Susan Anderson - Death of a Serpent

He nodded.

“Come home with me. Bring Gesuzza. You and Tessa can stay on the third floor in Mama’s old room, Gesuzza in Papa’s study. You’ll have plenty of privacy.”

“But who will be hostess in my house tonight?”

“What about Gioconda? Has a certain flair.”

“Bah, wouldn’t do.”

“All right, stay here. I’ll cry over your corpse in the morning.”

Rosa rubbed a spot off her sleeve. “Business is slow on a Monday. Gioconda acts as hostess tonight.”

“The excuse for your leaving? — you visit an aunt in Trabia. Let it be known that I go with you.”

“Long dead, my aunt, but it will do.”

Serafina turned to Scarpo. “Expect a visit from Carmela tomorrow. She’ll be costumed as a desolate one. Not to worry, she’s an actress.”

“Knew that, we did,” Scarpo said.

Serafina continued. “She’ll ask to see the accomplice.”

Rosa asked, “Who is…?”

“Rosalia.”

Monday evening, November 5, 1866

Rosalia sat in the parlor, her arm around Carmela. “I felt the same as you before I was saved by the monk. Soon I’ll return to my family and begin a life devoted to prayer and to helping others.”

Hair matted, face smudged with dirt, Carmela hunched into herself, scrubbed at her eyes with fingerless gloves. “When will you know? I must see him as soon as possible, before my child is born. This morning I felt a powerful cramping.”

The thief picked at a spot on her chin. “Difficult to say. There’s one, a ragpicker, the monk’s friend, who tells me his whereabouts. Haven’t seen him in recent weeks. I need to find him, so he can summon the monk.”

Carmela began. “Please. My mother has abandoned me. The old nun beats me. I can barely stand to dress myself before waking the children in the cold, in the dark.” Carmela shivered. “So hungry, not enough food. My back aches from bathing and feeding the orphans. I’m sick, tired, and I have a thirst that comes from I know not where. Help me.”

Rosalia shrugged.

Carmela swiped a hand through matted hair, hugged her stomach. “The fetus kicks! Don’t you see? I can’t return to this life of sin. My child must be born from a pure vessel.”

Carmela opened her purse.

Rosalia’s eyes sparked.

“And if I die in childbirth, I won’t be-”

The accomplice held up a palm. “Because we’re friends, I’ll see what I can do. But you must tell no one you’ve come here. Permanent absolution is reserved for a select few. If word spreads, there will be a stampede looking for the monk.”

“No one will know.” Carmela crossed herself.

Rosalia said, “And the cost, five hundred lire.”

“Not to worry,” Carmela said.

“In that case, give me a few coins to cover expenses. Two hundred lire will do for now.”

Carmela handed her the coins.

“At first light by the old eucalyptus you will see a man with an unpainted cart. Don’t look into his face. Do not speak to him. Take the note he gives you. Leave.”

Monday night, November 5, 1866

“Desperate she is for the brazen serpent,” Rosalia said, handing him the money. “She has abundant coins. I impressed on her the need for secrecy. She must have your absolution tomorrow, she told me.”

“The time is perfect,” the monk said.

“La Signura visits her aunt in Trabia. The snoop has gone with her.”

“Even better. You quoted her a price?”

“Five hundred lire.”

“For you, a great reward in heaven, my child.”

“I’ve done your bidding, but I can help you no longer.”

“Understood.”

“My family goes hungry. I don’t ask for much, but one hundred lire will feed them and keep them together.”

The monk hesitated. “Come here tomorrow after the angelus has rung. Your small wish will be granted.”

As Rosalia turned to leave, the knife hit its mark.

Tuesday morning, November 6, 1866

Morning mist had not yet disappeared as Carmela, clad in black, hunched on a stone bench underneath the old eucalyptus. She appeared not to notice the approaching cart and driver, but quickly snatched the note he dropped at her feet and read, “Tonight. Madonna’s Chapel. Eighteen hundred hours, you meet the monk. Permanent absolution will be yours.” When she lifted her eyes, the cart and driver had vanished.

Carmela ranged through narrow passageways, casting about with anxious eyes. No one. She glanced over her shoulder at intervals, stopping only when she saw a figure on one knee, tying his boot. In the half-light she hugged the wall of a dilapidated building. When she saw a niche big enough for both of them, she motioned him forward. “Take this to Donna Fina. Wait for her reply.”

• • •

Serafina folded Carmela’s message, turned to Arcangelo. “Rosa needs to read this and open her coffers, but she’s not yet awake. Some breakfast while you wait?”

He shook his head.

“Nonsense. You’ll need your strength today. Tonight, too. Renata-some biancumanciari , omelet, pork, brioche, ricotta, caffè. Pile his plate: a full meal for this young man. Assunta, ask Rosa to come down here right now. Tell her we have news from Carmela. And, Arcangelo, take your time. You know how slow the madam can be in the morning. It’s long before her usual waking hour.” She winked.

“Long before yours, too,” Renata said, setting a large breakfast in front of Arcangelo.

While he ate, Serafina said, “Better when the whole family is here and the house shakes.”

“Totò and Tessa are outside with Octavia and the guard. Vicenzu’s at the shop, Maria and Giulia at school, Carlo studying, we hope. And Carmela-”

“I know, my precious,” Serafina said and gave Renata a hug.

A thousand thoughts raced through her brain, all jumbled. For something to do, she fetched pen and paper, but half a minute later, too excited to sit, she glided to the window and looked out at Totò and Tessa feeding the goat.

When she heard the first tremor on the stairs, she rushed into the hall and saw Rosa descending, scarlet slippered, purple robed.

Serafina handed her Carmela’s note.

The madam donned her spectacles. Her lips pushed out as she read. “That strega , she’ll not get more coins from me!”

“Carmela’s life is at stake,” Serafina said.

“Where is Arcangelo? Don’t just stand there, hand me that quill and vellum.” Rosa scratched out some words and signed with a flourish.

Arcangelo appeared, cheeks stuffed.

“Run to your father. Give him this.” Rosa handed him her note. “Tell him to take five hundred lire from the safe. Then bring the coins to Carmela. She waits for you where?”

He swallowed. “The orphanage.”

Serafina said, “And tell Scarpo to meet us here at five o’clock this afternoon.”

“Why?” Rosa asked.

“Because at six o’clock Carmela meets the monk in front of the Madonna’s Chapel.”

“Out of what hole did you dredge that number?”

“Didn’t you read her message?”

“Just now I did, reading it with severe faintness from lack of sleeping in my own bed, reading it without a chair to sit upon, without a sip of caffè or a morsel of bread to break my fast, reading it with the shock of having to sign away five hundred lire-ten years worth of wages for a cook, a devastation.”

“But you didn’t read everything, did you? You missed something.” Serafina handed her Carmela’s message.

Rosa read it again, a red line of color ascending her neck. “Under my nose, and I didn’t see it.”

Not the first time, not the last. We bury what we’d rather not know.