Chapter 14
Lyuba spent a good part of the day in the village selling her medicinals, reading palms—and paying special attention to the appearance of omens. There was a feeling of darkness engulfing her that she couldn’t shake—ever since the unfortunate incident with Milosh. Before leaving Milosh at the spring that morning, she had made another offering—a coin thrown into the water. For extra protection, she had left her hanky tied on the branch of the ancient oak. Later, walking the streets of Frascati, she sought comfort by rubbing her stone—her own lucky charm. That had helped calm her somewhat, but only temporarily.
Oddly, two crows had approached her on her way back to the camp that evening, a sign of joy. Yet the black feeling still remained. She didn’t understand this dichotomy of foretelling. Both good and bad signs were revealing themselves—a contradiction of things to come. How could this be? She would have to be extra vigilant. As soon as she returned to her hut she would prepare a special duk rak, her own psychic shield. Perhaps that would ease her anxiety.
* * *
“What do you think of Lucia?” As usual, it was Dara who easily identified and then brought up those important matters that were on the collective minds of the FIGs. After working at the library all day and then helping Mother Granchelli clean up after eating another one of her huge meals, the girls had gone for a ride around the farm on Papa’s tractor, just as he had promised. By the time they got back to the house, it was dark. It had been a long day, and they were starting to feel the delayed reaction of jetlag. Carolina had gone upstairs to her room earlier, and they soon followed.
“She’s always around, isn’t she?” commented Jennifer. “Watching Carolina.”
“Yeah, I noticed that, too.” Mackenzie stuck one leg out from under the dark blue cotton spread on her bed like a barometer. It allowed her to enjoy the soft fragrant covers without getting too hot. “I get the feeling she really cares about Carolina. I just can’t figure out why. I mean, sure, she was involved in Carolina’s adoption. And they have talked several times on the phone. But…”
“I know what you mean. It’s like she has an unnatural interest in Carolina.” Dara stared up at the ceiling, the tallest ceiling she had ever seen other than the ceilings at the Villa Mondragone. Unlike the villa, however, here there were no cracks and they weren’t painted in gold. “Carolina told us that Lucia wasn’t involved in her actual adoption; only that she had just started working with the agency at that time.” Dara lifted up on one elbow and looked at the other two FIGs. “I think she knows a whole lot more than she has told Carolina, and she feels guilty about something.”
Mackenzie sat up in bed. “I think so, too. Now, maybe by meeting Carolina, she will be more open with her—tell her what she knows.”
Jennifer flipped her ponytail. “I think tomorrow we ought to try to give the two of them some time alone together. That way, if Lucia does want to tell her anything, she can.”
“I agree,” said Dara.
“Me, too,” added Mackenzie.
The three girls settled back into the soft sheets and comforters of their beds, thinking about Carolina, thinking about what new things they would discover in the days ahead, and thinking about their own dreams of what the future would bring.
* * *
Carolina had intended to stay up a little longer, at least until Papa and the Figs returned from their tractor ride, but found herself feeling especially tired after eating Mother Granchelli’s delicious supper of stuffed manicotti, garlic bread, salad, and tiramisu for dessert. After trying to call Larry and again getting no answer, she took a long, hot shower, thinking of all that they needed to accomplish over the next several days. Feeling slightly warm, she opened one of the windows in her room before getting into bed. Within minutes, she fell asleep, only to reawaken repeatedly until one dream finally absorbed all of the others: the dream of a young child in a beautiful garden; a little girl with large green eyes, screaming in terror.
Chapter 15
“Do you read the Tarot cards?” The question was from a young gentleman, well dressed, straight white teeth, clean nails, uncalloused hands. The shape of his head, and the way he presented his words; Lyuba guessed he was a scholar. She wondered when he would ask. He had been watching her for some time. Even so, she was surprised by his interest—especially the Tarot. And, judging from his clothes, that he was an American.
In answer to his question she smiled, then reached into the basket for her deck of Tarot cards wrapped in black silk. Expertly and with obvious familiarity she spread out first the black silk in which they had been wrapped, then the cards on the soft grass in front of her. “Please,” she motioned for him to sit opposite her.
The place where the gypsy sat had been picked with much deliberation. It was where she would be seen by anyone with interest or a desire, and the branches from the full-leafed red maple provided shade and comfort. And it was near the government building. It was her favorite spot.
The young man watched the gypsy’s hands as she shuffled, then touch each card. The cards themselves were well cared for but old and unlike any others he had ever seen. “You don’t use the Witches Tarot or the Norse,” he commented.
“Those are for the charlatans,” she answered. With great dexterity, she continued moving the cards, each one covered in colorful design and detail. Then she separated the cards into the major arcane and the minor arcane. She began with the simple nine-card Gypsy oracle, three rows of three. “The top row is the past, the center is the present, the bottom row—what is to come,” she said. “But, of course, you know that, don’t you?”
The man smiled.
She first studied the cards. Then she moved her hands over them, not touching them, but feeling the zee—that primeval intelligence giving all life and form energy. Satisfied, she picked them up. “Shuffle them, please.”
He did as she instructed and returned the cards to her, watching her eyes as he did.
Once again she placed the cards one by one onto the black silk. Much to her surprise, they felt warm. The Magician, showing the man’s qualifications; the High Priestess, indicating secrets not ready to be revealed; the Lovers, in this case a departure from the old and familiar toward something new and exciting.
She studied his face, then placed three more cards down: The card showing strength; the Wheel of Fortune, indicating change; and then the card of Death, only in this case indicating the end of something in his life in order to make room for something new.
Then she placed down the final three cards: the Tower meaning an unexpected blow; the Star of luck and hope for future happiness; and the last card, Temperance. He would need to be watchful and take special care.
Relying on her instinctive psychic powers, she asked him to select two cards from those which had not yet been chosen. Without hesitation he picked the cards and handed them to her. The first was the Seven of Wands. There were difficulties ahead requiring all of his endurance and strength to overcome. The other was the World card. She smiled. He would face a difficult challenge, but in the end, he would achieve all that he would need for contentment and satisfaction.
He nodded and handed her a 100,000 lire note. “Thank you, Mrs. Lovel.” Then he left.
Lyuba was stunned. How had the man known her name? Only the members of her tribe knew it. She slipped the note into her pocket and quickly gathered the cards, carefully wrapping them in the black silk cloth. She would not remain in the village all day as she usually did. She needed to return to the camp.
* * *
Rector Catoni and Alfonso greeted Carolina and the FIGs when they arrived early that morning. “With all the students gone on their spring break, we are glad to have you visit us,” the rector gushed, once again caressing Carolina’s hand. Alfonso immediately took them back to the library where they had spent the day before. He had already prepared coffee for them and left it for them to serve themselves whenever they wanted it.
“I really like that guy,” said Macke
nzie when Alfonso left. She put the third spoon-full of sugar into her cup of back coffee.
Dara handed Jennifer the small pitcher of cream. “His dialect is interesting. He is well educated, but I would guess he comes from one of the islands where the main livelihood is from fishing.”
Carolina sipped her coffee and looked around at what they had accomplished the day before. There was so much left to do—maybe this idea hadn’t been such a good one after all. Maybe it was just the unobtainable wish of a silly child that she had nurtured and carried around with her all these years. Maybe she shouldn’t have involved the FIGs. She felt tired, and they hadn’t even gotten started.
“Don’t worry, Carolina.” Jennifer, because of her strong artistic nature, was also the most sensitive of the three FIGs and most in tune to what other people were feeling. “We’ll get it done.”
Without any further delay, they began pulling books from the shelves. A couple of times during the morning hours, Alfonso brought a fresh pot of coffee and refilled the sugar bowl and creamer. Not wishing to disturb the young women, he didn’t linger. Carolina and the FIGs barely noticed, they were so engrossed in their task at hand. Then, from somewhere within the thick walls of the villa, a clock began to strike. It was noon.
“Hello, girls.” Lucia found them surrounded by stacks of books and papers. She had brought them lunch, something they weren’t expecting but certainly appreciated. After washing the dust and grime from their hands, they went outside to a private courtyard to eat. A wrought iron table and chairs had been provided, and it overlooked the gardens, at least those that had been restored.
“This is just so beautiful,” said Carolina admiring the vegetation, some of it as old as the villa itself. Her eyes paused for a moment on a glint of sunlight coming through some trees; a reflection from something at the gypsy camp. Like the evening before, she felt uncomfortably warm.
“After those big meals Mother Granchelli has been giving you, I thought you might enjoy a lighter lunch of antipasto—prosciutto, cheese, olives, melon, and, of course, some of Mother Granchelli’s homemade bread.” Lucia poured each of them a glass of wine. “From Papa’s vineyard,” she explained. “I hope this is all right.” She sought Carolina’s permission for the girls.
Carolina smiled and nodded. It was more than all right. The food, the wine. None of the FIGs had ever tasted wine, but Mother Granchelli served it with all of the evening meals. After all, they were in Italy. It was the way it was supposed to be.
“Well, in that case…” Dara giggled and held out her glass first.
As soon as they finished eating, Dara stood up from the table. “Carolina, do you mind if we take a walk before going back in? We won’t be gone long.” She looked at Mackenzie and Jennifer, signaling them that this was a good time to leave Carolina and Lucia alone. They understood.
“We’ll be right back,” said Jennifer.
Mackenzie followed. “I wonder where Alfonso is?” She repeated the name “Alfonso” just to make sure she said it clearly.
“Don’t get lost.” Carolina watched the three girls disappear around the corner of the stone wall.
“They are good girls,” said Lucia breaking the silence first.
“I know. I will really feel lost once they graduate. They are like little sisters to me.”
“What will they do once they leave Wood Rose?”
It was like two old friends getting together after not seeing each other for awhile. They knew so much about each other. They had a history. Conversation came easily, and the natural affection they felt toward one another had only grown deeper now that they had finally met.
Carolina smiled. “They have many goals ahead of them,” she answered. “Dara has been accepted at Yale University on a full scholarship. She wants to continue her studies in foreign languages and perhaps at some point go into the diplomatic service. Mackenzie, who you have probably noticed is a whiz at math, has been accepted into the Massachusetts Institute of Technology research program. Miss Alcott, one of our financial supporters at Wood Rose, is sponsoring her. I’m not sure where Mackenzie will land. Her problem-solving abilities spill over into human relationships as well. She is a peace-maker. I think she will be able to do whatever she decides she wants to do. And Jennifer will attend Juilliard when she isn’t actually performing. She has already been received by the international world of music. Now they are just waiting for her reintroduction.”
Carolina sipped her wine and leaned back in her chair. “I feel so blessed just to be a small part of their lives.”
Lucia patted her hand. “They are also blessed to have you to care for them as you do.
“And you, Carolina. Do you have a young man in your life?”
“There is someone—but it’s complicated.”
“Love is always complicated. But if you find someone who is more important to you than anything else in the world, then it is right.”
That was the problem, of course. She did love Larry and she couldn’t imagine her life without him, but until she could find some sort of resolution to knowing who she was and where she came from—to feel at peace with it—he couldn’t be the most important thing in her life.
Lucia studied Carolina and sensed her unrest. She wanted to tell Carolina about that awful day when that terrible man, Liruso, took her from her mother. She wanted to tell her how many times she had grieved over it, and how sorry she was. She also wanted to tell her that she had seen her mother only recently—that it was her tribe that was camped nearby—Carolina’s tribe.
“Carolina…Sometimes we find ourselves in situations where we have no control.”
Thinking Lucia was referring to the FIGs, Carolina laughed. “Believe me, where the FIGs are concerned, no one has control.”
Lucia tried again. “I mean, sometimes lack of experience or youth makes us vulnerable. And even though we know something is wrong, we can do nothing about it.” More than anything she wanted Carolina to understand. She prayed that she would be able to forgive her for not doing more than she did those many years ago.
Again, Carolina misunderstood. “Fortunately, all of the things the FIGs have done—their ‘creative expressions’—haven’t caused any serious harm. They are such bright girls. Occasionally, they just need to vent. In fact,” she turned toward the sound of the approaching giggling girls, “I would be willing to bet that Wood Rose is missing them right about now.” She leaned forward so as not to be overheard, “Even Dr. Harcourt.”
The three girls came into view, along with Alfonso. They had found him. The moment had passed.
After dinner that evening, Carolina excused herself, saying she was feeling tired. It had been another difficult day, but they had finished what they set out to do. They had gone through most of the private collections of the library. Once they finished what remained, they could sort through the materials they had pulled from the shelves—what little there was—and determine if any of it related to the Voynich Manuscript or to Carolina’s special page.
Mother Granchelli clucked her tongue when Carolina left the kitchen. She didn’t like the pale parlor to her face, or the darkness under her eyes. If she didn’t feel better the next day, she would call the doctor in Frascati. She would not have one of her children sick. Meanwhile, she would fix a big pot of zuppa di primavera for the next day. It was what she had always prepared for her own children when they were growing up, and it had made them feel better. It would make Carolina feel better, too.
* * *
Carolina turned on the cold water in the shower. She just couldn’t seem to get cool. It was the heat and humidity, probably, that was making her feel so tired. When she finished her shower, she dressed for bed.
She missed Larry. She wanted to talk to him and tell him about what they had been doing. It was time for final exams at the university. Either he was busy with those, or he just wasn’t answering his phone. She had left several messages for him, but she didn’t know if he had even gotten them.
She raised the window in her room and folded the covers at the foot of the bed before lying down. Maybe he had reached the point that he didn’t want to wait for her any longer. Maybe this “special project” she was so consumed with had finally driven him away and he had found someone else; someone who was willing to share herself with him completely. She had known all along that he couldn’t wait forever. But she thought at least he would have discussed it with her.
Maybe if she got a good night’s sleep, she would feel better. She turned toward the open window, and off in the distance she saw the flickering light of a campfire. The gypsy campfire. After several minutes she got up and dug her cell phone out of her purse. It was 3 a.m. in Chapel Hill, but she really wanted to talk to him. She dialed the number. After several rings, his voice message answered. She hung up.
* * *
Dara put on her pajamas and climbed into bed. She had been right. Alfonso told them he was from the island of Marettimo, one of the Aegadian Islands just west of Sicily in the Mediterranean Sea. His father was a fisherman, and his mother made hand crafts to sell to tourists. The ancient name of the island, he had explained, was Hiera. Dara recognized that to be Spanish in origin, but it was also part of the Greek name, Hiera Nesos, which meant sacred island. The people who lived there believed the island to be the original Ithaca, location of Homer’s Odysseus. She loved this country with so much history.
The Cadence of Gypsies Page 11