The Sicilian Woman's Daughter

by Linda Lo Scuro

  “No, you no come in.”

  “Why not?”

  “Keep my things in here,” she says.

  “Yes, but why so secretive? It’s only oil, vinegar, salt, sugar and pickles, for God’s sake.”

  “You no come in!” she raises her voice.

  Of course, that sets me off wondering what she is hiding in there, right down the bottom where the light doesn’t shine. In any case it must be a playground for cockroaches and similar creepy-crawlies.

  She came out with a little bottle, “I put on table, you take when you go. Give new potion to Giusy.”

  “Zia, can’t you give it to Giusy. I don’t believe in all this potion malarkey, I’d feel stupid taking it.”

  “Ah, but I no believe. People need to believe. People need help.”

  “OK, Zia, but I’m not taking it.”

  “So you no take. I give when she come here.”

  “Zia, Humphrey has agreed to go to Sicily on holiday. We’ll be there when you are.”

  “I think, good idea he see Sicilia. The island of his wife.”

  “Zia, I am not from Sicily, it’s my parents’ island, not mine. I don’t want Humphrey involved in anything bad.”

  “He no involved. We just teach Giulio lesson. Humphrey nothing to do with Giulio. You nothing to do with Giulio.”

  “I think it’s best if we don’t all go together. After all, Humphrey and I are staying in a hotel. You and Susi are staying with Peppina. We’ll go on different flights.”

  “No problem you go when you like.”

  “We’re going a few days early on 23rd September. It’s the Saturday before. We’d like to go and visit some archaeological sites and spend time on the beach. Enjoy ourselves.”

  “We go see you mother grave,” she says.

  This is a fixture in Zia’s brain.

  “Maybe. And Uncle Tony’s,” I say. “Is he buried near my mother?”

  “No. He not near mother,” she says. “Susi coming to Sicilia. She no job, no money, no man.”

  Zia is trying to change the subject away from Uncle Tony. Something isn’t right. Maybe I am getting obsessed with killings, my imagination is stretching a little too far.

  “I know. I’m so sorry about Susi losing her job. Won’t be easy to get another one. Not like when we were young,” I say.

  The doorbell rings. It is Bella and Rosa again. “Blackmail,” Zia says when she sees them behind her door. Again, I say to Zia: “I don’t even want to hear about it. You’ll have to sort it out.” As soon as Bella and Rosa come into the house. I say: “I’m sorry, I really must go as I have so much to do. I hope to catch you next time.” They simply look at me, turn round and go down the corridor to Zia’s living room. Oh, well, I think, if they’re going to be so obnoxious, I’ll definitely not get involved in helping them.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Tuesday 5th September

  Back in Alberto’s Amusement Arcade, Nancy disappears as soon as she sees me. A few moments later Alberto is heading in my direction. He smiles, greets me: “Ah, signora Maria!” and leads me to his office.

  He is in a good mood.

  “Hello Alberto. How are you?”

  “Fine, fine. I have to thank you.”

  “For what?” I ask.

  “For making my life easier. I can see the direction it’s going in and feel much better for it.”

  “Really? What direction exactly?”

  “I’m living with Giusy, and I will leave my wife. I have already given Nancy up.”

  Seems too good to be true to me. “Have you spoken to your wife about this?”

  “Yes, I’ve asked her for a divorce. She already knew about Giusy and Nancy, even if I didn’t tell her.”

  How naïve can men be?

  “What did she say?”

  “She wants the house, the children and half a mil lump sum.”

  “Can you afford half a million?”

  “Yes, but she also wants maintenance.”

  “Women don’t come cheap, do they? You got yourself into this, it’s going to be expensive to get out,” I say, not helping matters. “The judge’ll decide.”

  “And Giusy is determined she wants me. She adores me, not like my wife who only wants my money.”

  “Well, you give your wife her money and start a better life with Giusy.”

  Unbelievable. Can it be that easy to convince someone that they need to resolve their family dispute? I’d have to make sure he practises what he preaches. I go to Giusy’s Hairstylist straight away to see what she has to say about this new development.

  It is nearly the end of her working day when I arrive. She sees me and says: “I’ll be with you soon, luv, when I’ve finished me lady.” I sit in the waiting area and pick up a magazine. I don’t recognise any of the celebrities. In the seventies it was important to be ‘with it,’ and I was. Now I can definitely say I’m ‘without it.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I see the customer paying and being handed sachets of free samples.

  “You can go over and make yourself comfy,” Giusy says pointing to one of the black leather chairs in front of the mirrors. She comes over to me after she has locked the shop door. Brushing my hair, she says: “How are you and how’s Zia?”

  “We’re well, thanks. I’ve popped in to talk to you, it wasn’t to get my hair done.”

  “Yeah, might as well give ya hair a bit of shape while we talk. I like to keep me hands busy.”

  She takes me over to the washing basins.

  “Well, the whole question has been solved,” I say. “We’ve triumphed. That potion Zia gave you, you can stop taking it.”

  “I’ve already stopped,” she says.

  “Good.”

  “I thought if you want something you’ve got to go get it yourself. I had it out with him,” she says.

  “Did you? How did you go about that?”

  She takes me back to the black leather chair in front of the mirrors.

  “Last week, Thursday, I think it was, we were messing around. He was lying on the floor, and I sit meself over him, like I was riding a horse, with me knees firmly on his hands. I flicked me penknife at him and said to him: “Al, no kidding, one night when you’re sleeping, I’m gonna cut your throat with this, as sure as me name’s Giuseppina, if you don’t divorce your wife and marry me.”

  “What?” I say.

  “Yeah. I dunno what it is, I think it might be me pregnancy, y’know me hormones, but I’m ever so brave lately. I saw how brave you and Zia are, and I’m fired by me love for Al. I told him he’s gonna be mine or nobody’s. I told him I don’t care if I die, but he’s gonna die before me or with me. He hasn’t spent another night with his wife since then. Over the weekend, him and his wife had it out and they’re divorcing. When that’s sorted, we’re gonna get married.”

  “Well done you,” I say.

  “But I’m still taking the other potion cos I wanna boy.”

  How could she still believe in all that hoky-poky?

  “I wanna boy so he can take over the arcade when he’s big. We’re gonna call him Alberto junior. Then it’ll still be Alberto’s Amusement Arcade.”

  “A girl could run the arcade, too,” I say. “Alberta?”

  “Ah, ya know how much we Sicilians like our traditions. We stick men’s names up in lights and let them think they’re in charge. But I’m gonna be running that joint. It’s all about determination, innit? An’ I tell you something else. That Nancy bitch’ll have to go. I’m not having her swanning around teasing Al’s prick all day. I know a little, fat, hairy Sicilian woman who’s eager for the job. That’s the way it is with a man, you gotta keep tabs on him. You see him. You want him. You get him. Then you have to make fucking sure you keep him,” she says sounding like Julius Caesar. Only Giusy was one step ahead of Caesar. Julius Caesar missed a trick: he didn’t say anything about how to keep hold of what he’d conquered.

  Giusy keeps back-combing my hair. “Sorry, Giusy, I think my hair’s got enough
volume now,” I say. I’ve got an enormous head of hair. All this talk about Alberto is very well and good, but I need to stop her from taking her emotions out on my hair, making me look like I’ve just had an electric shock. I’ll have to wash it again when I get home. I just hope I don’t bump into anyone I know on the way.

  The mystery now remains as to who actually clinched the deal. Was it Giusy or was it me? Admittedly, Alberto was between a sinister Maria-rock, and an alarming Giusy-hard-place. I reckon that the knife is mightier than the word. But maybe I can take some credit for this. I feel I am getting better at making idiots see sense, after my first success when giving a Brexiter a bollocking. I’m getting quite a liking for giving people an education. Now isn’t that a more exhilarating activity than going to a book club, or making aimless small talk at coffee mornings? It’s just occurred to me, how boring other women are compared to Sicilian women. I’m now ready to take on Bella and Rosa. See what I can do for them.

  And, as for Alberto, he’s going to have his hands full for the rest of his life. His Don Giovanni days are well and truly over – finished, finito.

  THIRTY

  Wednesday 6th September

  Susi phones me. Says she’s going ahead with the start-up project. “I know starting a business isn’t easy but I’ve loads of experience in Human Resources. I’m going freelance working for small businesses that want to outsource their HR work. I have contacts.”

  “I thought you were in Sales and Marketing, and that you were going into business with Sebastian?”

  “I am. But I got lots of HR experience in three of my jobs. So I’m starting two projects.”

  “Brilliant idea, if one doesn’t work, the other might.”

  She hasn’t been any good at working for herself in the past. But she needs support. No way she wants the truth. Been there, done that, got the message.

  “That’s not all I’m going to do.” Susi says she’s also going to be involved in running a new women’s helpline. Not only for victims of violence, but for whatever problem they may have like money problems, not having anyone to babysit, to sort out their taxes, welfare benefits for them and, of course, to help them find work...

  At the other end of the scale, they will recruit women who are ready to help other women. Co-ordinate it all. “Like, you know, pensioners who have time on their hands, who can act as grandparents to kids if they don’t have any,” she says.

  Is she trying to recruit me?

  “I’m interested in helping out,” I say.

  “That won’t be until November at the earliest, maybe it’ll even be in the new year. I have meetings with the others involved in this project. We’ve got to iron out some challenges, so keep it on the back boiler for a mo.’”

  “Fine,” I say, “Why don’t you keep me updated, and we’ll see how it pans out?”

  “Yeah, will do. By the way, I’ve given up on men for the time being. I’ve got these projects to work on, and they’ll only get in the way. You know what men are like, they take up so much time.”

  “I think you know more about them than I do,” I say.

  We laugh.

  “Now the real reason why I’m phoning is that my mum wants to see you urgently.”

  “I was thinking of not going for a while. I’ve been there almost every day lately. I need a break. What’s it about?”

  “You know what she’s like, Mary. She wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Why doesn’t she phone me herself?”

  “She hates phones. She thinks someone’s always listening in,” Susi gives a chuckle.

  “Whatever it is, can’t you go and help her out? You are her daughter after all.”

  “I know, but she thinks you’re more sensible. You’d do me a favour if you went.”

  “OK. I’ll go tomorrow. I’ve set my mind on staying at home today.”

  I tried second guessing why Zia wants to see me. Probably about Provvi. Oh, my God, I hope that husband of hers hasn’t killed or maimed her. Or has he decided not to go to Sicily? I am going to worry all night about this. But, even so, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Thursday 7th September

  When I arrive, I can see Zia is pale with worry. I try to defuse her anxious state by distraction. I ramble on about the Giusy-Alberto affair, how it is all sorted by Giusy taking the situation into her own hands. Zia doesn’t comment. Other times, she’d have been all too ready to sit down and gossip about it. It is clear she has to get something out of her system.

  “What is it, Zia? What’s wrong?”

  “I tell you something top secret. Bella and Rosa.”

  “What about them? Have they been causing you grief again? You needn’t worry about them. Zia, you’re elderly and need a nice peaceful life. Why don’t we go out for a walk? You hardly ever go out. Some fresh air will do you good.”

  “I no go out. I safe in my house.”

  Then she says something that makes my bones go cold.

  “Bella and Rosa blackmail me.”

  “Blackmailing you?! Zia, what have you done?”

  “I done nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I sure. I sure.”

  “So how can they blackmail you? Just don’t open the door when they come here.”

  She looks at me as if to say I’m naïve, it will not solve anything.

  “Zia, whether you did anything bad or not, you’d better tell me what they are accusing you of.” I put my arm round her shoulders. “Don’t worry we’ll sort it, whatever it is.” I try to keep her spirits up promising something I probably won’t be able to deliver.

  “Bella and Rosa, they two sister. They Tony niece. They daughter of his brother, Teodoro.”

  “I know. And...”

  “They say I kill my husband.”

  I knew it. I’ve suspected the same. Now the knots are coming to the comb, as an Italian proverb has it.

  “Zia, you’ve got to tell me if you did kill him. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I won’t go running to the police. I’ll pretend I don’t know, like I haven’t known for all these years.” I am rambling on again, because of the shock revelation.

  “I help kill him,” she says, “But I no kill him.”

  “Oh, my God. Who did then, you must know?”

  What she says then knocks me for six.

  “Susi.”

  “No! No, Zia, you’re confused. Susi was only a teenager when Uncle Tony died. She couldn’t have done that. She was little more than a child – and a sweet child at that. Susi doesn’t harbour anger like me. She just couldn’t have done it.”

  “She kill Tony. I see with my eyes,” Zia says.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

  “Where did it happen?”

  “Here in this room.”

  “Here?! But he’s buried in Sicily,” I say.

  “He no buried in Sicilia. He buried here.”

  “Where? Which cemetery?”

  Looking towards the pantry door, she doesn’t answer my questions. Instead she goes on to describe how it happened.

  Zia was in her living room one morning in summer when Uncle Tony came in from the garden and began hitting her on some pretext or other. Zia was screaming, she was lying on the floor while Uncle Tony was kicking her. Then he got hold of her and tried to stand her up. But she fell back down again. While Uncle Tony was bending over her, Susi came in and planted the biggest kitchen knife they had into his back and, at the same time, Susi threw Zia another knife. Susi stabbed her father again. He turned round to grab Susi’s arms and while he had his back to her, Zia managed to hold his arms to stop him harming Susi. Susi seemed possessed by the devil, Zia tells me, and kept stabbing him even when he was lying in a pool of blood, even when it was obvious he was dead.

  “So you buried him in the pantry, didn’t you, Zia?”

  “Yes, Susi and me bury in pantry.”

  I had a feeling about t
hat pantry. Uncle Tony had been there all along, buried in that dingy, damp, dark, creepy pantry. They couldn’t have disposed of the body all by themselves. Zia has a lot more to tell me. If she wants my help she is going to have to reveal everything.

  The devil is in the detail.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Thursday 7th September

  We sit and drink some tea. I have to let these unbelievable revelations sink in. After a while I ask her about the crime scene.

  “Who helped you, Zia?”

  “When Tony die I panic I call Old Cushi.”

  Oh, yes, Old Cushi. He had contacts alright. Old Cushi arrived shortly afterwards. Uncle Tony was still on the living room floor. In this very same room we are sitting in. Old Cushi gave orders. Told Zia and Susi to fetch buckets and start cleaning the blood up. He called some builders. Four men, in overalls, arrived in a van. They thought of dumping the body on a construction site they were working on. But that might have turned out to be risky. Old Cushi decided Uncle Tony should be buried in the pantry. They were sure he’d fit in there. If he didn’t they’d have to cut off his limbs. “But, he fit,” Zia says. Old Cushi told Zia and Susi to go upstairs and clean themselves up: “Have a bath, put your clothes in the washing-machine,” he said. The four men dug a hole, laid Uncle Tony in it, and cemented it over. He’s been lying there for about four decades.

  I ask Zia to let me into the pantry. I want to see it for myself. She unlocks the door, pulls the string so as to switch the light on. The pantry looks like any other pantry would. Shelves fitted to the walls, holding pots, vases, bottles and little boxes. Its floor looks like any other floor would. But right at the bottom against the far wall is a vase with plastic flowers in it, and a plastic statue of the Madonna. Pitiful. All those years. I can’t get over it. I’m totally gob-smacked. Why have I, of all people, been dragged into this?

  “Bella and Rosa come tomorrow,” she says.

  “Zia, you still have a lot of things to tell me.”

  “You no tell police,” she says.

  “No, of course, I won’t. We’ll figure something out. What do Bella and Rosa want from you exactly?”