“Not here,” one said, rolling the straw to the other side of his mouth. He adjusted himself while he stared at her. A tough, he wore cheap suits and cardboard shoes.
Serafina’s eyes fell to the bulge underneath his vest, a gun.
“Tell him it’s Serafina.”
Inside his office, Tigro told her to sit. She declined.
“Where’s the money you owe me?” he asked, his teeth gleaming, his body unmoving.
She stood there, calm. She said nothing.
He wore a Savile Row suit, a diamond stud in his cravat. “I gave you protection while you were on your little outing—”
“I never asked for it.”
“Too late, I provided it.”
“I owe you nothing. And if I see your men stalking me again, I’ll knock their heads together like melons.” She stood before his desk looking down at him and poking her finger into the yellow space between them while he looked up, amused.
“Get this straight,” she said, her voice low. “You owe me for the fire you started. Your flames destroyed our apothecary shop, over two centuries turned to ash in a few hours while the police looked on and did nothing because you paid them off. And you call that protection.” She took a breath. “If I ever catch you or your men following me again, I swear I’ll pluck out your eyes, one at a time. You’ll cry for the mother you think we share.”
He smiled. “Your tongue will be the death of you one day. My spies tell me you’re leaving. Don’t worry. For now, consider it a loan. But you’ll pay up. The new world beckons us both, and I’ll see you there.”
She spun on her heels and strode out, blood pounding in her ears, her corset moist from sweat, her head held high. She felt her curls tear at her scalp. She had no doubt that Don Tigro was laughing at her, but the burden of her wrath was lightened.
Her stomach began to growl and she realized she hadn’t eaten since their arrival, except for the olives. But before the family gathered for supper, she must read Busacca’s letter. She climbed to her mother’s room on the third floor and sat in the overstuffed chair gazing at her mother’s bed.
In the envelope was another banknote, this one for twenty thousand lire, a gift to show his gratitude for a difficult job, Busacca said in the accompanying letter. Carmela had told him about the fire in the apothecary shop. Enclosed were twenty one-way tickets to Paris for Saturday.
I need your family in Paris for Carmela’s happiness as well as for my business. She tells me your son is an accountant. Remember, Paris doesn’t have to be forever. During your stay, please use Elena’s apartment. Should you decide to make your residence permanent, we will negotiate a good price for the building.
Serafina wiped her forehead with a sleeve. She thought of most of Oltramari families forced to leave their homes forever. They’d endure steerage for ten days, their bellies full of dreams and little else. When they arrived in a strange land, they’d live in airless rooms where illness thrived. They’d work sixteen hours a day for low wages. Who waited for them on the pier to fleece them? Don Tigro and his ilk. Without this commission, that’s what Serafina and her family would have faced. But for Busacca, they would have lost everything. Now their funds were fat, their passage assured, and a luxurious apartment waited for them in Paris. Not only that, she’d married the man she loved, Loffredo, who’d beaten the odds and survived a serious wound. She wondered when her luck would evaporate.
Chapter 37: Pasta con le Sarde
“We can’t afford first class,” Vicenzu said.
“I knew you’d say that. Pack your abacus, we’re going to Paris Saturday.” She held up the envelope with the tickets and cheque.
Just then Tessa and Rosa arrived and she told them about Busacca’s tickets.
“Help your sister with the supper,” Serafina said to Maria.
“But what if the stove burns my fingers? I’m a prodigy.”
Loffredo laughed. After they were seated, he poured the wine.
Maria sat as far away as she could from the kitchen and Serafina, her arms crossed, her face pinched.
They sat around the table not saying much, Serafina wondering what was keeping Carlo. She twisted the thick noodles and sauce onto her fork, savored the delicious flavors of Renata’s pasta con le sarde. “Nothing like real food.”
“It’s a small supper,” Renata blushed.
“How long will we be in Paris?” Teo wanted to know and looked at Maria.
Serafina shrugged. “Not forever. The caretakers and Rosa’s guards will manage the property.”
Maria said they absolutely must take her piano.
Serafina shook her head. “There’s a grand piano where we’re going and if it pleases you, we’ll bring it home with us.” A stupid remark, she knew. Part of her had already left, she realized, and anyway, where was home? They talked of returning, but she doubted it.
Rosa was unusually quiet. Other than wondering what they were having for dessert, she spoke little.
Tessa stared at Teo.
“I must have the piano in my room, and we must see to my lessons as soon as we arrive. Wait until my friends hear.” She scowled at Teo.
Loffredo’s brows arched. “Not lessons. We must find you a teacher who will prepare you for admission to the Paris Conservatory.”
Maria raised her shoulders. “Will the boat have a piano I can use for practice?”
Loffredo laughed and poured more wine.
“And once more, we don’t tell anyone where we’re going,” Serafina said.
“Why?” Totò asked.
“It’s our business, that’s why. The more we talk, the more gossip we invite.”
“What about school?” he asked.
“How many more days do you have?”
He counted them on his fingers. “Three. Until Tuesday.”
“So you’ll miss a few days. I’ll write a note to your teachers. I’ll think of what to say.”
The door opened and banged shut. Footsteps stumbled in the hall.
Loffredo got up to see who it was, and Carlo swaggered in. Serafina hugged him.
He nodded to everyone, shook hands with Loffredo.
“No dinner. Eaten. Sweet marsala would be nice.”
She watched him bluster, her oldest son, Carmela’s twin. Perhaps her daughter had been right: she had spoiled him. He’d been with friends and smelled of wine and tobacco. He straddled a chair, resting his arm on the back and tilting it toward the table. Blowing a thin line of smoke, he announced he wasn’t going to wherever it was they’d decided to go. A lock of hair fell on his forehead as he dipped the end of his cigar in the brandy. He wanted to finish his schooling in Palermo, and besides, he knew how to handle the don even if some people didn’t. He narrowed his gaze at Serafina.
She waved away his smoke. “And how should a mafia capo be handled?” She felt her cheeks burn.
His speech was labored. “Nothing I can teach you at this point. Why is it that you’ve got to beat Don Tigro, just like you had to beat Colonna and every other man who got in your way? Papa, too if you want to know the truth. Died too young having to deal with you, but you’ve replaced him, I see. As far as the don goes, why don’t you capitulate? Everyone else has.” He dropped an ash into his untouched plate of pasta.
Serafina felt her blood coming to the boil.
“Enable him, you mean. Is that what you’ve done, Carlo?” Loffredo asked.
Serafina wanted to slap her son; she wanted to hug him. Instead she got up and removed his plate and grabbed the glass of marsala from his hand. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
No one spoke for a moment. Rosa smiled at Loffredo.
Loffredo asked about Carlo’s studies.
“What about them?” Carlo asked.
Loffredo said nothing.
Carlo shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”
There was a silence.
“Where’s Carmela, sleeping with a Frenchman?”
Serafina took Loffredo’s hand. A bolt of fire se
ared her head. “Best not to goad him when he’s like this. Probably the pressure of finals,” she said under her breath. She told him about Carmela’s work with Busacca.
Carlo said nothing. He went around the table and shook hands with Teo and Arcangelo, kissed Renata, Maria, and Tessa.
Halfway down the hall, he turned to them. “Prophet’s not welcome in his own land.” He blew a blurred kiss to Serafina and left.
For her part, Serafina pretended Carlo hadn’t happened. “Well, that’s that. Vicenzu, you and Teo fetch the trunks and luggage from the cellar.”
Renata brought out a cassata she’d made that afternoon, apologizing that it wasn’t what they were used to in Paris.
“Nonsense. Paris won’t be the same five minutes after you’ve arrived,” Rosa said. She and Tessa helped with the caffè and told Renata about Les Halles and how she’d love it.
Renata listened but she wasn’t smiling.
Of all the reactions, Totò’s was the one that puzzled Serafina the most. Carlo, of course mystified her, but he was just being Carlo. But Totò wasn’t saying much. She thought he’d be full of questions. But he kept asking Teo when he’d be finished with dinner because he wanted to play knucklebones.
After dessert, Serafina said they’d each be responsible for packing.
A groan from Maria.
Renata bit her lip. “I’ve invited Badali for supper tomorrow.” She put a hand to her chest.
Her daughter’s words at times were barely audible. Serafina had to think for a moment. Oh, yes. “Badali, of course. But you must.” She leaned to Loffredo. “You remember the friend of Renata, don’t you—a carabiniere?”
He looked puzzled.
“You’ll recognize him, I’m sure you will. You see him all the time in the piazza. The captain. Too bad we can’t pack him up and take him with us.”
Renata looked at her plate. Her hand trembled. Like a flower, this daughter. Each of her children was so different. She wished she could add Renata and Carmela together and divide by two. Instead she walked over and kissed Renata’s head.
“After the fire,” Renata blurted. It was the first mention of it and Vicenzu seemed to hunch into himself as if he was the one responsible, but he didn’t say anything and Renata continued. “After the fire, I knew something dire would happen.”
“Since when is going to Paris ‘dire’?” Rosa asked. “The center of cuisine.” She told Serafina that Gesuzza was going with them, and of course Arcangelo, but not Formusa. “Formusa’s wants to spend the rest of her days sitting in the sun. I told her to tell me where she wants to live and I’ll arrange it.” She shook her head. “How I’ll miss her kitchen. And Assunta?”
“Going,” Serafina said.
“No reason why we can’t travel back and forth, especially for Christmas and Easter,” Rosa said, looking at Renata who was folding and unfolding her linen.
“Of course not, only six months away,” Serafina forced herself to say. Her toes were cold.
Late that night after the lovemaking, she asked Loffredo what he’d do with his villa.
He shrugged. “The caretaker will watch it. We’ll keep it for vacations. Don’t forget, it’s got hot water in the upstairs bath and after six months of living in Elena’s apartment, you’ll be used to having it.”
“I miss it already.” She paused. “Elena’s apartment? You mean our apartment.”
“We’ll be back. We’re not going forever, but we can’t make a living in Oltramari ever again. The don’s oppression is too great. He’ll sap every ounce of strength and suck all monies from you,” he said. “And there are more just like him. They’re like weeds taking over the garden.”
“So you don’t think Carlo is right?”
“I think Carlo drinks too much, keeps company with the wrong crowd, and somehow we need to get him back on the right path. At least we must try,” he said. “I don’t know how yet.”
“He’ll be around tomorrow apologizing, you’ll see,” Serafina said. “My toes.”
“Again? Yes, they’re frozen. You’re worried about your children, that’s why.” He rubbed her feet.
She wondered how to bring up the subject of money. They hadn’t spoken of it. She wanted to assure him they’d have enough, at least for the near term. “Are you ... don’t you worry about ... I know, right now we’re all right, but I have no idea what our expenses will be like in Paris.”
“We’ll never want, Fina. You wouldn’t have to work unless of course something happens to the Swiss banks. For over twenty years I’ve barely touched the allowance from Elena, and I’ve invested it well, with help of course from a trusted advisor. Perhaps after we’re settled and Carlo comes around, he and I will go into practice together. I need to talk to him. I got the sense that ...”
She relaxed. “He’s like that,” Serafina said. “Seems uninterested in his profession, and yet he maintains good grades. And he cares, he really does. You told me his professor, what was his name?”
“Libertate, but that was a few years ago—when you were working on Rosa’s case, remember? He helped me with the autopsy.”
They were silent for a time.
“But since then he’s changed. Does he have a large allowance?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. Vicenzu handles the finances. I’ve never asked. But knowing Vicenzu ...” She rolled her eyes. “Vicenzu doesn’t draw a fire unless it’s winter. Says we can’t waste the logs.”
“The frock coat Carlo wore tonight looked expensive and new,” Loffredo said. “And he was smoking a Cuban cigar.”
“Only the best for Carlo,” she said and yawned. “Two prima donnas in the family.”
He smiled. “Worries for another day.”
Serafina rose and went to the window. After opening the shutters, she breathed in, trying not to think of Carlo or Maria or leaving. In the east she saw a thin line of light edging the mountain tops. Her eyes swept over the front garden to their chestnut tree planted hundreds of years ago, past the tops of buildings surrounding Oltramari’s harbor, and gazed out to a calm sea. Mist crept in, blanketing the horizon. She’d leave her home, but not forever. They’d be back.
“There’s a ship far out, you can barely see it. The fog almost swallows it. I wonder if it’s the one we take Saturday.”
No answer. He’d fallen asleep.
Chapter 38: Mal de Mer
The sea was placid, the night sky beautiful, the boat not too full and they dined with the captain. She and Loffredo spent their days on deck, sleeping or talking with the other passengers. The closer they got to Paris, however, the more she thought about Elena and the loose ends of the case.
Serafina’s French improved, but the Parisians still regarded her with a tight smile. They met a widow and her dog who lived in their arrondissement and now that they could smile at someone whom they might pass on the sidewalk, they thought of themselves as practically natives.
They walked around the deck or asked Teo what mountains they were looking at. Where he’d found the information, she didn’t know, probably somewhere on Giorgio’s shelves, but he held a map showing latitude, longitude, currents, depths of the sea. “We’re in the deepest part of the Tyrrhenian Sea,” he announced on the first afternoon of their voyage, “almost 3800 meters deep.” His words attracted other passengers who thought he was the ship’s guide. Maria looked at Teo as though he belonged in a cage. And yet Serafina felt her daughter drawn to him.
Serafina kissed Loffredo on the arm. “I’m watching my family through your eyes and seeing them for the first time.”
“Perhaps we should tell them the story of Elena at dinner tonight.”
“I’ve got a better idea. After we arrive, we’ll invite Busacca and have him tell the story of his daughter. A lesson for them, I should think.”
It was Renata’s first trip by sea and she spent most of the time in her state room, ill.
“Another night and we’ll be in Marseille. You’ll like the cuisine, I thin
k. Distinctive.”
“If I never eat again, I’ll be happy,” Renata said.
“There’s a big kitchen in our apartment in Paris, most of the appliances seldom used. You’ll like it, my sweet.”
She smiled, pale. “I think I’d like to learn French cuisine.”
“And you’ll make it your own, Sicilian French, how daring. We’ll hire a chef for you and you can teach him pastry and he’ll teach you whatever it is you want to know and show you Les Halles. You’ll spend hours there. Sauces, the French cover everything with a sauce. I want to invite Levi Busacca to dinner, introduce him to Vicenzu and entertain him with your cuisine, my love. Don’t worry. This voyage will be over soon and with it your mal de mer.”
They were silent for a time until Serafina changed the subject. “What did you think of Carlo? His drinking disturbs me.”
“I saw him once when I took the train back from La Vucciria,” Renata said, in between bathroom bouts. “He didn’t see me but he was with two of his friends.”
“Women?”
She shook her head. “I know I’ve seen them before. I don’t like them. One has slicked black hair, the other has hair like you and Carmela. They’re brothers.”
Serafina’s heart dropped. “Are you certain?”
Renata nodded and was silent for a moment, fingering the chain of her reticule. “I miss Badali.”
“Did you give him our address in Paris?”
“Of course.” She knotted her fingers and twisted.
“We’ll be back soon. Who knows, your aristocratic clients in Bagheria will clamor for your pastry and you’ll need to make a special trip home this summer.” She hadn’t thought enough of her daughter’s feelings. She was too concerned for herself and for leaving without the don’s noticing. Would Rosa’s guards be adequate to watch over their home while they were away?
* * *
On the deck their last day, they huddled together enjoying the sun and salt air. Teo sat near Maria, who hitched herself as far away from him as she could and still remain next to him. She buried her face in the score she carried at all times, running a finger below the notes and humming, from time to time turning her face toward him but only by a fraction.
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