Love and Lechery at Albert Academy

by Dolores Maggiore

  In this dream, my grandmother said she had heard me distinctly ask for help. She was muttering, “I put a spell on you.” I couldn’t see the victim of her curse.

  “From your mouth to God’s ear,” she chortled. “Be on the lookout for garlic.”

  In the last episode, odors swirled around my nose. I was being asphyxiated.

  I awoke with my nose in Katie’s armpit. Her normal orangey scent had turned a bit musky under the many layers of covers and the stress of Halloween. Still somewhat lost in dreams, I ripped off the covers and sat up, tearing at my nightshirt.

  Alda jumped out of bed to click on the light. “What?”

  Katie, clutching the covers to her chin, grumbled, “Jeez. A dream?”

  “Man,” I said. “You gotta listen. It was a Nonna dream.”

  They got me water and listened to me rant. “My grandmother was making potions, I think. Giving people drugs, bad drugs, morphine and sleeping pills.”

  “Pina,” Katie moaned. “I told you I thought Dorotea took a sleeping pill. Remember?”

  “But she, I mean my grandmother was going to get back at someone. And I think that someone was after me. They were trying to asphyxiate me with some smelly stuff.” I was babbling.

  “Hey, cara you had your nose up in Katie’s armpit. That’s being smothered with Katie’s smell. And come on. What does Mademoiselle say to us every night after ‘dormez bien?’ ‘Tombez dans les bras de Morphée!’”

  “Your mind just got to the root of the word Morpheus and popped out morphine.” Katie added with a weary frown, “Pina, you’ve got to get to sleep.”

  Almost line by line, they made sense of my dream, tying each element to something real that had happened recently to trigger it: Katie’s armpit, Mademoiselle’s expressions.

  I countered with “the garlic?” and “a spell?”

  Katie, by now really cranky and in need of sleep, sighed. “Pina, listen, the song—on the radio—when we were doing homework? ‘I Put a Spell on You,’ by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins!”

  I thought I saw steam rising from Katie.

  Alda patted my head, saying, “Hey, remember you said Craney stank of menthol and garlic? She was probably using Vicks and garlic for a cold. You even said she snotted on you.”

  All three of us went “Yuck!’ and Alda put out the light.

  Alda giggled. “Besides, ‘ciccia,’” she whispered, using an Italian term of endearment with a twinkle in her eye. “Your grandmother did say she’d help.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I Put a Spell on You

  After the dream interpretations, we fell back to sleep, awakening to the early morning sounds of cardinals and nuthatches. The air was chill, and we expected to see the cardinals framed in snow. Not yet, but definitely too chilly to hang around on mattresses on the floor.

  And too late. We knew we had to get the beds put back in case of a morning check. Katie also had to get herself out and into her room before Dorotea arrived back from her aunt’s.

  “Take care” was our new motto, and we meant every word of it. Besides, the room changes were coming up when Dorotea and I would be moved over to the French Quarter Program in Albert Hall. Katie and I would need to be extra cunning to get time together before we were severed, cut apart from one another. We were a bit dramatic.

  Alda told us she would also be working on strategies to give us another birthday gift, just like the last one. I just stared at her since now was certainly not the time for that kind of fun and games! She merely answered that she had to call her father. Oh yeah! Her father again.

  Huddled together wearing pea coats and stadium jackets, we walked to breakfast. We met other girls equally bundled up and risked some smiles. They smiled back.

  We relaxed a bit and started to joke and bump our way along to the refectory. Rounding the corner to the long loggia, Alda started impersonating a Renaissance figure, pretending we were in Medici Florence. She struck a pose, combing her long beard with her fingers. She outlined our figures as if we were modeling clay.

  “Jeez. Who are you now?” said Katie.

  “Don’t move,” said Alda with a heavy Italian accent. “I will position you.”

  “Alda, stop it,” I said. “You’re bending my arm.”

  “Si. All the better to hold the slingshot,” she said.

  Katie laughed. “Oh God, Pin, you’re supposed to be the David. Meet Michelangelo.”

  Alda doubled over with laughter. “You want to be a Pieta?”

  “Who’s the mother?” Katie giggled. Mid-laugh, she almost choked.

  At the end of the loggia, dressed in a black shirtwaist underneath, Craney stood shrouded in a long, black shawl. Her face was ashen. She seemed to be quivering. I prepared to greet her as coldly as I could.

  Katie held me by the elbow, hiding it with her scarf. Alda closed ranks on my other side. I stood protected, at least for the moment.

  I shot my head up, chin tucked in, stomach tightened, rock hard. I caught a mere glimpse of Craney coughing and grabbing her chest and knifing her way through the adjacent alcove. She vanished, leaving a vapor trail of Vicks and echoes of snorts in the empty loggia.

  I looked at Katie and Alda. We stared at each other in silence. Had Craney purposely avoided me?

  This was even creepier. Why did she do that? I mean, I was glad she was gone, but it almost seemed like I made her go away. Yikes, I was losing my mind. Why would I let her get into my head this way? Jesus, I just wanted to be able to sleep in my upcoming French class.

  We ate just enough and in silence, isolated in the farthest corner of the hall. We had nothing to say. What could we? Just one word, “Lunch.”

  Mademoiselle greeted me en francais, in French class. With much joie, she informed me she was being transferred from Smythe to Albert Hall to oversee our French wing along with Maitresse Craney.

  I liked Mademoiselle, but the news that Craney would also be in our dorm chilled me. While I stood shivering at the thought, Dorotea strode in straight from her return from her aunt’s. What now? I needed a break.

  Dorotea gawked at me with a big-toothed grin. She nodded her head and pumped my hand in her newfound love or tolerance of me. On autopilot, I smiled a mirror response. I nodded and pumped back.

  I was ready to shift into second gear and blank out when Mademoiselle’s voice reached a new high note in French class. “Attention. Immédiatement! Nous devons prier. We must pray,” she started.

  I was awake now. Albert did not mix real prayer with the politics of schooling. Chapel existed, but it was more a national, Puritan moral obligation, rather than a religious meditation.

  Mademoiselle was French, after all, and Catholic to the core. She intoned, “Marie, Mère de Dieu, Jésus et la communauté de Saints, nous vous prions de protéger notre Maitresse Craney. Look down upon la Maitresse, we pray!”

  What? I was all ears. Mademoiselle was beginning to say Miss Craney had just taken to her bed with a strange infection. “Let us pray!”

  “Une maladie mystérieuse,” Mademoiselle added, making the sign of the cross.

  At the mention of sudden and inexplicable onset, I found my hand pinned to my chest and my mouth gaping open. It felt like my eyes were rolling in my head. None of these actions brought any clarity to my thoughts.

  Did I do this? What was I thinking about power this morning? I couldn’t have caused this, or…and my dreams? Shoot! I needed Katie to talk sense to me.

  I claimed illness and stood to excuse myself from class. Just as I was exiting, I heard Dorotea inexplicably covering for me, explaining that I cared greatly for Miss Craney and must be overcome with concern for her.

  I was overcome, all right—with the need to find Alda and Katie in study hall. Outside their classroom in Memorial Hall, I motioned to Katie, who excused herself for a break. I urged her and Alda to cut, just do what they had to do to join me as soon as possible in my room.

  ****

  By the time Katie and Alda could get aw
ay, I had fallen asleep. They had snatched some food from dinner and woven a good story to cover my absence.

  “What the heck’s up?” I heard over and over as they shook me. I might have been dead meat, but I wasn’t dead yet. I hoped Craney wasn’t either.

  “You guys. I did it. I cursed Craney.”

  “What?” They rolled their eyes and extended their arms and hands palms up.

  Katie sat down on the bed close to me. She spoke in sweet, soft tones, music to my ears. “Pin, you’ve got to calm down.”

  I melted into her; I swam in her eyes. “Katie, I think I’m the one who made Craney sick.”

  Mistress of sarcasm, Alda sniped, “She’s got a cold, poor thing. She deserves it.”

  “No. She’s really sick. Mademoiselle made us pray for her. Some rare infection.”

  “And?” Alda lifted her hands as if to add, “Who cares?”

  “You said you smelled menthol. So she’s got a cold. Sorry,” Katie chimed in.

  “No. Really. When I was creeping back here, I heard an ambulance.”

  “Oh?” said Alda.

  “Wait.” Katie smoothed the hair off my forehead and actually made me blow my nose in her hankie. “You’re thinking it was your grandmother’s curse?”

  “Hah!” interrupted Alda. “Maybe it’s my father. I told him about Craney.”

  Now it was our turn to look at Alda, eyes bugging, mouths gaping. “Yeah?”

  “Nothing. I mean, like we didn’t do anything.” Alda was on her feet, whistling “Whistle While You Work.” She was heating some hot water for broth on a camp stove. She always got real busy when I questioned her about her dad.

  Katie spoke up. She turned from me to Alda. “Alda, listen. Pina’s dreams are real. Sometimes, they’re really real.”

  “Hey, this one feels one-hundred percent real,” I said. “It’s like Craney’s crawled under my skin and taken over. I’ve got to stop her at all costs. My grandmother, I think she’s tapping into that.”

  Alda turned around and with one eyebrow peaking, she smirked. “At all costs?”

  I sighed, and threw my slipper at her. “You know what I mean.”

  “Hmm,” was her only response.

  Alda checked the hall and made Katie run to the shower during room check. After Katie’s return, Alda made a dramatic dance to her closet and emerged, saying, ”Abracadabra,” and produced her small bottle of Vin Santo and a tin of biscotti.

  She made me drink two big gulps of the sweet wine, which relaxed me. I think I started to slur and feel very light, and giddy, and warm, and marvelous!

  Katie and Alda jumped on my bed and we started to recite “Winken, blinken, and nod.” We finished the bottle. It was really small.

  Katie caught the last word of shoe and sang, “Shoo, shoo, shoofly.” She sat up and poked Alda. “Tell us about your Pops. What’s so special bout him?”

  Alda rolled her eyes, which she could hardly keep open. She giggled. “‘Wolfie’—ya know, like my last name—‘Lupo’ means wolf. He’s fat. Ha. He’s bald. He calls my Mama Jezebella.”

  “Oh yeah? Thought he was scary,” I said. “Doesn’t sound scary to me.”

  “But to our darling Dorotea…” said Katie.

  “Oh pooh.” Alda’s eyes were almost crossed. “So my father has lots and lots of guns.”

  I was still able to make some sense out of our sloppy, gurgling chat. I glanced over to Katie, who looked wide-awake now.

  “Guns?” we said.

  When we shook her, Alda didn’t move. We learned the meaning of dead drunk. We did the only thing that seemed logical at that point. We left her in my bed and crawled into hers.

  “Love you,” I whispered to Katie. “You’re so good when I get my crazies.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Katie said, brushing her lips across my forehead. “Just want to keep you safe and whole and sleeping!”

  As much as I loved sleeping by Katie’s side, my throbbing headache and some other heavy vibration caused me to shift my weight and push Katie onto the floor. None too soon either.

  Dorotea stood before us, yelling at Katie. Katie was usually good at thinking on her feet, but she was on her bottom and the Vin Santo had dulled her senses.

  “You, you, Katie, of all people, you turn your back on me too? What? There is a ‘no-admit Dorotea’ fan club?”

  Katie struggled to open her eyes. “I uh…fell asleep. I’m so sorry.”

  I thought I had half a chance at saving the day, rather the night. “Oh, Dorotea, you know how upset I am about Miss Craney. Katie was only trying to comfort me. Please don’t be angry.”

  I hoped Dorotea’s constant sinus problems prevented her from smelling the alcohol. I also hoped her tender heart, for Miss Craney, might persuade her to believe me.

  “Come,” she said, bending down and offering Katie a firm hand. “Here, come, up. We finish talk in our room. Schnell, quick.”

  Katie mumbled agreement to Dorotea and “science” to me. We would put our heads together in science lab.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Alda Comes Clean

  Katie seemed ever so small as she stumbled off in front of Dorotea. The door slammed behind them. I was truly awake now. And Alda, could she really be sleeping through all this?

  I could hear myself think in this alcohol-induced silence. Was I really responsible for Craney’s illness? That’s how the whole evening started; I wanted my friends to tell me—my fault or my grandmother’s? Jeez! If I even thought I could, would I really try to make Craney sick? Did I hate her that much? Was I that scared and disgusted by her? Scared enough to hurt her?

  I reviewed in my mind how frantic I had been the last few weeks. Breakfast with Craney, the journal, the black academic gown, images flashing by in my head since my birthday. Ah! And the all-encompassing thought of Katie, my birthday with Katie.

  A new world had opened for me, a world of splendid titillation, but not without the side effects of craziness, abject fear, and all sorts of identity crises. Who the hell was I? Never mind Alda or her father. And did I have a backbone? I would need it.

  I turned over the events of the evening in my mind. I looked over at Alda. She had drunk the lion’s share. Maybe she really was sleeping and maybe she really did say her father had lots and lots of guns.

  Jeez! Who was her father anyway?

  I found myself shaking Alda awake. I heard myself saying in my sternest, middle-of-the-night voice, “I have to know!”

  I rocked her back and forth with whatever energy and anger I could muster. “Dangit. Wake up.”

  A very puffy face emerged from the covers, eyes flickering. “Pina.”

  “Get up!” I had no mercy.

  “Minchia! Okay, okay. Just don’t yell. My head.”

  “Alda, enough! Spill the beans. Who is your father?”

  “You really want to do this? Okay. He’s…a…man…” She spoke one word at a time.

  I finished her sentence, “Yeah, with lots of guns. More!”

  “He’s got a lot of power.”

  “Alda!” I slammed my fist down on the bedside table and stood, all five feet of me, hovering over Alda’s head.

  “He’s in the family.”

  “You mean, the Mafia?”

  Alda burped and excused herself. I thought she was going to vomit.

  “Yeah,” she continued. “I can’t let anyone know.”

  “And Dorotea?” I asked.

  “I think she saw some stuff she shouldn’t have. My father told me to shut her up, but he didn’t explain. Pina, believe me. I don’t think my father’s really bad, but I think some of his friends are.”

  “I guess it depends on your definition of bad.” I looked away from her.

  She reached up ever so gently and turned my head around. “Please don’t. You and Katie are the closest things I’ve had to friends. I don’t want to do this again. Move and cover our tracks. Anything but that.”

  I felt my shoulders sag. Ice cubes formed all
the way down my spine. But I was not a drill sergeant, not after a night of booze and no sleep. I locked my eyes on Alda. “Just tell me. Did your father hurt Dorotea?”

  “No. I swear. Just…just that, Dorotea might have seen or heard something. My father thinks she might not be who she says she is.”

  “Jesus.” I blew out a whole room of air. “Alda, I just need to think. Just too much tonight. Too many creaking doors for one night. Stop.”

  “Sure.” She sighed and caught my hand as I started to walk away. “Please don’t be angry with me. Maybe I exaggerated a little, you know how I am…I uh…got some things wrong, I think.” Her voice was shaky. She looked at me, but seemed to be viewing a different movie in her head. “Oh, and you can’t tell anybody,” she mumbled, her head shaking with an involuntary tic.

  I patted her and nodded. “No. Just sleep.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Science Lab

  I had awakened early. I bundled myself in my camel toggle coat and tiptoed down the hall barefoot. Once outside, I put on my Weejuns and slipped my earmuffs on to block the wind. I needed to walk.

  I followed the line of the privet hedge and slid through the narrow space in the back fence. Free on the village green, I kept my head down against the wind and gazed back at Albert’s frozen buildings. I wondered how many secrets those buildings held.

  As dawn approached, I snuck back, catching a few sparse flakes on my nose. I felt cleansed. I didn’t have to do anything about Alda’s father, I would inquire as to Craney’s health, and I would hear Katie’s story about Dorotea in science lab. I’d manage to switch lab partners so we could chat between centrifuges and Bunsen burners.

  I skipped breakfast, which suited my headache just fine. French class brought me the news of Craney’s changing diagnosis: severe exhaustion and a mild case of pleurisy. We all signed a respectful get well card. I used a cursive P. Mazzini in the lower right-hand corner, wedged in among old Anglo Saxon family names.

  Science lab was pretty quiet as our instructor, Dr. Hermione Eisenberg, allowed us great leeway. Unless flames or explosions alerted her, she was content to scribble equations and formulas, head down at her massive oak desk on the raised platform.