by Lina Simoni
Caterina Berilli
5 Maggio 1890 – 2 Aprile 1908
Her head spun, the candles danced, and the flowers jumped out of the vases like fireworks shot into the sky. She ran away, stopping, short of breath, at the edge of a lawn. Her knees felt watery as she sat on the grass. Eyes glazed, she stared at the shapes of the clouds in the sky, the thickness of the grass blades, the patterns of the pebbles in the path. At every breath the air hurt her inside, as if she had been inhaling fire. She took her time returning to the gate. When she did, she looked again at her grandparents’ tombs, then at her own tomb, then at the candles, the flowers, the vases, and amidst those redolent vapors of death, she understood completely and unequivocally that while she was at the convent her family had buried her alive. She turned to Ivano, who in all that time had kept a distance, standing where the grass spilled over the path.
“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” she said. “Let’s go. I can’t be here any longer.”
They walked out of the cemetery hand in hand, maintaining a speedy gait, stopping only when the cemetery’s buildings were out of sight.
Later that afternoon, Matilda arrived at the palazzina and rushed at once to the desk in the foyer where every morning Guglielmo placed the incoming mail. To her horror, she saw that nothing was there.
“Gugliemo!” she called.
The butler arrived momentarily. “Welcome back, Madame,” he said, slightly surprised. “We weren’t expecting you for another few days.”
Matilda didn’t waste time. “Where’s the mail?”
“The new nurse brought it to Mister Berilli,” Guglielmo explained. “He’s feeling better, I believe.”
Matilda faltered. “Was there … a telegram?”
“Yes, Madame,” Guglielmo nodded. “There was.”
“Thank you,” Matilda said as her bones turned to jelly. “I’ll see my husband now.”
Upstairs, she tiptoed into Giuseppe’s room. She heard the regular rhythm of his breathing and realized he was asleep. On an armchair at the foot of the bed, an older woman, the nurse, was also dozing off. Matilda approached the bed stealthily, careful not to wake anyone, and gazed about. On the bed stand, next to the water carafe, were two open envelopes and their contents. They were bills. Nowhere did she see anything that resembled a telegram in any way. She felt as if her life had been unhinged. Where was the telegram? How many people had seen it? Could a scandal be avoided? And where in the world was Caterina?
The reason Matilda hadn’t found the nuns’ telegram in Giuseppe’s room was that the telegram was in Damiano’s pocket, not at the palazzina. Giuseppe had read the telegram earlier that morning and, at the moment he had grasped entirely its meaning, he had sent Guglielmo to fetch Doctor Sciaccaluga. Damiano had arrived in hurry, worried sick over Giuseppe’s condition.
“My health is not the problem,” Giuseppe told him once they were alone in his bedroom. He was agitated, but speaking slowly and with fatigue.
“What is the problem?” Damiano asked, placing a stethoscope on Giuseppe’s heart. He noticed that the lawyer’s face was redder than usual and his eyes spotted with blood.
When Giuseppe handed Damiano the telegram, his hands were shaking. He said, “Read.”
As Damiano read, his ferret eyes dilated. “Good God,” he exclaimed. “What do we do now?”
Giuseppe grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat. “You must find her,” he wheezed, “and take her back to the convent.”
“Me?” Damiano said in disbelief.
“Yes, you,” Giuseppe insisted. “Unless you have a better idea.”
“Where could she be?” Damiano wondered.
“I bet she’s with that baker,” Giuseppe said, coughing. “Give me pen and paper. I’ll write the address. Go there. Don’t let Caterina get away.” He stopped to catch his breath. “And take this telegram with you before anyone sees it.”
“I’ll do anything I can,” Damiano said, pocketing the address and the yellow telegram paper. “I must find her,” he added, talking to himself, “or my dream will be cut short. I’ll be disgraced.”
The trip back from the cemetery gave Ivano and Caterina time to put their thoughts in order.
“There’s one thing I’d like to do right away,” Ivano said, as they rode an electric tram headed downtown, “if it’s all right with you.”
“What?” Caterina asked.
“I’d like to tell my father you are here,” Ivano said. “All this time he thought I was mad because I kept looking for you. Besides, he can help us, and help is one thing we’re unquestionably going to need.”
Caterina nodded.
Eight tram stops later, they were on Piazza della Nunziata, entering the oven room from the alley. “I’ll be right back,” Ivano said, rushing through the door that led to the storefront.
Alone, Caterina took a seat at the table—the same table she had sat at on the day her father had barged in and taken her away. She felt like an eternity had passed rather than little over two years.
Shortly Ivano returned, followed closely by his father. At the sight of the woman seated at the table, Corrado swayed.
“You … you …” he babbled, pointing a finger at Caterina.
“Didn’t I tell you that she was alive?” Ivano said. “Now do you believe me?”
Corrado kept staring at Caterina and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, son,” he said when he regained his composure, “for doubting you and thinking you had lost your mind.” Then he grimaced as he realized what the Berillis had done. “They faked her death!” he shouted. “And staged her funeral! I cannot believe it!”
“We’re going to correct this,” Ivano said, “but first we need to find the proper way.” Thinking of his recent encounter with Antonio Sobrero at Caffe’ del Gambero, he hinted, “We could go to the police.”
Caterina spoke for the first time since entering the oven room. “I should discuss this matter with my family first. But I don’t know if I have the strength to go home and face my father. And my mother…. I am not sure I’ll be able to look her in the eyes.”
“What about the rest of your family?” Corrado inquired. “Don’t you have two brothers?”
Caterina shook her head. “Umberto is so close to my mother I’m wondering if all this time he has been aware I’m alive. And Raimondo,” her voice broke, “is someone I do not talk to.”
“Why?” Ivano asked.
Caterina shook her head. “Years ago he did things he shouldn’t have.” She paused. “I can’t talk about this. I don’t want to talk about this. Please.”
“I told you that rich families are a disaster,” Corrado mumbled, looking specifically at Ivano, “and that you should have stayed away.”
Ivano shook his head. “This isn’t helping us, father.”
“There is someone,” Caterina said in an energized voice.
“Who?” Ivano and Corrado asked in unison.
“My aunt Eugenia, my father’s sister. She was always good to me, and she’s the only one in the family who can stand up to my father. I’m sure she’d be outraged by what my father did and she’d help us in any way she can.”
“Let’s go find her,” Ivano said. “Let’s go find her right away.”
A half hour later, the three were on Via San Lorenzo, entering Eugenia’s building. At that time, Eugenia was having her afternoon nap on the velvet settee. Sound asleep, it took her a while to realize that the sounds she was hearing were knocks on her door and not something she was dreaming. She got up slowly, giving her body time to adjust and cursing the fact that she had no maid. She was still in a daze when she opened the door, but her daze vanished the moment she saw two strangers standing on her landing. One of them held an instrument in hand, like a beggar. She shouted, “Ottavio! I’m being robbed! Help! Ottavio! Help!”
In vain Ivano tried to calm her. Before he could explain himself, the doorman and Grazia Mordiglia were running up the stairs.
“Hold it right there!” Ottav
io boomed, grabbing Corrado from behind.
“Eugenia, are you all right?” Grazia asked, keeping at a safe distance a few steps down.
Caterina, who up till then had stood quietly behind Ivano and Corrado, stepped forward. “Stop, everyone. There’s no reason to be afraid. It’s me, Caterina.”
Everyone froze as Eugenia’s breathing accelerated. She moaned as she stared at the young woman, unable to understand. She stretched her arm and touched Caterina’s shoulder. Then her knees bent and her thin body began to fold down. With a quick move, Corrado grabbed her at the waist, preventing her from falling off the landing.
The hour that followed was one Eugenia would never forget. She regained consciousness in her bed, assisted by Grazia and Caterina. “Am I having nightmares?” she whispered as she opened her eyes.
“Hello, Aunt Eugenia,” Caterina said. “No, you didn’t have a nightmare. I’m real. I’m not dead.”
Despite hearing Caterina’s voice and seeing the blonde woman standing by, Eugenia was having a hard time grasping the implications. It took her a good five minutes to comprehend that the girl in her bedroom was her beloved niece, who was very much alive. All along, Grazia kept looking at Caterina with wondrous eyes, unable to say anything suitable for the occasion. Meanwhile, in the living room, Ottavio kept a vigil and mistrustful eye on Ivano, wondering if he was some sort of black sorcerer who resuscitated the dead with his incantations. Corrado had gone home, wearied by the turmoil.
“Giuseppe sent you to a convent?” Eugenia asked, incredulous, once she regained her strength. She was out of bed by then, standing next to Caterina.
Caterina nodded.
“And he invented your funeral?”
Caterina nodded again.
“You poor child,” Eugenia exclaimed. She burst into tears as she hugged Caterina. Then her shock turned to rage. “That miserable rat!” she screamed. “And that mother of yours? I always knew it that she is good for nothing, that Torinese.” She paused a moment to think. “And who’s the fellow you came with?”
Caterina summarized for her aunt the story of her love for Ivano and how Giuseppe had found out about them and, as a punishment, sent her away. At once, Eugenia rushed to the living room, followed by Grazia and Caterina.
“Who are you, young man?” she asked in her inquisitive, snobbish voice.
“My name is Ivano Bo,” Ivano said, politely, “and I intend to marry Caterina.”
Eugenia turned to Caterina. “What does he do?” she asked. “Is he from a family we know?”
“I’m a baker,” Ivano said proudly. “My father is a baker. My grandfather was a baker, too.”
Eugenia continued to talk to Caterina as if Ivano weren’t there. “A baker? Have you lost your mind?”
“We came here to ask for your help, Aunt Eugenia,” Caterina said. “I need to let my parents know I’m in town, but I don’t know if I can face them. I don’t know what will happen once everyone knows I’m alive. Can you help me, please?”
“I will most certainly do that,” Eugenia stated. “As for you marrying this … baker, I find it to be highly inappropriate.” She gazed towards the vestibule. “What is that funny violin I saw in the other room?”
“It’s a mandolin,” Ivano said, showing irritation. “I play it.”
“A mandolin?” Eugenia exclaimed with disdain. “That’s such a low-class instrument. I hear barbers play it to their clients while they wait. On the other hand,” she continued, staring at Caterina, “what would you expect from a baker? That he should play Mozart?”
“I do play Mozart on my mandolin,” Ivano stated, grinding his teeth and standing up. He took Caterina’s hand. “This was a mistake,” he said. “We don’t need her. I can take care of letting the whole town know you are here.”
“Hold it there, young fellow,” Eugenia shouted. “You’re not going anywhere in the company of my niece.” She paused. “Sit down,” she said. She brought a thin hand to her forehead. “Let me think.”
There was silence in the room as Caterina kept looking at Eugenia with imploring eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Eugenia said at a certain point. “You have no idea how much I cried for you. Your father—
“Then help me,” said Caterina.
“I need a drink,” Eugenia said. “Ottavio!”
The doorman, who hadn’t left the apartment or missed a single word of the conversation, poured shots of Sambuca for everyone, doubling his own dose.
“Caterina and I will go to the pakzzima,” Eugenia said after gulping down the liquor. “As for you,” she turned to Ivano, “go back to your bakery or your home or wherever. I’ll deal with you later.”
“I’m not leaving Caterina,” Ivano declared, standing up and clutching Caterina’s hand. “And I don’t take orders from you.”
Eugenia looked at him with icy eyes. She realized it wouldn’t be easy to get rid of the disturbing lad.
“Don’t you understand, Aunt Eugenia?” Caterina said. “He’s the one who found me! He helped me escape from the convent. Without him, I’d still be there!”
Eugenia looked at her niece with tenderness. She gazed at Ivano and said the first reasonable thing that crossed her mind. “This is a delicate family matter. It’d be best for everyone, including you, young man, if only the family members were involved at this time.”
“She’s right,” Caterina said, moving towards the vestibule. She whispered, “Don’t be put off by her ways. She’s upset. But she loves me. With her by my side, I feel strong enough to face my father.”
“All along she’s been talking about me as if I were made of thin air,” Ivano pointed out angrily. “Then she orders me around. My father was right when he kept telling me to stay away from rich people.”
“I heard that,” Eugenia shouted from the living room. “And I agree that your father was right!”
“She means well,” Caterina insisted.
Ivano embraced Caterina. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you,” he said.
“It’s temporary. Only for a few hours,” Caterina reassured him. “Whatever happens, I’ll sleep here tonight, not at the palazzina. So you’ll know where to find me.”
Ivano felt moderately reassured. “Fine,” he grunted. “I’ll come back here later tonight. Be here, please.”
Caterina nodded, and Ivano, reluctantly, walked out the door.
“First things first,” Eugenia said, once Caterina was back in the living room. “You need a bath, a rest, and some decent food. Then we’ll go to Corso Solferino.” She turned to Ottavio. “If you are thinking of running to the closest bar and telling your drunken friends what you just saw, think again. You talk, I’ll get you fired.”
Ottavio nodded.
Then Eugenia turned to Grazia, who all that time had sat silently in an armchair. “And you, don’t you go out gossiping about this story until I set it straight.”
Grazia nodded as well, and Eugenia escorted her and Ottavio to the door.
Wandering along the crowded sidewalk, Ivano wasn’t convinced that leaving Caterina alone with her aunt was wise. The aunt was Giuseppe’s sister, he reasoned, and he didn’t trust her to take Caterina’s side when facing the lawyer and his contorted, sick plan. After a few moments of reflection, he decided to go looking for Antonio Sobrero and tell him where Caterina was. He trusted that Mister Sobrero would do better than the elderly aunt at protecting Caterina. For sure Giuseppe wouldn’t be able to intimidate him. So pondering, he ran to the top of via San Lorenzo, where the police headquarters was located. It took him several minutes to be admitted to Antonio’s office. He succeeded only when Antonio heard from one of his lieutenants that there was a Mister Bo wanting to see him urgently regarding Caterina Berilli. Antonio’s investigation into the threatening letters and the cat on the door had come to a dead halt in the past days, plus he had lost track of Ivano altogether. He had no idea how to proceed. He had even considered visiting Giuseppe and telling him he was going to gi
ve up for lack of leads. So when he heard that a Mister Ivano Bo was looking for him, he was relieved. Perhaps he would learn something that would bring the investigation back to life.
When a clerk gave him permission to meet with Antonio, Ivano rushed into his office shouting, “Come with me now! Caterina is in her aunt’s apartment a few blocks from here!”
“What?” Antonio exclaimed, giving Ivano an angry look. “I asked you this once before. Have you lost your mind?”
“Come with me,” Ivano repeated. “It’ll take us only five minutes to get there. Then you can judge for yourself whose mind is lost and whose isn’t.”
The expression of anxiety on Ivano’s face and the positive energy with which he was talking convinced Antonio it may be worth taking the short trip to Eugenia Berilli’s home. He had to admit he was intrigued. “If you made this up, I will arrest you and keep you in jail for at least three months,” he growled.
Ivano smiled. “I bet you will arrest someone tonight. Not me, Mister Sobrero, I can assure you.”
The two men arrived at Eugenia’s apartment shortly, and when Eugenia responded to their knocks she gave them a stare. “What are you two doing here?” she asked. “Mister Mandolin, didn’t I ask you to go home?”
Ignoring her, Ivano stepped in. “In the living room” he told Antonio. “Now do you believe me?”
Swiftly, Antonio crossed the vestibule and froze on the living-room threshold. Seated on the sofa was Caterina. For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating. Then he realized that Caterina was real. Caterina, who didn’t know who the man was, huddled defensively on the couch.
