Power to Burn

by Fienberg, Anna

  ‘Anyway, there I was with these flames and I felt as strong as a bear.’

  Dad looked at Mum and shrugged.

  ‘Oh what’s the use!’ I shouted and flung down my fork. ‘So I killed Pig Rogers and hung him up on a stake to dry.’

  ‘So you killed Pig Rogers –’

  ‘Oh, Giorgio,’ cut in my mother, ‘can’t you see he’s just teasing you now? He’s having one of his jokes again.’

  ‘Well I can’t see the point of this joke,’ said Dad cautiously. ‘Is that Peter Rogers you’re talking about, the butcher’s son?’

  ‘Oh, just forget it, Dad, it doesn’t matter.’

  There was silence while we all attacked our lamb.

  I could hear every little swallow that my parents made. Boy, did that irritate me. They were swallowing loud, and hrrhmming to break up the silence. But I saw my mother couldn’t leave it alone.

  ‘Why do you say these stupid things? Stupid nasty things,’ she said.

  ‘Because they happened, that’s why. And sometimes, in my crazy moments, I think you might be interested.’

  ‘Of course we’re interested in what you think,’ Dad said kindly. ‘But just because you think things, it doesn’t mean they happen. That’s only in those fantasies you read.’

  ‘He reads too much, that’s what’s the matter with him,’ my mother said smugly, as if she’d just summed up the universe.

  ‘You sound like Pig Rogers!’ I yelled. ‘Oh no, I’m surrounded by neanderthal pigs!’ and I jumped up and began running around the room snorting and oinking and snuffling and then Lady, our dog, came into the room and she started rushing around the table barking in this demented way and tipped over my plate and sent the lamb flying.

  ‘Go to your room, disgraziato!’ Mum shouted and stood up.

  ‘I’m not five years old any more,’ I yelled back.

  ‘You act like it, now get to your room until you grow up!’

  It’s just as well I like my room, as I spend a lot of time up here. My walls are lined with bookshelves so it looks quite studious and interesting. The only annoying thing is that any time someone comes to visit me up here they always say, ‘Geez, have you read all those books?’ as if I’m some kind of freak.

  Now my eye skimmed along the shelf and stopped at Irish Fairy Tales. I bought that book with three months’ pocket money when I was nine. I spent the rest of the year rehearsing exactly what I’d say when a leprechaun stopped me on my way to school and gave me my three wishes. I didn’t want to be caught unprepared.

  I lay on the bed and closed my eyes, searching for the feeling I’d had this afternoon. I could taste it now, but was it memory or the real thing, still hiding there? I opened my eyes and looked at the books around me. The Wizard of Moonwater, Witches and Goblins, Tales of Mystery and Magic.

  I had the sudden feeling that the characters in these books were my real family. These old wizards and witches, harpies and dragons, with their potions and vengeance and age-old rages could tell me more about myself than those two people eating dessert downstairs. Suddenly I felt rich with wise cousins and great aunts and uncles. I knew I was one of them now.

  Because I had the power, too.

  I must have dozed off because I woke up with a dry throat and my school shirt all rumpled. I padded over to the door and saw the light on downstairs in the living room. That was strange. It was 12 o’clock and my parents were still awake.

  I hung around at the door to see if I could hear anything. There was a dull drone and then Dad’s voice grew louder.

  ‘He’s a teenager, for heaven’s sake – they all go through this stage. He’s just testing us. Look, it’s all here in this magazine.’

  ‘No,’ said Mum, ‘Che faccia che aveva – did you see his face? He said “flames”. His fingers were on fire, Giorgio! How could he make that up?’

  ‘He’s always had a vivid imagination.’

  ‘No, it won’t work, Giorgio. Fire, that’s how it starts in men. For girls, it’s different. I ought to know! In girls the power is gentler, easier to control.’

  ‘Your mother controlled you with an iron hand, but she didn’t have it so easy with your sister!’

  ‘We’re not discussing my sister. For all I know Lucrezia is dead and buried, God rest her soul.’

  ‘Well I won’t believe it.’ Dad’s voice rose higher. ‘I won’t have you pushing your old family history onto our boy. He’s just a normal kid. Madonna, haven’t we tried to make a normal life for ourselves here? We go to work, we do the shopping, sempre la stessa cosa, ogni maledetto giorno – the same thing every damn day! Maybe we’ve made it too normal. Don’t you think Roberto might just want a bit of excitement in his life?’

  ‘No,’ my mother said softly. ‘Roberto has the power. I know it.’

  It was so quiet now that I could hear the big clock in the kitchen ticking away. It struck 12.30 am and I thought: I’ll always remember this moment. The crack in the wall that looked like the map of India, the faint smell of stale water from the vase of dead flowers on the table next to me. Everything seemed important, as if a spotlight had been turned on overhead.

  ‘We’ve tried so hard to forget,’ my father’s voice sounded as if it were full of tears. ‘Ever since we came here we’ve tried to be like other people. Or at least how we think other people are. People without tragedies, without something to hide. We’ve made normality a religion.’

  ‘Well I know what happens when you step outside the circle, caro. There’s no limit, only chaos.’

  I had to lean out further over the landing to hear my Dad’s voice. It had gone all quiet and resigned, as if the energy had seeped out of him.

  ‘So what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘We’ll have to send him back for a while.’

  ‘Not like the other one! No, Cornelia. I won’t have it!’

  ‘No, no, Giorgio, not forever, just for a little while. Una piccola vacanza. Roberto should go to Italy and spend some time with his grandparents. The Christmas holidays are coming soon, and Nonna would love to see him. Please, Giorgio.’ Mum’s voice was shaky, I’d never heard it so nervous. ‘Please, Giorgio, I know how much it will cost, but he has to get this out of his system. Mamma could talk to him. Tell him about us – explain things. And Papa would get him under control. It’s too hard for us to do. How could we possibly tell him now?’

  There was a silence and I could feel, down there in that living room, my parents actually facing each other.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ said Dad, ‘but now I’m going to bed. Basta.’ I heard him stand up and scrape back the chair.

  I stumbled back into my room and closed the door.

  chapter 2

  LUCREZIA 1964, Spring in Florence

  ‘Lucrezia, where are you? La professoressa Bon-giorno is here to see you! Lucrezia!’

  I could hear Mamma’s voice floating down from our flat. Dio mio, why does she always have to come at the worst possible moment?

  I’d just pumped up my bicycle wheels and strapped my Latin books onto the back. I was going to Fabio’s place to study, and then if he asked me (please, please!) I’d stay for dinner. His mother makes a wonderful pasta al forno, not that I’d be able to eat a mouthful, I suppose, with Fabio sitting right there beside me. It’s hard to eat when you’re in love! And we have so little time left together.

  I wish I could just magick the two of us right away from here. Somewhere tropical, or even snow-bound, where we could be snug inside a cabin with a fire and rugs and all that white world stretching before us like a new page. But I’m not up to that yet. I hope I am soon. Before anything happens.

  Maybe if I didn’t answer now, Mamma would think I’d already gone. I wheeled my bike quietly out of the courtyard.

  The apartment window above shot up and there was Mamma, waving. ‘Lucrezia, come here this moment!’ She flapped her tea towel imperiously at me.

  ‘Coming!’ There was no escape now.

  But as I
trudged up the three flights of stairs, I began to smile. I’d just thought of a way to entertain la professoressa Bongiorno.

  There were cakes on the coffee table and a box of chocolates wrapped up with a red shiny bow. La professoressa handed them to me and fluttered, ‘For good luck in your exams, cara!’ She smelled strongly of face powder, and there were little red smears of lipstick like blood on her teeth.

  ‘Oh, thank you, signora,’ I fluttered back, and undid the red bow.

  Now a sudden breeze buffeted in through the window, tossing the curtains and slamming the door. The signora jumped up with surprise, spilling some coffee on the floor.

  ‘Scusa, I’m so sorry, oh look what I’ve done!’ she cried.

  ‘Niente, don’t worry!’ my mother soothed, and she settled the signora back in her chair. Now I put the chocolate box on the table beside her.

  ‘Do have one,’ I urged.

  As la professoressa looked into the box, ten little green frogs sat nestling in their red paper cups. Suddenly they leapt out of the box and on to her knees. She clapped her hands.

  ‘Oh, magnifico, how sweet, how did you do that, Lucrezia?’

  I winked at my mother who stared at the frogs, stony-faced.

  The little frogs jumped down onto the floor and hopped amongst our feet. Their tiny throats moved in and out as they croaked, high and thin as crickets.

  ‘Oh, Lucrezia, you must put on a magic show for us all sometime. She really is very talented, you know, Francesca,’ she said confidingly, turning to my mother. ‘Such an unusual hobby for a girl.’

  Mamma smiled politely and flicked a frog off her shoe.

  La professoressa exclaimed and cooed and drank her coffee for another half hour before she struggled out of her chair. She was to join another friend for the daily passeggiata, when people meet to talk and walk along the shop fronts of our town.

  As the door closed behind her, Mamma exploded. ‘Why do you keep doing these things, figlia mia! How many times have I told you that it must stop?’ She was wringing her hands as if someone had just died.

  ‘Oh, that silly signora, you know she thinks I just pull tricks out of a hat. She wouldn’t know real magic if she tripped over it.’

  ‘Yes, for now, but one day you may go too far.’ She began pacing the room, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor.

  ‘Look out, I cried, ‘you’re stepping on a frog!’

  ‘Revolting things,’ she spat, ‘and they’re only illusions, anyway.’ She picked up a frog and pricked it with her finger nail. It burst like a bubble, leaving just a green smear in the air. The little cup of red paper floated to the floor. ‘You can’t magick flesh and blood yet, can you?’

  ‘No, but if you’d only leave me in peace I could practise. Oh, Mamma, I know I have it inside me! I could conjure up fabulous things: flowers in the desert, love between enemies, I could learn to fly –’

  Mamma’s mouth tightened. ‘And then what would become of you? “The Weird Woman of Firenze” they’d call you. A witch. Who would want to be your friend? Or your husband? No man would marry a woman who could fly away from him. Put a spell on him. Be more powerful than him! Listen, I know. You’d be alone all your life.’

  She put her hands on my shoulders and swung me round. I was trembling. I didn’t know if I was angry or afraid. But my heart was pounding.

  ‘And worse than all of that, figlia mia,’ Mamma’s voice became a whisper, ‘is the darkness you may find within yourself.’

  I flung away from her.

  ‘You don’t understand, Mamma,’ I said. ‘I want to create magnificent things. I have colours in my head, new colours that no one has dreamed of before. There’s no room for darkness in me – I’m like a bird about to fly, I’m full of light and wind and sun!’

  ‘You have love in your heart, amore,’ my mother said softly. ‘Why not be content with that?’

  I smiled. I thought of Fabio’s dark eyes and the night falling softly outside.

  ‘I’m very late,’ I said. ‘Fabio is expecting me. We have some Dante to read.’

  ‘And secrets to share,’ Mamma smiled. ‘Off you go then, and give my regards to his mother. Ciao, amore.’

  I kissed Mamma and ran outside into the warm dusk. As I pedalled along the narrow streets my heart rose up and flew with the pigeons circling the towers of our square.

  That night I crept into bed quietly, so as not to wake my little sister, Cornelia. I wanted to savour my evening, and the moment when we were alone on his doorstep. ‘Remember me always,’ Fabio had whispered as he kissed me goodnight. And he gave me the thin gold band he wore on his fifth finger.

  ‘You’re home late,’ Cornelia’s voice splintered the silence. ‘Mamma and Papa were worried. Is their light still on?’

  I sighed. Cornelia is just three years younger than me, but sometimes she acts like a little policewoman. Right and wrong, black and white, Dio, she lives in a simple world. She is so stuck under Mamma’s thumb, I worry whether she’ll ever crawl out and be herself.

  ‘Sì, Cornelia, I spoke to Mamma. Everything is all right. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘I wasn’t asleep. Did you have a good time? What did you have for dinner? We had spaghetti all’ aglio e olio.’

  ‘We had pasta al forno, and it was buonissimo. And Fabio kissed me goodnight.’

  Cornelia choked with delight. Oh I do love it when she laughs and hiccups at the same time – sometimes she enjoys herself so much she forgets to swallow!

  I giggled with her and we held hands for a moment across the space between our beds.

  Now she wanted to know everything. ‘What do you do about breathing when you kiss a boy? Do you hold your breath like when you’re under water?’

  I explained a few essential facts to her and when she was satisfied I heard her yawn and turn over.

  Just as I thought she was drifting off to sleep, she said something that sent a chill up my spine.

  ‘Tonight, just after dinner, two policemen came to the door. They were asking about Fabio’s father. Something about his work at the university. The Treasury. Is anything wrong?’

  I tossed the sheets away. My body felt hot and sweat broke out over my chest. I didn’t want to think about it. No. I wanted to think only about tonight. When we were safe and close in each other’s arms.

  But the uneasiness was crawling inside my head, pricking my skin.

  ‘What did they want? Papa doesn’t teach at that university anymore. What did he say?’

  ‘I don’t know, Lu. Mamma sent me out of the room to do the washing up. But she looked shocked, and Papa’s face went all serious and closed, you know how reserved he gets.’

  For weeks now, ever since Fabio announced that he and his family were moving away, I’d been trying not to think about our separation. I wanted to enjoy the time we had left, to concentrate on all the moments we could share.

  But now, as I shut my eyes, I saw a pattern forming, like a jigsaw puzzle. I saw the piece with Fabio telling me about the move, and his family sitting at the table around him. I saw his father’s face and the quick shadow that passed over his eyes. And I saw the piece that came later, when Fabio told me that he didn’t believe his father had been promoted to another university.

  ‘He’s in some kind of trouble, but he won’t tell me what it is.’

  And now the final piece was slotted in. Fabio’s father, dottor Fiorelli, must have done something illegal with the treasury funds. Maybe it had been going on for ages if the police were questioning my father about the time he worked with dottor Fiorelli. I wondered if Fiorelli was really just running away, and taking his family with him.

  ‘You’ll probably get long romantic letters from Fabio when he’s gone,’ Cornelia said now. ‘They say you can learn more about a person from what he writes than what he says.’

  ‘Which magazine did you read that in?’ Cornelia was trying to be comforting, I know, but her words sent another jolt of fear through me. ‘Come on, let’s go
to sleep now, it’s so late. Buona notte.’

  ‘Buona notte.’

  I could just imagine the kind of letters Fabio would write now, with all this family trouble. His words might be affectionate to me, but distant, and he would close off about his family, the thing that was really worrying him. He would never write about his father, put down on paper anything that was shameful, secret. He was too loyal, too proud.

  Suddenly I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t stand the idea of being shut off from Fabio, of not being able to run to him and put my face into his smooth neck and draw in great breaths of him.

  I felt the tears running sideways down into my hair. I’m not going to let it happen, I decided. Then I sat up in bed and almost laughed out loud.

  I’ll ask Mamma if Fabio can stay here with us when his family goes. That’s it! I know she will understand. And I’ll think of good reasons, too, logical reasons. The final exams will soon be here – how can he start a new school, in a new city and do exams at the same time? These are the exams that will determine his future! And then afterwards, when there’s no more school, we’ll both be free to make plans, our own plans.

  I snuggled back down into the pillows and smiled in the dark. How wonderful to have Fabio here at breakfast each morning! I could buy a new silk nightgown, white, and wear my hair down and loose, swooping over the coffee cups. I would be irresistible! I could conjure up fresh gardenias and leave them on his dressing table at night. I could make the moonlight shine in his window and wrap silver ribbons around his bed.

  I closed my eyes and as I floated into sleep I saw a long road stretching ahead of me. Way off in the distance, at the end of the road, I saw myself running, faster and faster until my feet lifted off the ground and I was flying. I looked down and saw people like beetles, scurrying and arguing and hauling things and then there was Fabio, standing alone. His arms reached out and I pulled him up and the wind rushed past our faces, sweeping us into the sky like shooting stars.