Death Of A Serpent - Death of a Serpent Part 21
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Death of a Serpent Part 21

"Of course. And you saved my mother's life the other night. A thousand thanks. Come in, please." He smiled.

"Oh, you are-"

"Her son. One of them. Grateful to you." Looking over at Carlo, Vicenzu said, "Come here and meet the fellow who saved Mama."

Arcangelo rocked a little from side to side. "Rosa asked me to bring Donna Fina. She begs her, please, to come right away. Is she here?"

"So. Arcangelo, is it?" Carlo said.

They shook hands.

Arcangelo nodded. Rocked. Pulled down the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Make yourself at home," Vicenzu said. "We'll get her in a minute, but you'll have to wait. She stepped out to do some walking quite early, so she's not finished with her formal dressing, if you know what I mean. And I believe she'll need to eat something before she leaves, knowing as I do my mother," he said. "Unless, of course, a baby comes into the world. Not the reason you're here, is it?"

Arcangelo shook his head.

Carlo straightened his vest, brought out a key from his pocket. He opened the door to the grandfather clock. "Go on, we're listening." Carlo said. He began winding the clock.

Arcangelo swallowed. "I'm to tell only Donna Fina. La Signura said to hurry. Please, dear sirs."

Vicenzu put a hand on Arcangelo's shoulder. "Sit for a moment." He pointed to the kitchen, sitting room and hearth where logs crackled.

"Yes," Carlo said. "Join the family. Have something to eat, something to drink. Best to take the day on a full stomach."

Arcangelo sat on the edge of a chair in the far corner of the room, holding his hat. He could see flames dancing in the hearth.

Vicenzu whispered something to a young woman wearing an apron. She left the room. He and Carlo sat back down at the table and continued eating their breakfast. Across from them a girl sewed. Both men crammed in large bites of omelet, biancumanciari, and bread smeared with orange marmalade while they read the paper and drank caffe. In between bites, they talked to one another in low tones.

The woman in the apron returned, stood at the stove, spooning food onto plates while an old lady in carpet slippers shuffled from the table to the stove and back again, serving and clearing with a steady rhythm. Arcangelo smelled toast, citrus, and eggs.

The young woman approached. "My name is Renata," she said. She smiled. "My mother will be down shortly. In the meantime, won't you have some caffe and something to eat? We are all grateful to you for saving her the other night." She introduced him to the others in the room.

"Caffe only, and you are too kind."

"Assunta, caffe, please, for our visitor."

Three children entered.

"Tessa, what are you doing here?" Arcangelo asked.

"She's our guest," Maria said. "Who are you?" She straightened her spectacles.

Tessa said, "That's Arcangelo. He lives with Scarpo. They help us. Arcangelo fixed Uno's leg yesterday."

"Who is Uno?" Tot asked.

"One of our mules-who else?" Tessa said.

"Oh." He reached for a strand of her hair and pulled it.

"Ow!" Tessa twisted around to grab him, but Tot ran away, laughing. Tessa chased him around the table while Giulia sewed on, ate, and talked to Vicenzu and Carlo.

Assunta shuffled over with caffe for Arcangelo. In one motion, he gulped the hot liquid and handed back the cup.

Tessa stopped in front of Arcangelo. "Why are you here-to take me home?"

Arcangelo shook his head. He was about to explain when, pinning a brooch to the front of her dress, Serafina entered. Her hair was undone and she hadn't yet painted her face. Her children stopped talking and stood up.

Tot ran to her and pulled on her skirts.

She bent and kissed him. "My beautiful boy, good morning. Did you eat something?"

He nodded. "They did, too," he said, pointing a finger at Maria and Tessa, "but Tessa didn't finish it all."

Maria and Tessa looked up at her. Serafina gave a kiss to both. "Maria, show Tessa your pianoforte. Play something soft." The three children ran into the parlor.

She turned to face Arcangelo. "Lovely to see you again."

He bowed. "La Signura asks that you come, please, at once. I don't like to say more." He flapped an arm at the room.

Serafina said, "Another-"

"Yes."

Arcangelo kept nodding like a broken jack-in-the-box. The clock struck the hour. "But it's not time yet. Only Sunday. It cannot be, not yet. We have until Tuesday."

No one spoke.

Serafina closed her eyes. "Renata and Vicenzu, stay with the children while I go to Rosa's. Carlo, come with me."

He walked to her side. "And forgive my rudeness to you yesterday. It's just that-"

"Enough!" Renata said.

The room stopped.

Serafina put her arm around his waist and pecked his cheek. "You'll be a great help." Turning to Arcangelo she said, "Did Rosa call the police?"

He shrugged.

"Vicenzu, get Beppe. Tell him to go to Colonna and ask the inspector to come to Rosa's right away." She blew him a kiss.

Vicenzu smiled, hobbled to the back door yelling Beppe's name.

She took a step, combing fingers through her hair. She could hear a sonata coming from the parlor, the music flowing, timeless. "Tessa stays with us today. And Giulia, were you able to finish-"

"All done, Mama." After she cut a thread and stuck the needle back into her pin cushion, Giulia stood and held the cape out for her mother to see.

"Oh, Giulia, my quiet precious, look at those braids."

"The way you wanted them, 'gold braids, just like the queen's.'" Giulia grinned.

"Thank you." She turned to the domestic. "Assunta, help me with my hair."

Arrival at Villa Rosa.

"I know my way, thank you," Serafina said to the maid. She led her son past several small parlors, their doors open to reveal wine-stained glasses, ash trays spilling over onto tables, plates with crumbs and dried bits of food. A gentleman's top hat, cane, and silk scarf lay on one chair. Chiaroscuro paintings hung from the walls. She smelled cigar butts and stale sex. "Saturday morning," she whiffed. "Time to open the shutters and clean."

"Typical smells for a brothel," Carlo said.

"I won't ask how you know," she said, buttoning her lips with thumb and forefinger.

Carlo knocked on Rosa's door. No answer.

After a slight hesitation, Serafina opened it. "This way," she told Carlo, pointing to a back door on the far wall.

"Rosa keeps her own books, I see," Carlo said, glancing at shelves of ledgers. A fire burned in the hearth. "Beech. I can tell by the color of the flames."

"How do you know?"

"Papa taught me. Look at the flame, a white light. Listen to how softly it crackles. Gives good heat, too. Beech logs burn cleanest, he told me. We used to burn beech, but now, too expensive, Vicenzu told me."

"Bah, Vicenzu, tighter than bark."

"Rosa must be doing well, despite all the murders."

"Born with a vigorous business sense. Not a dreamer like me."

"She'll need to close her house or find a way to placate the don if these murders don't stop."

"What makes you think the don is behind these murders? Rosa pays him each month. Without fail, she tells me."

"But-"

"Not the work of the don. You'll see in a minute when you examine the body with me."

"I'm a student, not a medical examiner, I can't-"

"Haven't talked about these murders with you. You're away at school most of the time, but they don't seem like the work of bandits, more like the work of a wild man." She told him the characteristics, the timing, the autopsy results for the three victims. "When bandits kill, it's different, and they're not so precise about the date. How could they be? They don't even read. No, these murders are not the work of bandits or a lustful killer."

"Trying to convince me or yourself?

Silence.

Carlo said, "He's called 'mafia,' Don Tigro."

"Says who?"

"Worse than the bandits. A fair wind blows for them since Unification. Last year the prefect gave a speech talking about the mafia-a new kind of threat, he said, clandestine, with complex rules of initiation and belonging. They talk a lot about 'honor,' call their organizations 'families,' each family run by a boss and his deputies. Run it just like a business, they do, collecting their protection money from-"

"From us. I know all about them, Carlo. You don't have to lecture me like I'm a-"

"And do you know who Don Tigro is? Do you?"

At the sound of Tigro's name, she stopped, looked at her son who regarded her with that goading persistence of his, standing there, waiting for her reply. If he only knew Maddalena's secret, he wouldn't be so smug. But how can she reveal her mother's dying words uttered in a state of delirium, and...of course, that's it: Maddalena's last story was the fantasy of a dying woman.

Carlo continued. "Known in Palermo as the capo of Oltramari. Peasants adore him. The large landholders support him, or else."

"I know all about Don Tigro and his kind." Her temples throbbed.

He raised an eyebrow. "I doubt it. You're a woman. And how can you fight them?"

Serafina said, "These murders are not the work of the mafia or the bandits. And another point I need to make." She wagged her finger at him. "If the land is strewn with dead bodies, as our land has been for centuries, does that excuse another dead body? Do we bury our dead and forget them and try to stay out of harm's way? Do we hide in the house and not hunger for truth? Cave into the bandits and the mafia and an inept government? No, we find the murderer and bring him to justice, for the sake of our children and grandchildren, for the sake of our nation. We find the truth. We stop the killing."

He rolled his eyes.

"And don't let me talk of Inspector Colonna and his men. No, I'll say nothing. My lips are shut tight, lips that would never blame an overworked police force for starting the rumor that Don Tigro and his thugs killed Rosa's women. Now, no more talk of the who, not yet. Let's look at the what and the how."

"Why did I start with her?"

"And God doesn't agree with you, either," she added, rubbing her eyebrows and walking over to the window. Looking out, she saw Gusti's body lying on the stones, Scarpo guarding it.

Alone before the sea Rosa stood, clothed in a dress of black bombazine, the wind whipping her skirt. Hearing the crunch of gravel behind her, she turned. She held a handkerchief to her unpainted face.

Serafina walked up to her, arms outstretched. They hugged. They cried. Serafina gave her a double kiss. "Remember Carlo?"

"Look at him now," Rosa said. "Madonna, what a fine young man. This high," she said, chopping the air close to her stomach, "last time I saw you. Carmela's coloring he has, but with dark curls, and the eyes of a god born in the sea."

"Studies medicine at the University of Palermo now. Home this weekend for Li Morti. Comes with me today to take a look at poor, dead Gusti."

Rosa dried her eyes. "Visit us when you're home again, after your mother solves these horrid murders, when things are better. A visit on the house, a glorious toss, I promise-"

"Rosa! I, the mother, stand next to you. On your other side is Gusti's corpse, not yet cold, and you invite my son to visit your house?"

Carlo's eyes brightened. "Accepted with pleasure."

"Don't be silly. She jokes."

Rosa opened her mouth, but snapped it shut when Serafina pointed to the body. "That's where you found her?"