Susan Anderson - Death of a Serpent

For a while Formusa sat still. Then she bobbed her head up and down. “Yes, it’s true. Believe it?”

“Of course.”

“Again, the night before La Signura found Nelli’s body, Nelli came here. In a hurry, face red. No counting this time. She empties the tin, dumps her coins into her pocket, kisses me goodbye, and runs out the back.” She brushed her palms together. “The end. No more coins. No more Nelli.”

“Did you tell Rosa?”

She shook her head. “A secret, Nelli said.”

“You said Nelli ran out the back. Where?” Serafina asked.

Formusa pointed to darkness.

“Show me.”

She took a candle, gave one to Serafina, and waddled to the other end of the kitchen.

Serafina followed. “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about the back stairs.”

The candle in Serafina’s hand shuddered from the wind seeping through the door. She heard the howling, held her candle higher. Even in the dark she could see steps leading to a landing and, branching off from this platform, two separate sets of stairs. She turned to Formusa. “This way goes to the back and the sea.”

Formusa nodded.

Serafina pointed to a closed door on the other side of the landing. “Beyond that door, the back stairs to the bedrooms?”

“Just so.”

Another blast of wind almost extinguished Serafina’s flame. They walked back to the kitchen.

Stooping, Serafina kissed Formusa on both cheeks. She held her close. Her first piece of news relating directly to the murders. More tears, more ‘poor Donna Maddalena, poor husband.’

“My name is Gusti, short for Julia Augusta. Named myself after an ancient Roman queen, or goddess-one of those.”

Underneath that stained robe of hers, she had breasts like mountain peaks. Must be wearing all the jewelry she owned, ropes of pearl and gold, jingly bracelets, a silver rosary, rings on all her fingers.

Serafina began by asking the usual questions.

The remnants of sweetened figs whiskered her lips. Gusti swept them off with the back of her hand, settled in the chair. “I didn’t know any of the dead women, poor dears, not well, at least. I don’t know what I can tell you. Don’t know who’d want to kill them. Of course, I was busy on the days they died, I’m always busy.”

“When was the last time you saw Bella?”

“Oh my, they’ve all been dead for such a long time. But when was it that I last saw Bella?” She looked up at the ceiling, drummed her fingers on one knee. “I remember now-it was in the station here in Oltramari. Yes, that was it.” She slapped her knee. “I was going to Palermo, she was returning, it must have been, oh, two or three months ago, in the spring. She was getting off the train and I was waiting on the next platform. All of a sudden Bella came out of the car, packages and all in her hand. No suitcase. I yelled and waved, ‘Bella!’ We waved addiu and she disappeared into the crowd. That’s the last time I saw her alive. I love to ride the train, don’t you? The clack of the wheels, the rhythm of the car, it lulls me to sleep. The conductors, so nice to me they are, and the passengers you meet, oh, la, some of the men, gorgeous. I love the ride, I tell you.”

Serafina laughed. “And that was the last time?”

“Alive? Oh, you mean, you mean, oh yes, I went to Bella’s wake and all. Sad. She was the one I felt closest to. I mean, of the ones who died. Not like a sister, mind you, like Carmela and I, we were almost like sisters, but close enough, Bella and I. Even though we both kept to ourselves and all.”

The air was heavy with cheap perfume. Serafina felt queasy. “And what about Gemma and Nelli? Do you remember the last time you saw either of them?”

Gusti shook her head. “We lead our own lives. We come and go here at Rosa’s. Rosa wants us to be more like a family, ‘my girls’ and all, you know how she talks.” The prostitute adjusted herself in the chair. “You and Rosa are friends, yes?”

Serafina nodded.

“But we are none of us friends here, not like you and Rosa. Oh wait, maybe a few girls were friends with the dead ones, but not me, I wasn’t one of them. I avoid most of the girls. Hard to trust. Well, except for Carmela.”

“They told me you were friends with…her.”

“And you’re her mother. They told me. Hair the same. Skin, maybe the same. Eyes, definitely. Younger than me. Little bit of a thing, Carmela. Short. Bouncy. Fun to be with, Carmela. Loved flowers and the sea and walking. Could walk the legs off a sailor, that one.”

Serafina rubbed her forehead. “When did she leave?”

The prostitute considered. “Left with a soldier, I don’t know, about two, three years ago. Said she knew him. From before and all.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

Gusti held her lower lip. “My friend, Carmela. Told me she didn’t want anyone to…no family to know where she was. Not Rosa. Said Rosa knew her mother. Sad and all, but she’s my friend. Not in danger. Happy.”

Serafina felt tears prickle. “We haven’t heard anything from her. At least now I know she’s alive. When you write to her again, would you tell her that we need to talk to her? We have some family news for her. Not good. She must know.”

Gusti nodded.

Serafina blew her nose. She was silent for a moment, blinking. She thought of what her children would say when they heard that Carmela was alive and happy. First bit of good news since their father died. They’d be thrilled, of course, all of them except Totò who didn’t remember Carmela, and Maria: who could guess what her response would be to anything? She must write to Carlo.

The prostitute continued. “And then there was that big girl, came here about the same time as Carmela. Thought I could trust her, but I was wrong. She didn’t last long, I tell you. La Signura got rid of her, presto.” Gusti reached into her pocket for a handkerchief and wiped her forehead. “And what was that big one’s name? It’ll come to me. Her arms, can see them now, arms like a gunner’s. Wait. Yes, Eugenia, that’s her name. Had a laugh like a mule. Anyway, the three of us were friends, I mean, not all together, not like the three musketeers and all, but I was friendly with Carmela and I was friendly with Eugenia. Until, you know, the bad things happened with her. But now they’re both gone. Like the wind, one hour it blows over Oltramari, and by that very afternoon, would you believe, it’s in Enna. Well, after what’s been happening in this house, I keep myself to myself, I do.”

Serafina thought that Gusti’s words flew like bullets but in different directions at once. She asked, “This Eugenia, you say she didn’t last long. Do you know why?”

Gusti shrugged, then thought better of it, pulled her chair closer to Serafina and whispered, “My customers, generous, always giving me pearls, stones, gold bracelets. Rosa lets us keep those. Couple of us had things stolen. I got scared. We talked about it one day in town. When we got back, someone went to Rosa, and boom, Eugenia was gone. After that, well, you can’t be too careful.” She fingered her pearls and waited for Serafina to stop writing.

“Did you ever see Gemma, Nelli, Bella together? Were they friends?”

Gusti paused to consider before she responded. “Well, Bella and Gemma, I used to see them talking together. Not a lot. Maybe Lola with them, too. Lola with Nelli of course. The four of them together? I might have done; I think they used to sit together. Well, no, because Lola was with Rosalia a lot. Poor little thing. Not robust in the head, Rosalia. Hard to figure out, that one. Like that wind I told you about, only, blowing this way one day, that way the next. As I said, I keep to myself.” Gusti shivered. “Once or twice we’d all go to town, a bunch of us, not often, you know, order a caffè at Boffo’s, sit and watch everyone in the piazza and make jokes. And they maybe would sit together, but no, come to think on it, they weren’t together a lot. More like Lola with Nelli until they had a to-do, then Rosalia with Lola.”