Three Gold Coins

by Josephine Moon

  ‘Oh, shit,’ she mumbled, gingerly extricating her horribly stained sandshoe from the suction of the poo.

  ‘Ha, exactly!’ Isabella hooted, clapping her hands. ‘You are blessed, yes?’

  ‘Blessed with shit,’ Lara muttered.

  ‘Ah, it is hard to look down at where you are going when you have all this to enjoy,’ said Isabella, motioning to the endless rows of stony Dolomite mountains in the distance, some capped with white snow and some disappearing altogether into slow, moody clouds.

  ‘When I was young, on cold morning with the fire had gone out, I would put my feet inside a big cow poopie to warm them up,’ Isabella said, without a hint of embarrassment.

  ‘That’s…really gross,’ Lara said, laughing, and wiping her ruined sandshoe sideways on the grass in a futile attempt to clean it.

  ‘It gets very cold up here,’ her guide said. ‘Very soon, in few days, we will herd the cows down the mountains, through the village, into lower pastures. Too cold up here for them. The grass stop growing. It is a festival we do each year to celebrate the old ways. Hundreds of years of history for shepherds to bringing their animals up here in the summer to eat the grasses, herb and flower, and make cheese all summer long. Then back to the lower fields, and the shepherds they do other works while the mammas are pregnant with baby cow. So we celebrate this and decorate the cow in headdress of flowers and everyone come to see them walking through the streets.’

  ‘I’d love to see that,’ Lara said.

  ‘You should come.’ Isabella took the moment to stretch up tall. Sunlight bounced off the long plaits that wound neatly around her head.

  ‘I will ask Matteo if we can come to the festival before we go home.’

  Home. That was a strange thing to say. Home to Samuel? Lara didn’t allow herself to ponder that for too long, though, and instead pulled her shoe back on and straightened up to resume their walk. They were nearing the cows; a gentle tinkling of bells rang in rhythm with the slight swaying of their heads as they chewed.

  ‘It’s like they’re in meditation,’ Lara observed. ‘It’s so sweet the way they all lie down together, as if someone said they should stop work now and have a break and they all agree. Like council road workers having smoko.’

  ‘Smoko?’

  ‘It’s what we call it in Australia when all the men working on the roads put down their tools and stop for tea and cigarettes.’

  ‘Ah.’ Isabella nodded. ‘Like riposo?’

  ‘I guess so. But not as long.’

  They stopped a few metres from the herd, as huge bovine heads turned in the direction of the intruders, considering their options but in no hurry to move. Their ears—easily as long as Lara’s forearm—flicked lazily against flies.

  ‘Cows are gentile,’ Isabella agreed. ‘They lick each other and all be together like this. I call this cow council,’ she said, grinning.

  ‘That’s perfect,’ Lara said. ‘I wonder what they’re discussing.’

  ‘World peace, I think.’

  ‘I like that.’

  ‘Come, you can pat,’ Isabella said, leading the way to an enormous animal with lethal-looking horns, wearing a thick collar and a metal bell the size of a dinner plate.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Lara said, tiptoeing over.

  ‘Of course. This is Serafina.’ Isabella squatted down at Serafina’s shoulder and began to stroke her neck. The cow turned her head to Isabella and licked her arm. ‘See, she is very docile.’

  Lara approached too, also squatting beside the cow’s shoulder, but just a little behind Isabella. ‘Hello, Serafina. What a beautiful name you have.’ She offered her hand for the cow to sniff, which she did, her rubbery wet nose—the size of Lara’s fist—snuffling at her skin before extending her blue tongue and licking her arm too. Lara squealed. The cow’s tongue was rough, like a big piece of sandpaper affectionately nuzzling her.

  Isabella laughed and lowered herself to sit on the ground, a few yellow wildflowers bending under her weight. ‘The tongue is so rough so they can to grab the long grass and pull into their mouth. They do not want to lose out on the food.’

  ‘That’s how I feel about chocolate,’ Lara said. ‘A big long tongue would help me too; I could just snatch it from the shelves on my way past and keep going.’

  ‘That is it exactly!’ Isabella said, delighted.

  Lara sat down too and admired the sheer bulk of Serafina. Her two-toed hooves were big, yet very small, really, when she considered how much weight they needed to carry. They sat in blissful silence for a few minutes, simply stroking Serafina’s warm body.

  ‘Do all your cows have names?’ Lara asked, looking around at the rest of the group, some obviously much younger, some with smaller horns, some pale with spots. And many of them were now also licking and grooming nearby friends. It was as if Isabella and Lara had started a circle of massage.

  ‘Yes, of course. We love our cows. This is Rosina, Marcella, Sofia, Luisa…’ Isabella rattled off a dozen names before stopping. ‘And that one over there is Freya. She is little, only one horn, but she gives good milk. She thinks she should live in our house. Arrives to the door and tries to come inside.’

  As though she knew she was being spoken of, Freya lay down on her side and stretched out all four legs like a cat before closing her eyes in the sun.

  ‘I don’t want to leave these hills,’ Lara said, suddenly overcome by all this peace around her. Isabella looked at her, but said nothing. Lara put her hand over her mouth, shocked by her own admission. For the first time, she had begun to imagine the possibility of a life away from her mother, sister and kids, and it was both glorious and devastating at the same time.

  47

  ‘I’m sure my tastebuds have nothing left to give,’ Lara said the next day, licking her fingers. She was eating unladylike amounts of cheese, some of which had been blended with dried wild lavender flowers, and she was decidedly high on deliciousness.

  ‘Come on, be brave.’ Matteo sat facing her across a picnic-style wooden table in the shade of the main farmhouse. Lara was in the enviable position of being able to gaze at Matteo’s thick lashes and locks as well as the green hills and grazing cows. The air was full of repetitive clanging from their bells.

  Isabella appeared, in knee-high white socks today, proffering a tray of olives and fizzy orange drinks. ‘More aperitifs?’ she asked, placing the tray between them. ‘Time for some Aperol, yes?’

  Lara exhaled, torn.

  ‘Go on,’ Matteo said, reaching for one and giving her a wink. ‘It will help you digest.’

  Defeated, Lara nodded her thanks to Isabella. The drink tasted of tangy orange and it went straight to her head.

  ‘I’ve had such a great time here,’ she said, reaching out a hand to entwine her fingers with Matteo’s.

  ‘Me too,’ he said, giving her a cocky smile.

  ‘Not just because of that! Though that was excellent.’

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed.

  ‘Hey, I’ve been thinking,’ she said, sipping on her drink.

  ‘Less thinking, more eating,’ Matteo said, reaching for yet another slice of marbled salami and blue cheese. Lara envied his ability to eat and eat and apparently not gain weight.

  ‘Well, it’s funny you say that, because I’ve been loving this great food tour of Italy I’m having—and I’ve read a lot of cookbooks in Samuel’s bookcase, and I really want to do something for him.’

  Matteo nodded his interest, still chewing.

  ‘I would love to see him enjoy a big family feast again, you know, like the ones you were describing from when you were young, from when Assunta was still alive.’

  Now Matteo frowned and tapped the table thoughtfully. ‘But the family is not…’ he searched for a word, ‘the same.’

  ‘That’s what’s so sad. He’s an old man and needs…’ She trailed off. ‘Anyway, you would come, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And there’s me, and Henrik—and
do you think maybe Gilberta and Mario would come?’ she asked, remembering how kind they were to her the day she met them at Matteo’s mother’s house.

  From down the hill came the sound of car doors closing. New visitors to the farm were arriving this evening.

  ‘They might,’ Matteo finally said. ‘There has been a lot of history there. Gilberta is Mamma’s friend, so it might be tricky. But Gilberta is very generous. She loved spending time with Samuel and Assunta. I’m sure she has missed him.’

  Lara grinned. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘If Gilberta went, Mario would go too.’

  ‘Okay!’ she said, excited. ‘So we’ve got, what?’ She counted on her fingers. ‘Five of us and Samuel. Six is a nice number for a feast, isn’t it?’

  Matteo nodded, open to this conversation, she was pleased to see. ‘I could bring cheese and wine, the antipasti.’

  ‘And I might ask Gilberta to teach me how to make pasta, just as you suggested. But we’d need a distraction to get Samuel out of the house for the day so it can be a surprise.’

  ‘Henrik could do it.’

  ‘And do you think…I know it’s a long shot, but could we get your mother to come? Maybe your brothers? Anyone else? I want it to be a feast to remember.’

  Matteo shook his head. ‘My mother would never come.’

  Lara wasn’t surprised, but it was still disappointing.

  ‘My brothers, sì, maybe,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while since we have all been together anyway, much to Mamma’s great sadness.’

  ‘Why so long between visits?’

  He raised one shoulder. ‘I don’t mind so much.’

  ‘Go on,’ she encouraged.

  He inhaled and blew out his cheeks, holding the air for a moment, then letting it go in a rush. ‘My brothers are a lot…tougher than I am, you know?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I am not a black sheep, but maybe the odd sheep.’

  Lara gave him a sympathetic smile. She was an odd sheep too.

  ‘Besides, they are all busy with family and businesses. I think it’s convenient for them to have me still around the family home. I am Mamma’s only baby left nearby. That is why she calls me all the time. Family is everything, you know. We are expected to do our duty. She is ageing and getting nervous.’

  ‘But that’s the key, isn’t it? Your mother sounds desperate to see everyone. If you could get them all to the feast, then she’d come, wouldn’t she?’

  Matteo grimaced, and wriggled in his seat as if wanting to escape from a net. He raised his eyes to the sky and sighed heavily. ‘Mamma mia.’

  Lara grinned.

  ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it. We’ll work out the details as we go.’

  A gust of wind suddenly raced up Lara’s jeans, freezing her ankles and making her shiver. Matteo looked up into the clear sky—a sky almost too clear, as if it was the eye of a storm. ‘Winter is coming fast,’ he said. ‘It will snow here.’

  ‘Isabella was telling me about the festival this Saturday when they walk the cows down through the village. Do you think we can make it back to see it?’

  ‘I think so. We’ll only be with Carlo for tomorrow night, so we can drive through there on the way back.’

  Lara wondered, not for the first time, if she should tell Matteo in advance the story she needed to tell Carlo, to prepare him. Her allegiance was torn between Samuel and her boyfriend. At least, that’s what she thought Matteo was. She felt herself frown, wondering if he thought the same. Should she ask him? It felt ridiculous to have to ask, as if they were teenagers, but she also knew she had to protect her heart.

  Then again, if she asked him now and he didn’t say what she wanted him to say, the rest of this trip would be a nightmare.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Matteo said, circling a finger around his face to indicate that hers had clouded over.

  ‘Oh, nothing that matters.’

  48

  Sunny

  A noise pulled Sunny from her uneasy slumber. Since Midnight’s disappearance she’d barely slept, just snatching scraps of disturbed dreams between cold sweats and nausea.

  The kids had cried themselves to exhaustion for the second night in a row. Sunny felt both the crushing weight of helplessness and searing fury at that vile man for torturing her children in this way. But she knew she shouldn’t be surprised; this was what Dave did best, messing with heads, making his victims either feel crazy or actually turn crazy.

  There was that sound again. It was a scraping, banging noise.

  Her heart accelerated and she flicked off the blanket, her bare feet hitting the cold floorboards. Then she heard Eliza’s doorhandle open too. They met in the hallway.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Sunny whispered.

  ‘I thought it was the kids at first, but…’ Eliza pressed her hand to her throat, the streetlights outside catching the whites of her eyes.

  They stood frozen, listening, trying to hear over Hudson’s snoring from the kids’ room.

  There it was again: a scraping noise. Eliza reached for Sunny’s arm.

  ‘Come on,’ Sunny said, far more bravely than she felt. She moved slowly towards the front door, Eliza following, still clutching her arm. They were in the lounge room now, just metres from the front door. Sunny strained to listen, but could barely hear a thing over the pounding in her ears.

  They paused near the door. Silence.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Sunny called, her legs shaking now.

  The reply was instant: crashing and scratching and yipping and a flurry of puppy barks.

  Eliza gasped. Sunny wrenched open the deadlock and hit the switch for the outside light. There on the front porch was a fruit box, its lid fastened down tightly with gaffer tape, and small slits in the side from which Midnight’s tiny soft nose and tongue and paws were crazily poking as she fought to free herself.

  ‘Oh, Midnight, thank God,’ Eliza cried, bending to help Sunny pick up the box and bring it inside. Sunny shut the door hard behind her and locked the deadlock again.

  ‘Hurry, get her out,’ Eliza said.

  Sunny pulled at the tape and they both dug their nails under the edges trying to lift it off, but it was stuck hard. Midnight was barking nonstop, throwing her body against the sides of the box, making their job impossible.

  ‘Get a knife,’ Sunny ordered, continuing to wrestle with the box. She crooned to Midnight, ‘Shush, baby girl, shush. We’re nearly there.’

  Eliza returned with a small knife and Sunny held the box still while her mother carefully cut through the tape. Finally, enough of it was broken so that Midnight could buck and jump her way out of the box to land in Sunny’s arms, a writhing hot body, her tongue all over Sunny’s neck and face, whimpering and shaking as though she’d been through hell.

  Eliza started to cry. ‘Oh, dear girl, where have you been?’ Then she stopped. ‘Sunny, look.’ She reached into the box, drew out a note and read it aloud.

  Next time.

  ‘Next time what?’ Sunny hissed. The stress and loss of sleep in the weeks since seeing Dave had frayed her nerves. ‘Next time what?!’

  Eliza held her hand to her mouth and spoke through her fingers. ‘I don’t know.’

  Then they both saw it: the string of coloured beads attached to Midnight’s collar. One of Daisy’s bracelets.

  49

  Lara

  Carlo’s home was in the Domodossola mountains, in the tiny town of Oira. The houses here were medieval, with rough stone walls, sloping shingle roofs, narrow windows, no balconies or awnings. There was one building that looked like a castle, with a tower and turrets. Narrow cobblestoned roads wove crazily between the houses. The effect was eerie, as though they had slipped through a keyhole and into the past by accident. Lara wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest had a horse and cart and washerwoman passed by, perhaps a prince in full armour atop his horse, or an unfortunate man in the pillory, rotten fruit being flung at his head. The mountai
ns rose high above them. The air was even colder here, and Lara had to pull out a woollen scarf and gloves she’d bought along the way.

  She was pleased to see smoke coming from Carlo’s chimney when they pulled up outside his tiny stone home. The wind was blowing hard, the grasses and flowers bent almost to the ground. Three cows grazed on the steep slope that leaned into the back of the house, their bells all ringing. Heavy, dark clouds filled the sky, threatening a downpour.

  Carlo met them in front of the house, flinging his meaty arms around Matteo and rocking him from side to side with many effusive words and pats on the back. He kissed him on both cheeks, and then held him out with his huge hands as if to study him. Carlo was as solid as Samuel was frail, Lara noted, although he was even older. His thick head of white hair didn’t give away his true age at all. At last, having squashed the young man to his breast so many times that Matteo began to protest, Carlo turned his gaze on Lara.

  ‘And who is this who has come to see me?’ he asked, launching straight into English as though Lara had foreigner written all over her.

  Matteo came to her side and put his arm around her shoulder, and beamed widely as he said, ‘This is Lara. She is Australiana.’

  ‘Australiana?’ Carlo whooped. ‘You must be cold.’

  Lara laughed. ‘I am, actually!’

  ‘Come! Come inside,’ he said, moving to her other side, and both men frogmarched her indoors.

  The welcoming area was more spacious than it looked from outside, though it was sparsely furnished with little more than a couple of shabby couches, a full bookcase, and a large woven rug on the floor.

  The kitchen was even more sparse, set up more like a commercial kitchen than a home. In the centre was a huge, blackened fireplace with an enormous copper cauldron sitting to the side. This was attached to a swinging, extendable arm—for moving the full cauldron over the fire and back out again. Stone benches ran along one side of the room. Putting the pieces together, Lara recalled that Matteo had said the building had been in the family for generations, used solely during the summer when making cheese was the prime focus.