by Joseph Grady
Before bed, Brian brushed his teeth with a small dribble of water from the bathroom faucet. He was about to wash his face, but then remembered Lisa's strict instructions not to wash anything. Feeling there was more yet to be done, but unsure of what it was, he just stared at the mirror for a while. Brian returned to Lisa's room and found her sitting on the floor up against the wall with a similar look of shock on her face.
“I was going to tell you about them, I really was. I just kept putting it off until, well, until it was too late and here we are.” Brian opened his mouth to say something but was cut off with, “Remember, no questions.”
So instead he just sat next to her and two hours passed in silent contemplation of the opposite wall. Lisa woke Brian up and brought him out the window. They stopped by the car and got a bag that Lisa had hidden under the back seats. She led him towards the center of the valley to a statue where she met some old friends and delivered a load of contraband - candy bars, paper plates, inorganic fruit, a couple of books, cold McDonalds fries with a melted milkshake, and a framed picture of Ronald Reagan.
The previous weekend, Brian’s mom had insisted that the two sleep on opposite ends of the townhouse in separate bedrooms, and use separate bathrooms. Lisa's parents, on the other hand, insisted there was only space for them in Lisa's bedroom, so Brian and Lisa pretended to be much more casual about the arrangements than they actually were: one small twin bed. But given the tension, they both spent the night in passionate disinterest of one another.
Cell service was rather sporadic in the canyon, so when Brian woke up, he found several texts from his mother all saying, You didn’t call to let me know you arrived safely. Call me when you get this. Brian put on a thick wool cardigan that he found near the door and walked into the middle of the valley where Lisa had told him he could get some service as the first rays of the sun began to creep over the canyon walls. He sat on a large sandstone slab, faced the east, and opened his flip phone.
“Hey, Mom ...
“Yeah, we got here just fine ...
“Sort of an odd place ....
“Oh, I mean it's just kind of a hippie environment. Lisa never really mentioned how crunchy her parents were. I'm sure it would've been just your thing a few years ago...
“Yeah, I mean they're really nice people, Beth Kochivar and, get this, Lisa's Dad has a different last name than her. They decided it was too patriarchal to give Lisa the father's last name – Fred Russo ...
“I said Russo ...
“Russo ...
“Hello ...
“Are you there?”
Brian looked at his phone to check and make sure he still had service. Lisa approached, still half asleep, carrying two cups of coffee and still in her pajamas. She placed one cup in his hand and kissed his cheek. She sat next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder.
She whispered to Brian, “I put in a little something-something to make it a little stronger. It’s gonna be another long day with the parents.”
Brian smirked, kissed the top of her head, and then continued into the phone, “Yeah, I'm still here...
“I think one of us might've just lost service for a second there ...
“Is everything okay? You sound a little shaken up ...
“Yeah, actually that’s exactly what he looks like. Round glasses and everything ...
“Yeah, I haven’t had a chance to see the art studio yet, but yeah, they make, what did you call them? Oh yeah, raku pots. How did you know they were artists?
“Well, yeah, judging by the quality of their house and cars, I’d say they’re pretty good at it too ...
“Yeah, he has a lot of Karl Rahner books. Wait, but how do you know all this? Were you talking with Lisa about this last week?”
Lisa’s head came off Brian’s shoulder. She looked more awake and puzzled at the conversation. She shook her head and mouthed no, I didn't tell her any of that. Brian passed the phone to Lisa.
“Hello ...
“Hi, yeah, this is Lisa ...
“Oh sure, odd questions are fine ....
“um ...
“yes …
“Yeah, definitely. He's gotta be my biological father. We have the exact same eyes and nose ...
She passed the phone back to Brian, who was scrunching his nose in disbelief that his normally straight-laced mother would ask such a question.
“Mom, is everything really okay? You really don’t sound okay ...
“Um, Okay ...
“Can’t we talk about this later ...?
“Wait, he’s my what ...?
“How on earth did you know him ...?
“No way ...”
Of all the looks of stunned confusion that Brian had worn on his face during the entire visit, the one that appeared next took the cake. Without saying a word, he shut the phone. Lisa took hold of his hand and demanded an explanation. Brian just looked at Lisa’s hand in fascination, as though he had never seen it before.
After a minute, Brian faltered for words and avoided Lisa’s gaze, “Well, um, Lisa. There was a time when my Mom wasn’t really as uptight as she now is. I guess, I guess I ... I didn’t really know how much, but, but …
He tried a few times to mouth the next words, but couldn’t quite get them out. He took a few sharp breaths and continued, “Well, I mean, Lisa, you, you ... I mean, you know how I never really knew who my father was … well it turns out ... well, it turns out that, that, your dad, Papa, or Fred, or whatever, is also my dad.”
At first Lisa’s expression was joyful with the surprise of the coincidence. This was followed by a look of horror as she did the math. She shook his hand out of hers and wiped it on her pajamas. Lisa's eyes filled with tears as she turned and ran into the canyon away from the house. Brian contemplated the sunlight on a nearby cactus for the next hour sipping his coffee, thankful that his sister had given it a little extra strength.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SBRONZA E POSTUMI
At the end of his story, Brian stood up and stumbled straight to bed. All three bottles of digestivi stood empty, or close to empty, in front of Lucy and Natasha, who contemplated them in silence, having trouble digesting what they were just told.
Natasha finally spoke. “Did that just happen?”
“Shh,” I just thought of something.
“What?”
“We need to be very very quiet when we go inside.”
“Okay. Why?”
“I can’t let Blue Bear know about me being ... you know.”
“Who?”
“Nobody,” said Lucy. “Okay, so let’s pretend for a second, that I’m not totally, but at least somewhat ... y’know. Okay, so I know Blue Bear would be disappointed, but he doesn’t have to know, does he? Well, whatever, so yes, so just, so just pull yourself ... pull yourself together, Lucy, okay?”
“You didn’t have that much. Not so much. Not so much at all. Alright, maybe, like, a bit of sambuca ... or maybe, like, what? Two limoncellos, right?”
“That’s right!” Lucy yelled, slamming her fist on the table. Then she grew quiet again, “Who the hell thinks that this is fun, anyways? It just totally impairs your ability to interact with reality. Alright, so maybe the first hour was fun ... and the second and the third ... but after that, come on. It’s already, like, it’s already three hours since the last time I had a drink ... kay, maybe like two hours ... or even one hour ... at this point I don’t know ... anyways, it’s been a while, and I haven’t touched anything, and now, all of the sudden, why is it my fault that I’m all dizzy? It’s not my fault. And if I remember correctly, Brian just told a bizarre story. That’s not my fault either.”
“Y’know that’s life sometimes.”
“Right. Sometimes you get dru .... sometimes very tipsy, not drunk ... and sometimes you make out with your sister. Not me. Brian. Not me.”
“That’s life.”
Lucy stood up, unsteady on her feet. “Wow, okay, so that’s not the dynamics of the physica
l world that I remember to be in order the last time I sat down, I mean, the last time... I stood up. Okay, so something must have happened.” She tried to balance, putting one arm in the air, but still wobbled. “I just put my hand above my hand ... above my head, but nonetheless, there was absolutely no effect towards balance. What the hell is ... I mean ... what the hell is ... is the worth of putting your hand above your head, or putting your arm out, if it has not any effect in achieving balance? It’s not like it was my fault to not have balance.”
“Maybe you should go to bed. Here, let me help.” Natasha took Lucy by the arm and both of them stumbled towards the door.
“All of the sudden there was, like, sambuca, Natasha, and who knows how many you consume without the consensus of your conscience? Remember, we have to be quiet. There’s all kinds of bears sleeping inside here.”
“Whatever you say.”
Before opening the door Lucy stopped, and held her new friend at arms length. “Remember, Natasha, there’s sleeping bears here, so be quiet,” she pulled Natasha in towards her, and wrapped her arms around Natasha as tight as she could. “Bear hugs, I mean. Bear hugs. Let’s not do this again. It’s no fun. Okay. It was fun. Kind of. Once or twice a year, maybe, but not often. Una vez al año no hace daño. But because I’ll be too embarrassed to say it tomorrow when I’m not slightly ... mostly ... inebriated, you should know that I hope we’re going to be great friends, Natasha. Great friends. We’re great friends already, right?”
“We are.”
“Great.”
The next day – or rather, later the same day – at an hour that felt far earlier than it actually was, Lucy woke up and noticed three things at once. Brian was snoring louder than normal in the next room over. Her head hurt. And there was a knocking on her door. Living at the Palazzo was getting so creepy lately that someone knocking on your door was something that could not be easily ignored. As quietly as possible she crept out of bed, grabbed a nine iron and pepper spray, and shimmied up to the door.
“Lucy, it’s me,” Natasha’s voice could be heard through the door.
She removed the newly installed door chain, unlocked the door, and cracked it open just slightly, allowing Natasha to shimmy in, before closing it and redoing the chain.
“We’ve got another one,” Natasha brandished a folded up piece of paper. She headed straight for the curtains, and pulled one of them open. Lucy fell into her chair, shielded her eyes with one arm, and almost hissed like a cat at the light, which only exacerbated the throbbing in her head.
“Lucy, we’ve got another letter from the true heirs!”
“Water,” was the first word Lucy managed to croak that morning, while putting on her sunglasses, to screen her headache from the light. “I need water. And I have to pee. Really bad. But I don’t want to move again. Moving hurts.”
“What? Did you want me to bring you a bedpan?”
“I wouldn’t object if you did.”
“I was given to understand that our work involved conversing with the residents, not providing direct physical care to other students.”
“Just get me some water.”
Lucy closed her eyes, and Natasha looked around the room. “Am I really doing this?” she asked herself out loud. Using the sleeve of her jacket she grabbed Lucy’s water bottle, and used the other sleeve to turn the knob on the sink. Lucy squinted her eyes and reached out with both hands to receive the bottle, and gently nursed on it, trying to move as little as possible.
“Well, you did drink quite a bit —”
“I don’t have a hangover ... I just got a little dehydrated, I think. There’s too much sugar in sambuca.”
“Oh, right. I’m sure it was just the sugar, Lucy. But if you ask me, the alcohol probably didn’t help, either. I’m feeling a bit hungover too, but I’m fairly certain it wasn’t the sugar that caused it. Just a good old fashioned alcohol hangover for me, thank you very much.”
“So maybe I’ve got a little bit of a headache or something, and a sensitivity to light and sound. I’m getting old, Natasha. I didn’t drink that much. Or… well maybe I did. I’m just out of practice. Do you have an Advil or a Tylenol, or something like that?”
“But the letter, don’t you want to see the letter?”
“I don’t want to see anything right now.”
“Okay?”
“You read.”
“Alright. Dear Student Residents...”
“Gently, Natasha,” Lucy whispered. “Gently. No sharp sounds.”
“You do know we’re leaving for the park in half an hour?”
“Porca troia... why did I sign up for that?”
“Do you want me to tell them you’re sick?”
“I’m not sick. I’ve just got a hang — well, you know. And, no, I’ve been skipping too much lately. I gotta show up to something every once in a while. No, it’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. I just need an Ibuprofen and some coffee or something. Read on.”
“Dear Student Residents. It has come to our attention that you’re not taking our threat seriously. Listen. We know quite suredly that one of you, for certain, has the desired information. We’re not joking. Once we can tell that one of you in particular is not the person who holds said information, that person will become superfluous to us, and will be offed, as a warning to the person who does. I repeat. We are not joking. Give us the information we need, and you can save your own life, as well as that of those around you. For example. It was quite clear that poor Cristiano was not the resident in possession of the bank account numbers, and it was also clear that he was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. On the spur of the moment we had to arrange for him to have an accident on the rooftop. Poor Cristiano. And yet his death could have been avoided if one of you would have just coughed up what does not belong to you, and rendered it to those who are the rightful owners. That is all. You have little time. Signed. The true heirs.”
“Do you have an Ibuprofen?”
“How about a Nurofen?”
“Whatever it is, I’ll try it.”
“I’ll go get one for you.”
“Two!”
Natasha returned with a cup of coffee and two pills. Lucy took them both at once, and burnt the back of her throat gulping down the pills with the hot coffee.
“We’ve got to find out who’s sending these letters,” said Natasha.
“Where did you find it?” Lucy was still cringing from the burning in the back of her throat.
“It was tucked under the door to the terrace. It wasn’t there when I went into the shower this morning, but it was sticking out when I came out of the bathroom.”
“Is that where we found the first one?”
“I don’t remember.”
“But you don’t think anyone besides us two has seen this one?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. If somebody else had already seen it, I doubt they would’ve folded it up and tucked it back under the door.”
Half an hour later, the Palazzo’s nine-seater white ’96 Fiat Ducato rattled up to the loading area in front of the main entrance, where seven residents were already milling around in puffy jackets and scarves, ready for an arctic expedition. The sky was completely blue, but the temperature had already maxed out at a frigid high of 52° Fahrenheit. Life can be difficult in the Mediterranean too. Lucy, who believed herself incapable of driving in her present condition, urged Natasha – who, as a South African, was ill prepared for driving on the right side of the road, shifting with her right hand, and dealing with the sensitive old Fiat clutch – to climb behind the wheel. Any progress that Lucy had made against her headache with coffee, water, and South African drugs was lost when Natasha insisted, it seemed, on hitting every Roman pothole in the mile and a half that separated the Palazzo from the park’s pond. When the van finally lurched to a stop, the residents filed out, and Natasha distributed stale pieces of bread so that they could feed the ducks. Lucy stayed put in the middle front seat, with her feet
on the dashboard, her elbows on her knees, and her head in her hands.
“Wouldn’t you like to come along and feed the ducks, Signora?” Lucy heard Natasha’s voice from just outside the open window.
Before Lucy could answer, someone in the front seat next to her responded, “No, Lucy is still in the car, I will... how do you say fare compagnia?”
“Keep her company.”
“Yes, I will keep her company.”
Lucy peered out from behind her right hand. The woman still seated next to her was the “mean girl,” Virginia.
Natasha wandered off, and Lucy turned to Virginia. “Since when do you speak English?”
Virginia shrugged her shoulders, “Since when have you ever spoken to me in English?”
Lucy shrugged her shoulders.
“The other two – how do you call us? – mean girls,” Virginia smirked and arched one eyebrow, “hate it when I speak English, so we speak only Italian. Besides, you need to learn Italian.”
“But you speak English with Natasha?”
“What can I say?” Virginia turned and looked out the window at Natasha, who was tearing off pieces of bread for an old man whose hands were too shaky to do it himself. “I like Natasha. I see too much of me in her. Who knows? I am rich old mean woman. I can do as I please.”
“Well alright, then. You’ve always been a mysterious one.”
“And you are too!” Virginia thumped Lucy’s shoulder with her pointer finger. “I observe a lot of things. I do not have much else to do. I observe that Natasha, all of the sudden, has trust in you. She trusts you very much!”
Speaking of trust and observation, Lucy got an idea. “Virginia, what do you know of anyone named Ginevra? Was there ever a Ginevra who lived at the Palazzo?”
“A long time ago,” Virginia looked back out the window.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps a decade. Maybe two. I have not heard of her in a long time.”
“What do you remember about her?”
“Little. She was also a mysterious woman.”