by Stacy Gregg
At the entrance to the Contrada of the Wolf I raised my eyes to the bell tower above and felt the knot in my belly tighten. Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the door and knocked, rapping four times then four again, this was the code of the contrada that Nonna had given to me.
“Nonna,” I had said to her. “It’s been seventy years since you entered the doors. Don’t you think they would have changed the code?”
Nonna had laughed. “Piccolina, you must have learnt by now that nothing ever changes in Siena!”
There was a creak of ancient hinges as the massive oak door opened and the guardsman poked his head out.
“Hello, signor …”
“No tourists, Americano! Not on the night before the Palio.”
“I’m not a tourist! I’m Lola. Lola Campione.”
I’m sure the guardsman would have thrown me out if the Capitano hadn’t come when he did. As he led me through the maze of corridors. There was a sense of urgency to his stride so that I had to scurry behind him to keep up.
When he pulled down hard on the two swords I watched in astonishment as the wolf’s head split in two to reveal the dark stairwell on the other side.
“You must go alone from here. I need to return to my meeting.”
I descended the stairs, clutching at the walls in the darkness, until I reached the narrow underground passage that led to Nico’s stall.
“Hello?” My voice echoed in the darkened corridor. Ahead of me there was a door, with bars on the window. I could hear the restless stamping of hooves on soft straw.
“Nico?”
The stupid bolt was stuck! I thought I would break my fingers trying to force it open and in the end I had to shove it with all my strength so that it came loose. Then I ran to him, flinging my arms around his golden neck, burying my face deep in the coarse strands of his flaxen mane.
“Of course I came,” I whispered. “You didn’t think I would leave you here alone, did you? I’ll always come for you, Nico, no matter what.”
I have always talked to horses. In the stables at Aqueduct I would chat away to Snickers and Sonic as I mucked out their boxes and groomed them. But that night, when I was talking to Nico, it was different. It was like he understood me, like he was really listening, the way he would swivel his ears back and forth when I talked about winning the race, the way he looked at me with his deep, soulful brown eyes, like this meant every bit as much to him as it did to me.
“Tomorrow,” I told him, “you and me, we’re going to go out there and prove it to them and win this crazy bareback race in front of all of Italy and everyone in the piazza and when we cross the line together we’ll be heroes and the whole contrada’s going to remember you for ever …”
We talked for hours that night. Well, I talked and Nico listened, I suppose. I told him stories about my life in New York, about walking to school in winter, scared that I was going to slip on black ice on the footpath, and eating warm bagels with pastrami from Sheinken’s delicatessen.
I told Nico the whole story that night about Jake Mayo. I knew that when I got home, things would be different between us. I saw Jake for what he really was now and I felt sorry for him. His entire universe was the school playground, where he could be a big man and act like he was the king. But there was a bigger world, one where real things were important, and that was the one I lived in now. Frannie, Umberto, Leonardo and Antonia had become my friends, not because of what shoes I wore to school, or whether I was cool or not. It no longer mattered to me what Jake thought of me, or whether he tried to goad me by making whinnying noises when I walked by.
“He’s just a dumb kid,” I told Nico. And I wasn’t a kid any more. I was a fantino.
I told Nico all about my dad too, about how overprotective he was.
“He would never let me ride in the Palio if he was here,” I said. “He won’t even let me ride track back home.”
Nico shook his mane.
“I know!” I said. “Silly, right? Plus he has this thing about me ‘getting educated’.” I stroked Nico’s muzzle.
“He’s like that because of my mom. She had cancer, and she died when I was little, so I don’t remember what it was like when she was around, except sometimes I’ll get flashes of memory, like words she used to say, or the way she brushed my hair. Anyway, Dad says if Mom was alive she would have been proud of how good I am at school and she would have wanted me to go to university, like she never had the chance to do, even though she was real smart. It’s because of her that he’s so hot under the collar about it. He wants me to be some fancy pants doctor or something …”
I looked at Nico, expecting him to take my side, but he had these deep creases above his brown eyes, like he was frowning with concern.
“Not you too!” I groaned. “OK, OK. How about a compromise? Maybe I could go to medical school during the day and ride trackwork in the mornings? I can do both, right?”
I liked this new solution.
“And when I’m a famous doctor, I’m going to buy Dad and Nonna a new house, and it will have my own room in it so I won’t have to share with Donna any more.”
It was getting late, probably around three a.m., but it was hard to tell. There was a small window in the stall with steel bars like a prison cell to look out into the enclosed courtyard. We were beneath the contrada’s headquarters, sunken down a level from the street, so even when I peered out through the bars, I couldn’t see anything really except the red-brick basement walls of the contrada. I turned to look at Nico. He was sleeping. His eyes were closed anyway, even though he was still standing up, but then horses often slept that way. I lay down on the straw on the floor of the stall, thinking I might close my eyes just for a moment.
At first, I thought I must be imagining the noise in the courtyard. I had looked out the window just a moment ago and I was certain there was nothing there. It was a scratching, faint at first and then louder, more insistent. Then, another noise that made me almost jump out of my skin. A low, deep growl.
I could feel the blood pounding through my veins, my heart racing. I sat up in the straw. The growl reverberated through me, almost as if it was coming not from outside the bars, but from in me: this primal, animal noise.
I listened as the growl grew louder outside in the courtyard. I was afraid to move, but I knew I had to look. I summoned up the nerve and got to my feet and walked towards the window. I couldn’t see anything out there.
I leant closer, putting my face right up against the bars.
That was when the wolf leapt. She thrust herself up on her hind legs, paws spread-eagled on the walls on either side of the window, jaws open and teeth bared, right up against the iron bars.
I screamed and threw myself backwards, scrambling on all fours on the straw, pressing myself against the door of the stall, trying to get away.
The wolf stared at me, eyes as cold as steel. “Tempesta, daughter of the She-Wolf. Bravest of all seventeen. You know you do not need to fear me.”
I had my back pinned against the door, I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. And then I saw Nico.
He stood with his ears pricked forward, utterly calm in the presence of this vicious predator.
So the creature was telling the truth. There was no need to be afraid. I took a deep breath to calm myself and walked back to her. Up close, the bars still separated us, but I could smell her meaty breath and see the thick, glassy saliva as it dripped from her porcelain fangs.
“Good. You understand,” she said with a low growl. “The time is nearly upon us, Tempesta. I have come to prepare you.”
“For the race?”
The wolf snarled, her temper flashing hot. “The Palio is more than a race. It is life and death!”
Then, as quickly as she had become angry, she was calm once more. “They say the Lupa has no friends. This is not true. You will have three of them, trust them with your life, Tempesta.”
Growling softly she said, “You will have enemies too. There are
traitors in the house of Lupa. They think you are a cub. Not ready for the battle. But they don’t know you like I do, Lola Campione. I know the fighter you have inside you …”
The wolf’s grey eyes suddenly swept to the door. Her ears flattened as if she had heard something that displeased her. Then, without a word, she leapt down from the window and was gone. I was looking for her, peering out into the darkness, when I felt a hand grasp me on my shoulder. “Lola!”
Suddenly I wasn’t standing at the window any more. I was lying on the straw on the floor of Nico’s stall. The dawn light was pouring in through the steel bars of the window and the Capitano was at my side, shaking me gently awake.
“Where did the wolf go?” I sat up, rubbing my eyes.
“Wolf?” The Capitano looked confused.
“She was here …” I stopped myself, realising how crazy I sounded. “I’m sorry, I must have been dreaming …”
The Capitano frowned. “You need to go home, Lola,” he said. “The grooms will be here soon to prepare Nico for the blessing, and you should be ready too.”
“What’s the blessing?”
“A sacred ritual,” the Capitano replied. “Every fantino and their horse must be blessed before the race.”
“But how will I know what I’m supposed to do?”
The Capitano smiled at me. “Ask your grandmother to tell you,” he said. “I am sure she will remember. After all, she has done it before.”
The Pope came to New York once and he held mass at Aqueduct. This was before I was born, but I know all about what happened because Nonna Loretta told me the story. She said there were more people at Aqueduct that day than for any horse race, even the famous ones with Secretariat. The Pope arrived in a helicopter and everyone cheered him and he made a speech and blessed everyone. After that, Nonna said it didn’t matter that we never went to church on Sundays because Aqueduct was holy ground.
As I walked down the Via di Vallerozzi that afternoon, for the first time I regretted my lack of religious education. I had no idea how to act in church, kneeling down and crossing your chest and that sort of thing. And now here I was about to receive a sacred blessing in front of the whole contrada.
Nonna had explained what I had to do, but all the same I was worried that I would miss my cue or mess it up.
As we neared the buildings of the Lupa it looked like a big Italian wedding was taking place. There were families on the doorstep of the church, all dressed in their best clothes, happy and laughing. Banners in the colour of our contrada had been strung across the Via di Vallerozzi and on the steps the Capitano was greeting everyone with a broad smile, shaking hands and kissing cheeks.
Nonna tightened her grip on my arm and I wasn’t sure if she was trying to steady herself, or if she sensed my nerves and was trying to reassure me that it would all be OK. Then her hand clung to me even more and I felt her pull me back.
“I just need a moment, Lola,” she said.
I turned and saw the look on her face, and I realised she was afraid too.
“It’s OK, Nonna,” I whispered. “I’m here with you.”
“You’re a good girl, Lola.” Nonna gave my hand a squeeze and I felt how frail she was, her tiny hands like sparrow claws, skin as thin as paper. We began to walk again as the bells began chiming out, calling everyone inside.
The Capitano stayed on the stairs, encouraging everyone to enter and take their seats. When he saw me and Nonna he walked over to greet us, kissing Nonna Loretta solemnly on both cheeks. Then he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Lola, you are ready to be blessed?”
I nodded.
The Capitano took my grandmother’s arm. “I have a seat for you at the front, Loretta,” he said. “Come with me.” He led her inside and I was about to follow but he shook his head.
“You wait here. We will come for you when we are ready to begin.”
I watched as the people went inside and took their seats. It was a tight squeeze getting everyone into the pews. Eventually, I was the only one left outside. I stepped up to the door and peeked in. It was like the Sistine Chapel in there with high domed ceilings covered in elaborate paintings of cherubs and angels in shades of peach and duck-egg blue trimmed with gold. The walls were painted with frescos of the Virgin Mary, in dark colours edged with more gold.
As the organ music struck up the chatter in the church stopped and the Capitano strode out purposefully to me.
“It is time,” he said. “Come, Lola.”
Inside, I heard the doors clank shut behind me, and then the organ really started up, playing my theme music. I began to walk up the aisle slowly one step and then the next, like a bride to the Wedding March. My heart was hammering in my chest and I could hardly breathe. When I reached the altar I cast a sneaky glance at Nonna in the front row and she nodded to me as if to say, “You’re doing fine”. Then the curtains in front of me parted and the priest appeared.
Dressed in long robes and carrying a golden flask he stepped up to the altar and began shuffling gold ornaments around. Then he turned to face the crowd and in a dramatic gesture he raised his hand above me, and reached out and touched his palm to my forehead. I dropped to my knees and knelt before the priest.
The organ stopped. There was a spooky silence and then, from outside the church came the shouting. There were men yelling out to each other and the Capitano’s voice loudest of all, crying, “Hold him! Ho! There!”
Suddenly the church doors swung wide open and Nico was standing there. A murmur ran through the pews at the sight of him, his chestnut coat shining in the sunlight, even brighter than the polished gold of the church altar.
The men were struggling to get him inside, but Nico was refusing to move. He had his ears flat back in fear and you could see the whites of his eyes rolling in his head as he fought them. They crowded in on all sides, trying to urge him forward, but Nico resisted, stamping his hooves and shaking his mane in defiance.
The Capitano shouted something in Italian and the men linked arms to make a human chain, circling around behind Nico, using their weight against his rump to make him step forward.
Blowing hard through his nostrils, Nico gave a loud snort and then with an almighty lunge he leapt inside the church! There were shrieks from the people in the pews as he surged past them and his hooves clattered against the tiled floor of the aisle. He trotted with his knees high, dragging his handlers on ropes on either side of him. They held on as if he were a hot air balloon and they were anchoring him, until he came to a stop beside me right in front of the altar.
Poor Nico! He was wet with sweat, his flanks heaving with anxiety. I could see by the look in his eyes that he was terrified.
I wanted to tell him I felt the same way, that neither of us should have been in this place. I mean, me, a twelve-year-old kid from Ozone Park, and him a horse, being blessed in front of God and everyone when neither of us had even been to church before in our lives!
The priest seemed to know that Nico was ready to blow up. He was trying to get the ceremony over and done with, chanting in double-quick time. “Oh, God, defend your servant, Lola Campione, through the dangers of the coming race.” He shook some more water on me and I felt this sense of relief that we were nearly done. I was about to rise to my feet when I smelt something. Rising above the waft of incense and altar candles came a dark stink. I looked behind me in horror to see Nico raise his tail and with a plop-plop-plop a pile of dung dropped to the middle of the aisle on the church floor.
“Nooo,” I groaned in embarrassment.
“Lu-Lu-Lupa! Lu-Lu-Lupa!!”
But the crowd were cheering!
“It is a good omen!” The priest was beaming with delight at the pile of muck. He stepped forward and stuck his shoe right in there, squishing down deep into it. “I stand in the excrement to bring even more good luck!” he cried.
I looked at Nonna, like I hadn’t realised until that moment just how much crazy there was in the room. She gave me a shrug, as if to say, “Wh
at did I tell you?”
The priest raised his hands in the air and exhorted to me and Nico, “Go, our champions and return as winners!”
“Lu-Lu-Lupa!” The people leapt up and rushed at us, overwhelming poor Nico!
There was a gasp as he reared and thrashed the air with his hooves, and the crowd scattered momentarily, but as soon as he had all four feet on the ground they surged on him again!
“Nico!” He was terrified. “Leave him alone!” I couldn’t reach him. I was being carried away, lifted off my feet like a ragdoll, caught up by the crowd.
They took me out to the Via di Vallerozzi and I was placed on the back of a horse. Not Nico, but a plain brown pony, thick-boned and stocky.
Nonna had told me this would happen because the fantino doesn’t ride their racehorse to the piazza. Only when I reached the square and the race was ready to begin would I be reunited with Nico.
They led me along through the streets as if I was a small child being given a pony ride. All the way there was chanting and singing and flag-waving. I kept looking for Nico and for Nonna, but even if I had been able to see them I could never have reached them. There were hundreds of supporters, crushing in around me.
As we got closer to the square, we merged with other contradas, also with fantinos mounted on ponies. We were like streams joining together to become a river, forming one great rushing torrent as we reached the piazza.
I had never seen so many people in one place. There were more than at Aqueduct on the day the Pope came in his helicopter. All around the buildings they had built grandstands and these were filled up so that the people seemed to be stacked on top of one another all the way to the balconies above, and in the middle of the piazza thousands and thousands of spectators were crammed behind the barriers.
They had been standing there for hours already, baking in the hot sun and watching the parades. Men in those Romeo and Juliet costumes were trooping about, waving the flags as if they were swords, bowing and leaping while others banged the marching drums slung at their hips.
