was this woman? Seventy? Eighty? A hundred? It was impossible to tell. She was bent almost double and her skin was lined, brown and weathered by the sun.
They couldn’t be far away from Santina’s; nothing was far away. And this was where her mother had grown up. Tess felt a thrill of excitement. Had her mother walked down these same streets, smelt these same smells – delicious cooking, yes, but interlaced, she had to admit, with a more dubious smell of stale sewage, or rotting food perhaps; ascent of decay. The steps of the houses they were passing were clean enough, but the walls were grimy, the paint peeling to reveal the underbellies of the houses themselves – the stone core. Had it been like this back then, she wondered. For Muma? Everyone probably knew everyone in this town. And their business. This woman had, no doubt, lived here all her life. She would know everything that Tess wanted to find out – if Tess could only talk to her ….
They came to a road that descended steeply towards the sea. Tess caught sight of what looked like a small bay surrounded by rocks, a brightly coloured fishing boat pulled up on the quay. But even as she craned to see more, another tall stone building obscured the view. The woman was still muttering to herself and she caught the name again – Flavia – then
l’inglese
, then Maria and Santina. At one point her unlikely guide even crossed herself. What could her mother have done?
Tess nodded vaguely in response to her words. But her mind was in top gear. She couldn’t wait to find out. And maybe Edward Westerman had wanted her to discover her mother’s story, which was why he’d made coming here a condition of the bequest. Though … How would he know she hadn’t been told the story already? She hurried to keep pace with her guide. Still. He wanted her at least to … she hesitated …
get involved
with the place. For some reason.
The old woman was still nodding and beckoning and scuttling over the cobbles like a black widow spider. Tess noddedback at her and smiled encouragingly – it was all she could do. There must be a puzzle; otherwise why would Muma not talk about those days? The puzzle was a part of her journey. And the past was here – in the grey cobbled streets and high shuttered houses. The past. Sicily, she was beginning to realise, was the kind of place that could haunt you.
They stopped outside a door with a rusty iron grille. Number fifteen. The paint was flaked and green. The woman knocked three times, still muttering.
Tess smiled weakly and waited.
After a few minutes, another old woman – also dressed in black, Tess noted – answered the door, cautiously, peering round first, before opening it a bit more. She nodded to Woman in Black mark one, but her eyes widened when she saw Tess.
Tess smiled again and nodded energetically. It probably looked mad, but it seemed to be the way forward.
The two elderly women greeted each other warmly, carrying out a rapid conversation accompanied by much clicking of tongues, shaking of heads and looking at Tess as if she were an interesting specimen in a zoo. Didn’t they have English tourists here? Was Tess different – a house-owner, a potential new neighbour? Or was it because she was Flavia’s daughter?
After a few more minutes of this, she began to grow exasperated. She had come so far and she was so near. Dusk had crept up behind her and the light was beginning to dim. She wanted to see her house, damn it. She didn’t want to bestanding here on some stranger’s doorstep listening to endless prattle she didn’t understand. ‘Please,’ she said.
They both looked at her; both stopped talking as if they’d been switched off at the mains.
‘Do you have the key?’ She addressed this to the second woman. ‘For Villa Sirena?’ She made a gesture of turning a key in an imaginary lock. ‘Please?
Grazie
.’
The second woman gripped her arm in much the same way as the first woman had done earlier.
They couldn’t be far away from Santina’s; nothing was far away. And this was where her mother had grown up. Tess felt a thrill of excitement. Had her mother walked down these same streets, smelt these same smells – delicious cooking, yes, but interlaced, she had to admit, with a more dubious smell of stale sewage, or rotting food perhaps; ascent of decay. The steps of the houses they were passing were clean enough, but the walls were grimy, the paint peeling to reveal the underbellies of the houses themselves – the stone core. Had it been like this back then, she wondered. For Muma? Everyone probably knew everyone in this town. And their business. This woman had, no doubt, lived here all her life. She would know everything that Tess wanted to find out – if Tess could only talk to her ….
They came to a road that descended steeply towards the sea. Tess caught sight of what looked like a small bay surrounded by rocks, a brightly coloured fishing boat pulled up on the quay. But even as she craned to see more, another tall stone building obscured the view. The woman was still muttering to herself and she caught the name again – Flavia – then
l’inglese
, then Maria and Santina. At one point her unlikely guide even crossed herself. What could her mother have done?
Tess nodded vaguely in response to her words. But her mind was in top gear. She couldn’t wait to find out. And maybe Edward Westerman had wanted her to discover her mother’s story, which was why he’d made coming here a condition of the bequest. Though … How would he know she hadn’t been told the story already? She hurried to keep pace with her guide. Still. He wanted her at least to … she hesitated …
get involved
with the place. For some reason.
The old woman was still nodding and beckoning and scuttling over the cobbles like a black widow spider. Tess noddedback at her and smiled encouragingly – it was all she could do. There must be a puzzle; otherwise why would Muma not talk about those days? The puzzle was a part of her journey. And the past was here – in the grey cobbled streets and high shuttered houses. The past. Sicily, she was beginning to realise, was the kind of place that could haunt you.
They stopped outside a door with a rusty iron grille. Number fifteen. The paint was flaked and green. The woman knocked three times, still muttering.
Tess smiled weakly and waited.
After a few minutes, another old woman – also dressed in black, Tess noted – answered the door, cautiously, peering round first, before opening it a bit more. She nodded to Woman in Black mark one, but her eyes widened when she saw Tess.
Tess smiled again and nodded energetically. It probably looked mad, but it seemed to be the way forward.
The two elderly women greeted each other warmly, carrying out a rapid conversation accompanied by much clicking of tongues, shaking of heads and looking at Tess as if she were an interesting specimen in a zoo. Didn’t they have English tourists here? Was Tess different – a house-owner, a potential new neighbour? Or was it because she was Flavia’s daughter?
After a few more minutes of this, she began to grow exasperated. She had come so far and she was so near. Dusk had crept up behind her and the light was beginning to dim. She wanted to see her house, damn it. She didn’t want to bestanding here on some stranger’s doorstep listening to endless prattle she didn’t understand. ‘Please,’ she said.
They both looked at her; both stopped talking as if they’d been switched off at the mains.
‘Do you have the key?’ She addressed this to the second woman. ‘For Villa Sirena?’ She made a gesture of turning a key in an imaginary lock. ‘Please?
Grazie
.’
The second woman gripped her arm in much the same way as the first woman had done earlier.
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