Blood Curse

XX

Lucia Maione liked to sleep with the shutters open and the curtains pulled back. It was one of those things that she thought of as having “come after”; she wanted to be able to see the sky, the heavens, at all times.

They’d “come after” she’d lost her smile, her will to laugh, her love of the seaside. After. She split her life up into a “before” and an “after.” Before and after the death of her son.

She could still hear Luca’s voice when she came up the stairs, and she saw him in the faces of her other children; he would steal silently into her thoughts and laugh, whereas she no longer could. She had brought him into daylight, and he had extinguished that daylight for her.

Deputy Chief of Police Angelo Garzo had already taken his overcoat off the coat rack when Ponte, the clerk, appeared at the door. As soon as he saw that his boss was on his way out, he stopped on the threshold, hesitating; it was too late to turn back, but he knew what a short fuse the deputy chief of police had when it came to administrative matters that detained him as he was getting ready to leave.

They stood there, staring at each other, Garzo erect with his overcoat draped over his arm, and Ponte bent over in a half-bow. The deputy chief of police broke the spell.

“Speak up, damn it. What do you want? Can’t you see I’m on my way out?”

Ponte blushed and bowed a little further.

“No, Dotto’, forgive me. It’s just that a woman has been murdered, in the Sanità quarter. I have the report for you right here, Commissario Ricciardi left it for me. He’s on the case. You can certainly take a look at it tomorrow, Dottore, no problem.”

Garzo huffed in irritation, tearing the folder the man was holding out of his hands.

“Well, of course, I should have known: Ricciardi. If there’s trouble, you can be sure that Ricciardi’s mixed up in it. Let’s have a look; maybe there’s someone important implicated in this thing and I’ll make a fool of myself at the theater tonight if I don’t know about it.”

He quickly scanned the lines of the report and was visibly relieved. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Nothing here, nothing at all. Some poor woman, beaten to death. You’re right, Ponte; it’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. If anything comes up, I’ll be at the theater. Buonanotte.”

There weren’t many people in the orchestra seats; the play had been running for a while now, and there were other attractions in the city. Marisa Cacciottoli di Roccamonfina sighed; she would rather have gone to see something else tonight. She looked over at her girlfriend sitting beside her in the box.

“How many more times are you going to want to come to see this show? At this point we might as well take a seat in the prompter’s box; we know every line by heart. We’re the talk of the town, today’s top story. Yesterday, at Gambrinus, Alessandra Di Bartolo said to me, ‘You know all about the theater, can you recommend anything interesting? Really, because I’ve heard that you and Emma never miss a show!’ Just think: the two of you never miss a show! What do you think she meant by that?”

The woman she had just addressed was young and elegantly coiffed and dressed. Her dark hair was cut short, as fashion dictated, her skin was ivory white, and her chin was just slightly pronounced, an indication of her determined, strong-willed personality.

She turned for an instant to look at Marisa, but without allowing her attention to be diverted from the stage.

“Listen, if you no longer wish to join me, say so clearly. I’ll find someone else. You know, there are people who are willing to be seen in public places in my company. Also, you can go ahead and tell that dimwit Alessandra, along with all the other girls who gather at her house with the excuse of playing canasta but really just like to sling mud, to come and say it to my face if they are curious about me.”

Marisa recoiled in the face of this vehement attack.

“Emma, we’ve been friends all our lives. Our poor mothers were friends before we were, and if we’d had children, they would have been friends too. But that’s exactly why I feel I have to tell you that you’re making a fool of yourself. I’m not telling you not to have your fun, I wouldn’t dream of it. After all, you know what I’m capable of getting up to. But a little discretion would not be a bad idea.”

“Discretion? What on earth for? Who am I harming? I go to see a play that I’ve already seen before: what of it? Does that give those vipers permission to spit their venom in my direction?”

“First of all, you see this play two or three nights a week, and have done since it opened, at least one time out of three with yours truly, and I’m starting to become stupider than I really am what with trying to keep up with you. Next, you stay out all night more often than you sleep at home: don’t try to deny it, because Luisa Cassini’s husband ran into you twice in Via Santa Lucia, when you were coming home at eight in the morning and he was on his way to work.”

She reached out and took her friend’s hand, squeezing it tight.

“No kidding, Emma: I’m worried about you. You were always the strong one. The one who set an example for others. You have a distinguished husband who loves you: all right, so he’s older than you, so what? Didn’t you know that when you accepted him? No one says you can’t have your own. . amusements, but use some discretion! And then go home. Don’t destroy a place in society that so many people envy you for.”

In the darkness of the box, the eyes of Emma Serra di Arpaja welled up with tears.

“You don’t understand, Marisa. It’s too late to go back. Too late.”

The orchestra began playing and the curtain rose to reveal the stage.