(continued from “The Genovese Connection“)
Part one
Catharina’s room gave to a large roof terrace, where her mother grew all of her herbs and geraniums. Ronald was installed in Catharina’s brother Pippo’s room for the night and I was supposed to sleep on a stretcher in Catharina’s room.
Pippo was a 9 year old, good humored boy, with an enormous quantity of comic books that seemed to fill the apartment. I took an immediate liking to this lively, smart boy. Before going to sleep I asked him if I could read some of them, and within minutes he came to our bedroom with a personal selection of books he recommended. Of course I didn’t speak Italian yet, and I still spoke English with Catharina, but there was no misunderstanding possible in his expressions and body language. (Years later I was devastated to find out that Pippo had died from a heroin overdose, at the age of 18.) Catharina’s mother spoke a kind of heavily affected French with us, so there were no real communication barriers during our stay in the small apartment.
I had never met someone with fewer inhibitions than Catharina. That first evening she came out of the shower and stood naked in front of the mirror, combing her long black hair, as if I wasn’t there. I had to admit she was a looker, and during our trip to Genoa, I noticed how people reacted as she passed them by. I pretended to be completely absorbed in Pippo’s comic books, but couldn’t help ogling her magnificent silhouette.
“Come and join me for a smoke”, she said. Walking out to the terrace, she casually draped a silk kimono on her and sat down on a wrought iron bench, next to a table packed with the largest geraniums I’ve ever seen. “You need to unwind a little, dear, you’re so uptight and prudish”, she said sighing. “Well, I think my prudishness will not stand a chance to survive the extreme content of the comic books your brother selected for me”, I said with a chuckle.
Smiling back at me she said: “I’m glad you came along, my little star”. “So am I”, I heard myself say in a hoarse voice. She promised to show me around town and introduce me to her friends the next day. Looking straight ahead she flicked her cigarette butt over the railing of the terrace, and waited attentively for a few moments. “I always keep my breath for ten seconds when I do that, cause once I heard an awful scream protruding from the courtyard below, as my cigarette butt fell into someone’s neck, eh, eh…”. “Not funny”, I said, unable to suppress a smile completely.
“Buona notte”, she said getting up and walking to her bedroom. Suddenly she turned and kissed me audaciously on the mouth. A shiver went down my spine, but I managed to play it cool and say: “Goodnight Catia, sleep well”
Part two
The next morning at the coffee table, Ronald said he wanted to know if I intended to stay at Catherina’s for much longer. And did I want to continue my vacation with him? I told him that of course I did, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave already. We agreed we would make a decision that evening. Ronald said he wanted to explore the city on his own behalf, and I didn’t disagree…
Catharina was having a noisy fight with her brother Pippo over the use of the bathroom. Their mother tried to pacify them, but to no avail, and the bathroom door was slammed shut for the fourth time. I realized with pain in my heart, that being an uneducated, lonely widow from a Sicilian farmer, she had no authority in her own house and was not up to the task to raise her children and educate them in an adept way.
“Let’s go”, Catharina said, and walked out the door. “Ciao, Mama, a piu tardi” she shouted from the hallway, without waiting for an answer. I rushed after her and had a sensation I would need all of my physical condition to keep up with this driven girl today. We were primarily descending and descending granite stairways, all the way down to the old centre of Genoa and its narrow streets.
After an hour of sightseeing, eating ice creams and trying an aperitif called “Crodino”, Catharina knocked on a large door from an old building, and after a few moments it swung open, to reveal a small boy holding hands with a tiny girl in diapers, holding a rag doll. Catharina greeted the kids warmly and kissed the little girl before climbing the staircase to the top floor.
A large figure, by the name of Felipe watched us climbing the staircase, swaying slightly, seemingly under the influence of some substance… Catharina smiled at him, and by the looks of it, tried to cheer him up, but Felipe started to cry in a melodramatic way. Now that my eyes grew accustomed to the semi-dark, I was able to see Felipe’s grotesque features. He looked like an over-the-top transvestite. “What’s the matter, Catia”? I asked. She told me to be patient and look for a kettle to put on water for tea, while she continued her conversation with Felipe. After a while when she joined me in the kitchen she whispered to me that Felipe had had a sex change operation a year ago, but now fell in love with a girl, and was so frustrated he could not penetrate her that he saw no way to lead a normal life ever again…
Felipe, drying his tears with a perfumed handkerchief, joined us in the kitchen and sat down at the head of the table. “So how’s Paulo?” she asked Felipe. (Only later I was to find out that “Paulo” appeared to be the John Paul Getty III, who was abducted in 1971 and held for five months. The kidnappers cut off the teenager’s ear and sent it to the family, after which his grandfather, the billionaire J. Paul Getty, agreed to pay a reported $3.4 million ransom. John Paul Getty III had a stroke a year later that left him a paraplegic and practically blind.) According to Felipe, Paolo had confided in him and had revealed a plan for an ingenious intrigue in Italian politics.
Of course I had no idea what they were talking about, and my eyes drifted around the kitchen, until I saw this picture of a handsome boy who was leaning against a pillar in some antique gallery, standing against a ceramic plaque in the cupboard. Felipe followed my gaze and said, with a perceptible waver in his voice: “Yes, sweetheart, that’s Paolo in his good days, without a worry in the world” And tears welled up again in his eyes.
Back at Catharina’s place that evening, at the kitchen table, Ronald told me he thought it best if he was to continue his vacation trip by himself, as he understood that I wanted to spend more time in Genoa with Catharina and her family. I started to protest feebly, but he was adamant in his decision, and in the end we agreed he would leave the next morning.
Part three
Ronald told me he planned to travel to Nice on the French Riviera, and we hugged and said goodbye at the elevator of Catharina’s place. At ten in the morning the apartment was already filling up with a most curious mix of people, all friends of Catharina, and all seemingly happy and excited to see her and meet her foreign friend. Of course we were all seated around the kitchen table come noon, and eating pasta and fish, prepared in mouthwatering Sicilian style, while wine flowed lavishly.
Catia suggested that morning we could travel to the isle of Elba, and continue our holidays there. Giorgio, one of her friends, offered to take us to the entrance of the highway in his Fiat 500. From there on we would continue to hitchhike to Piombino, where we could take the boat to Elba. Because of all the wine we felt like taking a nap before leaving, and of course started out too late in the afternoon, but with the confidence of youth, we were sure we would be all right.
A young, flamboyant guy, by the name of Giovanni, stopped for us in his Beach Buggy, and gave us a lift. Giovanni was showing off his skills as a driver and, being a good Italian, honked his multi-tone horn frequently at passing girls. While crossing the centre of Sienna, he actually got pulled over and fined by the police for using this apparently illegal type of horn. As evening was setting in, Giovanni suggested we would spend the night on his yacht at the local Marina. Of course we were happy to accept, it sounded too good to be true.
Giovanni installed us on his yacht and told us he had to run some errands, but would join us around midnight, he said he intended to bring his girlfriend along as well. Having unpacked we wandered around the harbor, looking for a bite to eat. Arriving at the only trattoria open at that time of night, we went in and asked if it’s not too late to have meal. The owner, an old man with a limp, smiled as he saw us coming in. “There’s not much I can offer you, but if you like I could make you a snappy Aglio-Olio!” In response to my frown, Catherina told me that this spaghetti is made exclusively with garlic, olive oil and dry red pepper; I started to object, saying I couldn’t imagine that would be a tasty dish!
The owner, having overheard my doubts, intervened in a polite way, holding up his hand as a stop sign. “Come now my dear girl,” he spoke in perfect but accented English, “Don’t knock it till you try it!” He told us that, even though “Aglio, Olio & Peperoncino” started out as a poor man’s dish, eaten under bridges where the more unfortunate of contemporary society might reside, it most certainly is a dish that deserves its status in Italian Cuisine, and when prepared by a good cook, a delicacy within its own right.
“Please have a seat, young ladies” He said, walking away without waiting for our reaction to this gastronomically educational intermezzo, and pointed to one of the three tables in the establishment, featuring a large crystal ashtray with a prominent number 13* engraved on its side.
(to be continued in: The Corsicans – part one)
*13: The symbolic meaning of number thirteen receives a shady interpretation in Norse myth, when an honorary banquet was held in Valhalla for Baldur (god of nobility, redemption and admirable strength) among other twelve Norse gods. Loki (the trickster) came to the banquet as the uninvited thirteenth guest. Afterwards, we learn Baldur was slain by Höðr who, to execute the god, was given a magic spear by Loki.
Similarly, the darker symbolism of thirteen continues in its Christian association with the Last Supper. Twelve disciples and the Christ, formed a group of thirteen to share the last meal. Here, thirteen is seen as a foreboding omen as we learn of Christ’s fate after the gathering.
In the same vein, Friday the thirteenth is commonly reviled as it was said the Last Supper in the upper room took place on a Friday. Further, Friday 13th in 1307 was the date on which the assembly of the Knights Templar were systematically assasinated.
For those who prepare this dish for the first time: Pay close attention to every detail in this recipe, and don’t be deceived by its apparent simplicity! This is my recipe for 5 persons:
Spaghetti
al Aglio, Olio & Peperoncino
Ingredients:
• good virgin olive oil, 5-6 good glugs
• 1 head of garlic (or less for the faint of heart), sliced transparently thin
• 1 fresh chilli seeded and chopped
• 1 fresh flat leaf parsley sprig chopped (optional)
• packet of spaghetti (preferably De Cecco)
• salt
• parmesan cheese
Preparation:
• bring a pot of salted water to the boil
• cover the base of a frying pan with a third of the oil and heat
• add the garlic and chilli and cook until the garlic is starting to colour
• remove from the heat and add the parsley
• cook the spaghetti until al dente and drain
• mix the spaghetti with the sauce
• add the rest of the crude oil and serve with loads of grated parmesan on top!
Buon appetito!
