow!’ Angelica finished in a rush. Her face look innocent and expectant, alight with sisterly goodwill.
‘Oho,’ Nonno was looking at Nonna, ‘and just where did you plan for him to learn, Angelica, cara?’
‘Well, now that you ask,’ Angelica smiled, ‘I just remembered that Maria’s cousin has a guest house at Limone. Maria says it’s a pretty village – small and friendly – and there’s a good skiing school there. Oh, let’s go and ski for a couple of days. Roberto would love it!’
‘Oh, Angelica, we’d freeze up there,’ Nonna cried. ‘It’s cold enough here, can you imagine the temperatures in the mountains?’
‘But you know all the houses would be heated, Nonna. They’re equipped up there, they’re used to the cold. And we can wear two layers of thermal underwear and coats, and everything. And besides,’ Angelica paused, and her face went small and sad, ‘there’s only another week and four days before Roberto leaves. It would be so good to see him ski for the first time. To do something together for the first time.’ She looked up at me, so wistful and pleading. At the same time I felt a sharp kick under the table.
‘Ow!’ I cried. ‘ ’Ow wonderful it would be, oh yes, I’ve always wanted to ski!’ And freeze to death, falling flat on my face in the snow. I could see it now, broken legs and twisted fingers, waiting until I got frostbite in all twenty digits while the helicopter whirred frantically above me, trying to find a flat place to land.
‘Are there beginner mountains?’ I tried to keep my voice steady, as if I was just making a casual enquiry. ‘You know, little hills with just a gentle slope?’
‘Oh yes, that’s where you’ll start,’ Nonno chimed in. I saw him rubbing his hands together and my heart sank. ‘But soon you’ll be flying down the biggest mountains, Roberto, and then you’ll see what real magic is!’
And that’s what I’ll need, I thought grimly, if I’m going to keep all my bones in the right place. And survive my mountain-dwelling relative.
‘So we can go?’ Angelica jumped up. She danced around the table and kissed Nonna’s reluctant face. I’d never seen her so excited. She couldn’t wai
t to walk into the icy jaws of death.
The grandparents smiled at Angelica and I could see that her happiness sealed the decision. We were going and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. It was like my dream, the part where I opened my mouth and no words came out.
Now I had this mad urge to say who we’d be meeting at Limone, to shout Lucrezia’s name out loud for once and prick the bubble of excitement floating around the room.
But then I could see the shadows fall, and the dismal pattern of history repeating itself all over again, those old wheels turning slowly until they stuck dead in the mud of secrets and silence.
It’s just not fair, I thought, as plans were made and more coffee poured, how you could be feeling so good one moment – as if you’d really got somewhere, understood something, standing there in the snow with all those colours – and then everything changed, as other people bustled around, shoving you into some new space of theirs. I wanted some time, I wanted time to stop for a while, to be left alone in my own bubble with just my own thoughts and feelings, without someone always rushing in and changing things.
It would be great to talk to Mum about this, I thought suddenly. Mum, who’d tried to make life so normal, warding off the truth as if it were some evil spirit you could kill with a fixed dinner menu. I wondered if she thought habit would send us all to sleep, make her forget.
Only she didn’t count on the kind of girl Angelica turned out to be. Neither did I, for that matter. It had been Angelica who’d led me into that new, quiet place of understanding, helped me see the colours, and I realised then that it is only in the quick-step of change, as the wheel turns, that you really come alive.
How to stay alive, now that we were headed for Limone – freezing temperatures, skiing lessons and a murderous aunt – was going to be my next big problem.
Power to Burn Page 9
