La Brigantessa

by Rosanna Micelotta Battigelli

  Don Simone nodded and as he turned away to tuck his bottle of nocino in its usual place in the corner cupboard, Tonino whispered to Gabriella, “I must speak to you alone.” Something in his voice gave her a chill, and she watched him step back, his mouth pursed. “Don Simone ordered some beef liver. I’ll deliver it tomorrow.”

  AFTER A PASSABLE BREAKFAST OF THICK, oven-baked biscuits and goat’s milk, Alfonso inquires as to the means of procuring a driver and a vehicle for the journey south to Calabria. The innkeeper, who seems eager to leave them with a good impression, reassures them that their request will be granted within a half-hour. Twenty minutes later, a stalwart lad of seventeen or eighteen drives up in front of the inn and reins in his two mules. He jumps down and introduces himself as Pino. After negotiating a price that seems reasonable to Claudio and Alfonso—they know better than to accept the first offer dealt to them—they settle themselves and their bags into the carriage, and with a rush of good-natured farewells and an indecipherable dialect exchange between Pino and the innkeeper, Pino cracks his whip and begins the journey with a wave to the locals, some of whom run up and quickly hand him some figs and other foodstuff from baskets filled at the outdoor market around the corner from the inn.

  Alfonso notes Pino’s bronzed, muscled arms as he ascends an absurdly narrow stretch of road while munching on a pear. On either side of him, villagers and their children scurry away from the mules’ path. A sudden jolt has Alfonso wondering if one of those children have been run over, and he looks back anxiously, expecting the carriage to stop. But Pino continues on, and Alfonso realizes the hump on the road is a dead hen that has fallen out of somebody’s basket. He wipes the perspiration off his brow and sits back in his seat.

  “Your face looks as ashen as the sky,” Claudio says.

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’m sure it has something to do with my nerves, riding in this contraption.”

  “Close your eyes if you’re feeling anxious; if it doesn’t go away, I’m sure I can find something in my bag to make you feel better.”

  Alfonso cringes at the sight of a steep ravine. “And you have enough instruments and medicine in that bag to put my bones together after we fall over this precipice, correct?”

  “This lad has probably taken this trip hundreds of times; we won’t fall over, trust me.”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  “Now, don’t go filling your thoughts with delusions, because if you do, and your brain goes over the edge, I won’t be able to help you. You’ll need a psychiatrist for that.” Claudio peers out at the snaking path flanked on one side by majestic oaks and poplars, and chiselled downward on the other side into an abyss of imperceptible depths. Soon, the sound of clanking hooves on the dirt path is muffled by the thunderous noise of a waterfall plunging into the ravine below. Alfonso closes his eyes.

  After a less perilous stretch through chestnut and olive groves, Pino stops at a spring along the shoulder of the mountain path. He jumps down, splashes his dusty face with the water, and then fills his canteen. After drinking generously at the spring, he waits for Alfonso and Claudio to do the same, and then, whistling all the while, leads his mules to drink.

  He is not a talkative sort; he has said barely a word from the time they started the journey. When he curses suddenly a few miles later, Alfonso follows his gaze. High on the mountain, on a fir tree that has been recently stripped of all its branches, hangs a human head on a spike, accompanied by a lone vulture that is perched on what remains of a bloodied patch of hair. As the carriage approaches, it becomes obvious that the bird has feasted to its satisfaction: the eye sockets are empty, and even from a distance look cavernous; most of the flesh has been ripped off, a few shreds dangling like a ragged piece of gypsy cloth; what little meat remains will shortly be devoured by the merciless scavenger.

  There is no way to avoid the gruesome sight; the mule track winds around in such a way that any approaching traveller or carriage would be exposed to it fully before being able to continue his journey.

  Pino stops the carriage and leaps down, immediately retching in the bracken alongside the road. Alfonso holds his hand over his mouth. Claudio hastily pulls out his medical bag and extracts a vial of smelling salts. He makes Pino and Alfonso breathe in the salts before taking a breath himself.

  “A brigand,” Alfonso shivers, unable to take his eyes from the head. “A brigand!”

  GABRIELLA LIFTS THE LID OF THE TERRACOTTA tiana with a thick linen cloth. The broad beans are done, simmering in a broth with onions and garlic. She sets the lid back down and shifts the deep earthenware dish from its position above the coals to a corner of the hearth where it will stay warm until suppertime. She unties her apron and hurries to the vestibule of the rectory to check her appearance in the walnut-framed mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes seem brighter than usual.

  She meets the gaze of the statue of San Nicola in the reflection and imagines for a moment that his eyes are mocking her for her vanity. Feeling sheepish, she returns to the rectory kitchen. Sitting in the broom-woven chair by the hearth, she reaches for the note in her skirt pocket. Tonino’s brother Ricardo handed it to her earlier this morning while making deliveries in the area. He hadn’t said anything, but his shy smile made her realize it was a message from Tonino.

  I will deliver Don Simone’s order of beef liver by mid-afternoon. Good day, Tonino.

  Now, reading the words again, Gabriella feels her pulse quicken. Tonino’s words are hardly amorous, yet the fact that he had his brother deliver the message tells her that he wants to make sure she is there when he arrives. He is well aware that her father will be out in the fields, and that Don Simone is, as always on a Tuesday, in the neighbouring hamlet of Riace. Of course, Tonino can’t predict whether or not Luciano will be around, but there is always the chance she will be alone.

  Gabriella hears the sound of approaching footsteps outside the open window. She wipes her brow with her handkerchief. After the knocker sounds twice, she opens the door. With a tentative smile, she lets Tonino in and closes the door. Tonino hands her the package of beef liver. She takes it with a shy nod. “I’ll just put it in the cellar.”

  When she returns, she hands him some coins from her apron pocket. As their fingers brush, Tonino’s other hand comes up to cover hers while he slips the money in his trouser pocket. “Grazie.” He clears his throat. “Gabriella, there’s something I wanted to tell you before I left for Cosenza, but everything happened so fast. We barely had two moments to ourselves in the piazza that day, and telling you the news that I had to leave was hard enough.”

  Gabriella tenses. There is something in his eyes that she doesn’t recognize. Is it regret? Has something caused him to change his mind? His feelings? Her hand suddenly feels clammy, and she withdraws it from Tonino’s clasp. She feels her face redden.

  “I should have told you something else by the river, Gabriella, but I didn’t want to spoil everything. It just wasn’t the right time.”

  Gabriella draws in a breath. Dear God in heaven, could it be that he told his parents and they didn’t approve?

  “This isn’t the best time either, or place, but I didn’t want you to have to contrive some story to meet me by the river again. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression of us. Of you.”

  He is looking at her tenderly now and Gabriella takes a deep breath. “What I didn’t tell you, Gabriella, is that for some months now, I have been attending secret meetings. Some of them have been here in Camini, others in the neighbouring hamlets. And some in Cosenza. An especially important meeting was called last night.”

  Gabriella frowns. Dear Lord, could Tonino be embroiled in something illegal? Her stomach clenches. Perhaps he has changed; perhaps he has been influenced or threatened by some outsiders….

  “Please hear me out, Gabriella,” he says, even though she hasn’t uttered a word. “You’ve heard the rumblings
that have been going on since Unification: how being under Bourbon rule was better than the conditions existing under the new King; how the laws of the State are meant for the northern Italians and have only caused greater hardship for southern Italians, for us here in Calabria.”

  He takes both of her hands and looks at her solemnly. “There is a movement that has been growing since General Garibaldi liberated the South from the Bourbons. Garibaldi’s work is not done. His mission to unite all of Italy is not completed. Rome and Venice have yet to be liberated. He wants change for all Italians, and change will come about when Rome is taken back from the French and becomes the rightful capital of our country.”

  Gabriella blinks. Tonino squeezes her hands comfortingly. “Gabriella, there has been a lot of discussion in secret, and until this last meeting, I wasn’t completely sure that I wanted to get involved—”

  “With me?” she says, hating the way her voice is quivering.

  “No, silly,” he smiles, cupping her chin so she is looking directly at him. “With the mission. With General Garibaldi.”

  Tonino’s hand reaches for hers. “I want to make a difference in the building of this nation,” he says, his voice growing more fervent. “General Garibaldi needs men to join his cause, to help bring about the changes we need in order to make a better life for ourselves.” He squeezes her hand. “For our children.”

  Gabriella feels her heart begin to pound. Dear God in heaven, does this mean—?

  “He was there, Gabriella! Giuseppe Garibaldi! That’s why I couldn’t miss it.”

  Gabriella inhales sharply at Tonino’s look of rapture. It is as if he has seen the Lord Himself.

  “He looked me straight in the eye, Gabriella. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t respond to his appeal, to the call of my country.”

  What about me, us? Gabriella bites her lip. Her eyes begin to prickle. He is going to leave. Risk his life in a march on Rome. She could lose him before…before their life together has even begun. She wants to scream, pound his chest, demand why he had to declare his love for her, leave her, and then come back only to tell her this. If he fights for Garibaldi’s cause, and loses his life, then it will have been for someone else’s children, not theirs.

  “Wh…when will you—” She startles as the door behind Tonino opens and Luciano enters. She steps awkwardly away from Tonino, blinking rapidly.

  “Ciao, Tonino,” Luciano grins. “Did you bring us something good to eat?”

  Tonino ruffles Luciano’s hair. “Liver. And tripe. Don Simone told me how much you like it.”

  “Acchhh!” Luciano pretends to hold his nose before running off into the kitchen.

  “Gabriella, there is something I still need to tell you—”

  “Not now,” she hears herself say stiffly, glancing away. There is so much she needs to say to him. But right now, she can’t think, she can’t plan.

  “I meant everything I said by the river,” Tonino says softly. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and hands her a cluster of pink oleander flowers. Their sweet fragrance tinges the air between them. “I should have given them to you right away,” he murmurs.

  Gabriella feels numb, but she takes the slightly pressed flowers. Tonino leans forward to kiss her, but she turns away sharply. When she hears the door click open and shut, she waits for his footsteps to recede before crushing the oleander blossoms in her hand.

  ALFONSO AND CLAUDIO ARISE EARLY, awakened by a discordant band of roosters and pigeons, dogs and goats, along with the cheery salutations and pleasantries exchanged by the villagers heading out to begin their work in the fields. “You’d think they were going to a festa,” Alfonso grumbles.

  “Now brother, don’t deprive these poor folk of their happy spirit. God knows they don’t have much to call their own except their spirit.”

  “They’re probably too ignorant to even realize how much they don’t have.” Alfonso rises from the hemp pallet, stretching and arching his back. The bed barely looked like it could support him, but it has turned out to be surprisingly adequate, and Alfonso feels little of the stiffness he anticipated upon initially surveying the scrawny pallet on the iron frame.

  Back home, he has always enjoyed the pleasures of a soft, ample bed. His bed chamber brings him satisfaction after a long day of tending his interests, financial or otherwise. Whether he returns alone, or with a companion, he knows he will always find his room softly lit with wall sconces, a pan of hot coals warming an oversized cauldron of water for his bath, and his bed linen freshly changed. A platter of ripe, fresh fruit flanked by a smaller dish of cheese and cured pork sausages or ham will be set out for him, accompanied by a bottle of his favourite wine.

  Alfonso’s servants know how much he abhors sleeping in sheets left more than two days unwashed; in fact, it is such a source of contention for him that an unaccommodating servant, acting out of carelessness, forgetfulness or some other reason, would be asked to leave his employ instantly.

  He dresses quickly, anticipating the last stretch of their journey to Camini. He and Claudio proceed to the dining area, bags in hand. They each accept an oversized cup of strong black coffee, and Alfonso enhances his with a shot of brandy from a small flask inside his jacket. The host, who beams at the news that they slept well, brings them a large plate of freshly baked biscotti, flecked with anise and citron peel.

  They finish their breakfast and bid farewell to the host, who utters a cry of surprise at the generous pile of coins left on the table by Claudio. He calls out a benediction as they step up into the cart he has procured for them and sends a street boy running after the cart with a complimentary bottle of wine. Claudio accepts it with a gracious nod and wave, murmuring to Alfonso that he will leave it with their driver upon their arrival in Camini.

  “You’re too damned generous,” Alfonso scoffs, watching Claudio tuck the bottle in one of his bags. “Wasting your money like that.” The driver of their cart manoeuvres a sharp turn that obliterates the last view of the inn. “Good riddance to that hovel and everyone in it,” Alfonso mutters, settling more comfortably in his seat.

  The driver cajoles the horses past the maze of narrow cobbled streets. Before long, they are on the outskirts of Reggio and onto a wider country road flanked by an orchard on one hillside and a vineyard on the other. The orchard has endless rows of fragrant orange and lemon trees, and an abundance of olive and flowering almond trees. “What a charming countryside,” Claudio exclaims. “A veritable palette to feast upon with hungry eyes. So colourful.”

  Alfonso stares at him. “Aren’t you forgetting the head on the pike we saw yesterday? That was more colourful if you ask me.” He gazes with interest at the burgeoning grapes in the vineyard that come autumn will be transformed into a robust Greco, according to his research. And although this area lacks the wild aspect of the hills they travelled through yesterday, Alfonso has no conviction that the idyllic countryside around him, with its bountiful fields and beautiful views of the blue waters of the Strait of Messina, does not conceal a sinister underbelly.

  He feels his stomach twinge again with the recollection of the gruesome remains in the thick of the Aspromonte mountains, and for some time he observes the woodlands they pass with some trepidation. To Alfonso’s relief, there are no signs that indicate the presence of brigands, dead or alive, and with a deep breath, he leans back in the carriage and closes his eyes.

  Alfonso starts as the driver announces that they are approaching the hamlet of Camini. He yawns and opens his eyes when Claudio nudges him. “Be on your best behaviour, little brother,” Claudio advises with a note of sternness. “Although the parish priest has offered us accommodation in his rectory until the affairs are settled, I detected a certain tone in his letter. An indication of his feelings about the expropriation of the Church lands he manages. Not malice, certainly, but understandable discontent over the notice sent to him by our solicitor.�
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  “Why would he put us up in his rectory if he is discontented?” Alfonso murmurs, distracted by the sight of a group of buxom peasant women balancing wicker baskets filled with freshly washed laundry. As their driver slows down the mules to pass them, the group pauses on the road to glance at them. A trio of biblical statues, Alfonso thinks. His eyes are drawn to the youngest woman, her long skirt brightly patterned in yellow and red against a black background. She is exceptionally pretty, a startling contrast to the two older women next to her, their heavier bodies sagging under black skirts that don’t allow the sun to penetrate. Nor probably their husbands, he smirks, unless the good men are half-stupid with drink and feeling nostalgic.

  The driver of their carriage nods politely as they pass, tilting his cap. Alfonso turns to his brother, trying to remember what their conversation is about.