The Sicilian Woman's Daughter

by Linda Lo Scuro

  “Zia, what a terrible end,” I say.

  “I know but two sister want ruin me and Susi. I stop them. But picciotti shoot two sister they throw them in hole because they women. They throw men in alive.”

  On the other hand, I had pushed Peppina and caused her death. I wasn’t much better than Zia.

  Zia was bright and chirpy, her usual self. I wondered how many times she’d been involved in something like this. Is it possible that with time you get used to it? That you come to feel nothing for the victims, like I don’t feel pity for Peppina. Nor any of the others, come to that. Only a sense of closure. Of having done what was right. I suppose if you fix in your mind on the fact that the victims have received their just desserts, then you can convince yourself that it was the right thing to do and have a clean conscience. The other thing I ask myself is how Zia and Susi, who are both practising Catholics, reconcile this with their religion. Zia goes to mass every single Sunday. Does she have no remorse? Or, maybe, as I’ve often been told, I think too much.

  And I probably think too much about trying to deconstruct my feelings. What exactly do I feel? In the end I come to the conclusion that what worries me most is that I, who have strived to be an upright citizen and have taught others to behave well, have it in me to connive in murders and also to actually kill a person. I feel that if I can do it, anyone can. That’s what gets me: the fact that human beings are flawed creatures. That it is easy to slip into evil for what we believe is a just cause. That we are only good, if we do not come in contact with evil in the first place. What would anyone else have done in my situation?

  The doorbell rings. This time it’s a young woman called Irene. “Irene,” Zia says, “this my poor sister daughter. Sister die forty-two. Now other sister die in Sicilia. Eleven day ago. Peppina die.” Zia beams a look at me.

  Irene offers her condolences. Early thirties. Third generation Sicilian, I imagine. Pretty young woman. Dark brown, bobbed hair. Tall, slim. In a red dress, and white and red ankle length boots. Bangles on her wrist, wedding ring on finger. No watch.

  “You no worry,” Zia says to Irene, “Peppina she rest in peace. She say rosary every day when she alive.”

  Irene doesn’t stay long. Zia gives her something in a bag.

  “I see you again next week,” Zia says.

  Zia accompanies Irene to the front door. Looking around, I notice the pantry door is locked again. I thought I’d managed to persuade her to keep it open.

  “Zia,” I say pointing to the pantry, “have you gone back to locking that door?”

  “Yes, I lock. I have thing in there.”

  The penny drops. Of course, it isn’t about Uncle Tony’s body. There is something, or things, she is trying to hide.

  “Zia, I have an idea about what you’ve got in there.”

  “You no idea, silly girl.”

  Thinking of my mother’s bag in the wardrobe, and Peppina’s guns in that metal case under her bed, I say: “You’re hiding cash, aren’t you? You might even have a gun in there, too.”

  She blushes. Sits down. And is silent for a minute. “Cuppa tea?”

  “No, thanks. Let’s not get distracted. I’d like to know what’s in there,” I say pointing to the pantry door again. “Please unlock it, Zia.”

  “You kill Peppina. You push Peppina.”

  “The door, Zia. We’re talking about the door.”

  “I have little money in there.”

  “Bella and Rosa knew you had a lot of cash, didn’t they? You would never have had to sell your house. And guns? You have guns, don’t you?”

  “Two. My gun and you mother gun.”

  “My mother’s gun?!”

  “Yes, you mother have gun.”

  “Why?”

  “Defend herself.”

  “Defend herself from what exactly?”

  “From no-good people.”

  “When my mother died, she left me a bag of cash...”

  “I know. She leave you cash, and me gun. She say you no know how use gun.”

  “The only real guns I’ve ever seen were those under Peppina’s bed in Sicily. Two of them.”

  “Adele bring.”

  “What? Do you mean Adele’s bringing those guns here?”

  “Yes, I ask her to bring, they family gun.”

  “I suppose ‘family’ has two meanings here.”

  I’m not sure she gets the pun.

  “Family is family,” she says.

  “Grandmother gun and Peppina gun belong to me,” she says.

  “Yes, but do you realise that trying to smuggle guns into the country is very dangerous. If found, they could be traced back to you. And your house would be searched by the police. They might even find Uncle Tony’s body.”

  “Ah, you silly girl. Uncle Tony like stay in his house. He love pantry.”

  “Zia, this is getting ridiculous. Because he liked the pantry when he was alive doesn’t mean he wanted to be killed and buried there.”

  “Cemetery no-good. It rain on grave.”

  Has Zia gone completely mad? Were all three sisters mad?

  “Zia, getting back to those guns, if the authorities trace you, God knows what consequences there’ll be for all of us.” That, of course, includes me. I am now getting terribly worried.

  “They no trace to me. You no worry.”

  “They will. You’re cousins with the Cushi family.”

  “And you cousin, too.” Zia knows I am thinking of myself. Jesus. What on earth is happening?

  “You no worry,” comes Zia’s favourite phrase. “We old tradition. We hundred generation tradition. Nobody can win us. We win. We strong.”

  “Zia, justice will catch up with us. Adele’s just a girl.”

  “Adele, she clever. She fly Palermo to Milan. Palermo Italy, Milan Italy. No check. She go Switzerland with Swiss car. They no check. She take money. She arrive Thursday.”

  “What money?”

  “Young Cushi money. He keep in Switzerland.”

  “What? Does she take bags of cash around with her? Where does the money come from?”

  “Insurance. And other.”

  “Insurance? And other?” I repeat.

  “They pay. He protect people.”

  “Zia, it’s called extortion.”

  “Extortion? No. No, extortion. I no understand extortion.”

  “You do understand.”

  “You talk difficult,” she says. “You posh. You read book.”

  “No, I distinguish between things, so we know exactly what we’re talking about. People pay an insurance premium so that if something bad happens, they are compensated. You are saying that people pay so that nothing bad happens to them. The two are different.”

  “Second better. You sure nothing bad happen to you.”

  Jesus. What a mindset.

  “And what else does Young Cushi get up to? It’s not just extortion, is it? You said there was ‘other.’”

  “Transport and distribute,” she says. “They take from Sicilia to here, to Germany, to France, to other European country. Lot of thing come on boat from Africa to Sicilia.”

  “What does he transport and distribute?”

  “Lot of thing.”

  “Like? Drugs?” I ask.

  “Maybe drug as well. I know he transport food. Best olive oil. Best Sicilian wine.”

  “So far, we’ve established that he deals in extortion and the international drug trade. Anything else?”

  “No. He no touch prostitution. He think prostitution bad. He church man. If he no on front bench Sunday morning with wife, priest no start mass. No-good people do prostitution.”

  “Zia, drug trafficking is also done by no-good people. Drugs kill.”

  “People want drug, they look for drug. Nobody tell them take drug. You no take drug, my children no take drug. Cigarette drug, alcohol drug. You no smoke you no get drunk. People stupid. People kill themself.”

  “You help kill people,” I say.

 
“We only kill no-good people,” Zia says. “You kill Peppina.”

  “I did NOT kill Peppina,” I say in a stern voice. “Please get that idea out of your head. Peppina slipped. There on those cursed stairs right in front of me.”

  She looks at me as if to say it isn’t true. Zia is convinced I pushed her.

  “Zia, I’d like to know where my mother got that money from. It was drugs, wasn’t it?”

  “Distribute.”

  “So the money my mother left me was ‘distribute’ money. Great, simply bloody, great.”

  “I show you mother gun.” Zia goes to the pantry, and proudly pulls out a shoe-box. This you mother gun. I give you.”

  “No, Zia. I don’t want it,” I say shaking my head.

  “Why you no want? Silly girl. This good gun.”

  “I don’t want it because we’re not that sort of people.”

  “You same blood as you mother. We gun sort of people.”

  “You keep it. I don’t want it,” I say.

  “Good gun self-defence. What you do when robber come in you house?”

  “Report him to the police, what else?”

  “I shoot him. Ah, police,” she sighs, “they no have time for you, they no have time for me. Keep away police. Police dangerous people.”

  “Cuppa tea?”

  “Yes, please. I really need one.”

  I follow her into the kitchen. “Irene. Does she distribute?”

  “Yes. Silly girl, all women come here distribute. But Provvi, no yet. Now Provvi no husband she can distribute. I need speak to Provvi. She can sell to some mother at school. She need money now she have no husband.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to? Not everyone is without morals.”

  “Provvi have to. I organise kill husband. She must pay lot money to Young Cushi. He have to pay men. No thing free in life. No thing free in death. She distribute, you no worry. She no choice. Good money.”

  I put my head in my hands. Look at my shoes. Take a deep breath.

  “Sorry, does that mean that Olga, Giusy, Bella, Rosa, Angelina and the others I’ve seen here all distribute?”

  “Yes. I tell you already. You no listen to you Zia. Giusy she have hairdresser. She best distribute in salon.”

  Oh, yes. Those free samples weren’t free at all, were they? How could I have been so naïve? No wonder Giusy didn’t offer me any, she thinks I am in drugs up to my neck. My reputation stinks by now.

  “What about Susi?”

  “No. Susi no-good distribute. She have big mouth and many men. She tell to men.”

  “Zia, so you know about Susi and her men?”

  “Zia know. Zia know everything. People tell me. Susi no good take on my patch when I dead. Giusy do that. Giusy clever. You know, I boss of my patch. Other nationality people try take patch from me, but I send picciotti and they soon calm down.”

  But Susi had been good at keeping the rapes quiet. Zia underestimates her.

  “And, is that what my mother was doing? Dealing in drugs?” I’m asking myself, rather than her. So all my university was paid for by filth. And all those clothes, all that spending. Simple filth.

  “I was a teacher, a protector of the young. I’ve spent money that has damaged young people. The easily influenced, who’d do anything to look cool. No, no and no. It can’t be.”

  “If you no money, you no go university. You no teach. You no marry big banker.” She changes the subject, “Young Cushi like you. He think you clever woman. He say pity you no part of family when you young.”

  “You talked to Young Cushi about me?”

  “Yes, he talk to you, too. He think you know about distribute.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I don’t want anything to do with trafficking drugs.”

  “You husband rich. You no need distribute. Everyone distribute if they no money and have chance. When I young, I come to England. I clean every public toilet. I clean English people shit. And you mother clean shit. You think all easy. Nobody give us no thing.”

  “Zia, look I know it hasn’t been easy for you, or for my mother. But there are a lot of modest people out there, who never turn to crime.”

  “When you born you mother and father live in one room in house of Englishwoman. You mother alone with you all time. She eat only in kitchen. Englishwoman no let you mother in living room. You mother no go out. She no money. She in room or kitchen all day with you. You mother love you.”

  “No, she did not,” I say sternly. “Just don’t say that again. She hated me. Whipped and hit me black and blue. Made my life a misery. You don’t know how Susi and me have suffered. You and my mother chose to come here. You chose to do that. Not us. We were born here. We were innocent children and our parents took out their frustration on us. Zia, you’re doing my head in. I’ve got to go.”

  “Not Zia fault. Zia hit by Tony, you forget. You mother no say to me she hit you.”

  “Well, she wouldn’t would she? And Peppina did, too. They forced me into an arranged marriage. I lost a kidney because I wanted to come back home. Zia we’re a terrible family, can’t you see that? You have to stop what you’re doing. Our family moved to England for a better life. Being criminals is not being better. Being better is not only about money.”

  “You no be better without money,” Zia says. “I no know about you kidney. You no tell me.”

  “Look, I really have to go,” but I sit there instead.

  “You come back Thursday. Adele here. You talk to Adele. If you no come, Young Cushi be cross with you.”

  Yes, of course. All this respect business. Be careful not to slight them, otherwise they’ll make you pay for it. I will come and see Adele, but that will be the last time I go to Zia’s. I have to get out of this viper’s nest. Without giving any of them reason to hold anything against me.

  “He no know you kill Peppina. Young Cushi fond of Peppina. Better he no know. He love Peppina all his life. Since he in short short. He love Peppina and he love me. If I tell Young Cushi you kill Peppina, he kill you, for sure,” she makes a cutting gesture across her throat.

  “But I didn’t kill her,” I say again, “and you can’t prove otherwise. It’s your word against mine.”

  “Yes, what you think? He believe you word, or he believe my word?”

  “Zia, keep in mind what you have in the pantry. Let’s stop this, please!”

  The situation is black for me. If she decides to tell Young Cushi, he will turn against me, but I am more worried he will harm my family. Organise an accident. We can’t go to Italy any more. We must sell the chalet in the Dolomites. Also, I have to cover my tracks, just in case. I don’t think Zia will say anything to Young Cushi. I need to get her to promise she won’t utter a word about this to anyone. What do I do in case she doesn’t co-operate? I have to start laying the ground.

  More than once, I’ve seen old people being suffocated in films with a pillow. I need to find out more about that.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Wednesday 11th October

  Susi and I meet inside our usual Italian restaurant. I am already sitting at a table with an aperitif in front of me. Punctuality was never Susi’s strong point. Ten minutes after the appointed time, she comes bouncing over. White bandage dress. I think that’s what it’s called – so tight must be uncomfortable. Though it’s stretch. “You want to watch how you sit in that dress,” I say. Low cut with two lunar shaped bulges trying to get out, and thick-off-the-shoulder straps. Vertiginous black stilettos.

  “Darling, good to see you again,” she says.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you again, too. You’re looking good. Wasn’t necessary to get dolled up like that. You’re only having dinner with me, you’re not on the pull now.”

  “You never know, Mary. Always good to be smart. You never know who you might meet, and when.”

  The greasy-haired waiter comes over. “What will it be for madam?” he says to Susi, tunnel vision straight down her cleavage. She notices, smiles coquettishly and says,
pointing to my drink with a long purple-varnished nail, “I’ll have one of those.”

  I’m embarrassed that she’s flirting with a man half her age. “He could be your son, you know?”

  “Yes, but he isn’t, is he?”

  I turn the conversation to Sicily. “Terrible time you had in Sicily. All those funerals. What a holiday, eh? The ending of my holiday was traumatic witnessing Peppina’s death. That was so sad.”

  “I know,” she says. “Poor Peppina, dying in her own house like that.”

  “Problem is accidents come suddenly. One moment you’re here, and the next you’re gone,” I say, echoing those women paying condolences while Peppina’s body was still warm.

  “Are you ever going to tell your mum about the rapes?”

  “What’s the point? Let’s let sleeping dogs lie, eh? Anyway, it would only upset her. She doesn’t need that now she’s old and weak. By the way have you seen my mum yet?”

  “Yes, I went to see her yesterday. She’s OK, isn’t she? But, you’re right. She is a bit weak. I noticed she was having trouble breathing. She had to sit down once or twice because she was giddy. Don’t mention it to her though, she got very uppity when I talked about her health.”

  “Yeah, she’s weak. I didn’t notice the breathing problem, though.”

  “She must have caught a bug on the plane back,” I say. “Takes a few days to surface. Even a mild illness can be lethal in old folk, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. And on top of that she’s still grieving about Peppina.”

  “Time is a great healer,” I say. “It will mellow with time. I told your mum that she can have Peppina’s estate. I don’t want anything.”