ONLINE WRITING MAGAZINE-GET READ-GET PUBLISHED-WRITING CONTESTS-BOOK PROMOTION-REVIEWS-INTERVIEWS-STORY AND ARTICLE SUBMISSION-ANGELICA PASTORELLI

Chapter One – The Genovese Connection
Chapter Two – Latin Dreams

Part one
Back at the yacht around midnight, we were sitting on the upper deck when Giovanni returned smiling from ear to ear, in the company of his French girlfriend Giselle.

After being introduced, Giselle immediately started to grumble about the discernible smell of garlic on our breath. At first nobody was paying attention to her complaints, but she kept on going about garlic being the food of the lower classes, and about the superiority of the French cuisine. Giovanni ignored the outburst of his girlfriend by looking sheepishly around the Marina. I took an instant dislike to her and decided I was going to ignore her for the remainder of the evening.

Surprisingly, Catharina countered Giselle’s ranting by explaining patiently, but not mistakenly, that the French were largely ignorant of the finer cuisine, before the Italian Catharina de Medici arrived in France in the 1540’s to become the bride of the future King Henry II. After this unanticipated clarification, she put her feet up on the yacht’s railing and lit a cigarette. Giselle looked at Giovanni for some kind of support, but he was ostensibly absorbed in opening a bottle of red wine.

Giovanni told us they would be travelling to Rome the next day and invited us to come along. Nervously I tried to find Catharina’s eyes, as I could already imagine the conflicts with Giselle all the way up there. Catharina spoke for the both of us, thanking him with a broad smile on her face but declining his offer. ‘We made plans to go to the Isle of Elba’ she spoke softly but unequivocally.

The heat and the wine made my eyelids heavy, so I decided to have a shower before turning in. The tepid water felt so good and in my mind I was reviewing the events of the last few days. Suddenly I felt a soapy sponge on my back, and I looked over my shoulder to see Catharina’s eyes on my butt and then slowly looking up into my eyes. ‘Bel culo’ (nice ass), she said, as she continued to sponge my back. Then something inside of me made me turn around…

Part two
Catharina looked serene the next morning as we set out to travel. Nothing in her composure revealed anything about the sensual intermezzo of the night before. We took an early train, and with un-Italian timeliness we left the station without delay, following the coastal track for Piombino, where we planned to take the ferry to Elba.

Apart from a somewhat tormented looking old lady, wearing spectacles with one black lens, there was no one else in our train compartment. It was only after Catharina offered her one of our home-made sandwiches that she felt confident enough to start talking to us. She turned out to be an Italian-American lady, on her way back to the US from a visit to her sister in Pisa.

We made some light conversation, told her about our travel plans, and asked her how her stay in Italy had been so far. Instantly the tormented look came back to her face while she clearly suppressed her tears. We asked if there was anything we could possibly do to help her, because she was obviously in some dramatic predicament.

After a while, she perceptibly gained sufficient trust to confide in us that her sister was kept against her will in a convent near Pisa. Her account of the interview she had with the Reverend Mother in charge of the convent was a thoroughly upsetting one. It appeared that she had planned to stay for a week in the convent with her beloved sister, but after pleading with the Reverend Mother to be able to see her sister, she was completely intimidated by this persons’ harsh and insolent ways. She was told that her sister had only barely recovered from a mental breakdown, and on medical grounds her request to see her was rejected.

So finally her hopes to be able to see her sister had evaporated and reduced her to this deplorable mental state. ‘They wouldn’t let me talk to her, not even for 5 minutes!’ she sobbed.

1947
The first thing eleven year old Brunella Colonna felt while waking up was the soft small hand of her sister Lauredana stroking her cheek, followed by the taste of blood in her mouth and the smell of fire and gunpowder that filled her lungs. The pain on the left side of her head was excruciating, and unsteadily she noticed she was unable to open her left eye.

The raid on their family estate had left it in ruins. Slowly and painfully, the mist that filled her head regarding the events preceding her injuries started to lift. She remembered a party of men entering the family mansion, while blasting double barrel rifles, killing her family and other members of the household and consequently being hit by a blunt instrument after which everything went black. She was probably left for dead as their assailants continued their rampage on the rest of the estate.

‘Can’t you get up, Bruna?’ her sister Lauredana asked in a panicky voice. ‘We must leave here, the house is on fire, we could burn alive!’

Brunella found herself unable to get up, and after some futile tries, her sister decided to drag her out of what remained of the mansion’s south wing, pulling the carpet on which she laid, with all her strength, into the adjoining garden…

Part three
The old lady looked worn out and exhausted but her tears had dried up and she had regained her composure. I could see that her face had certain, distinct aristocratic features that I hadn’t noticed before, and she suddenly looked less frail and old to me than when we met an hour ago. Involuntarily I had to think of Catharina’s remarks directed at Giselle the night before about Catharina de Medici. And even though I had never seen a portrait of her, I could clearly imagine that this woman might resemble her.

Catharina suggested we could go and visit the convent where her sister resides on our own behalf. This way we could at least call her afterwards and give her our notion of the state of affairs concerning her sister. ‘If we too get the impression something is wrong there, I will ask my uncle Salvatore, who lives in Florence, to look into this affair. He owns a regional garbage collection and incineration company, and has some influence over local authorities…, besides being a wonderful person, he is my late father’s brother,’ she added with a giggle. The old lady’s face twitched briefly, as she considered Catharina’s words, but somehow it looked as if it gave her renewed confidence, and she gladly accepted her offer.

After exchanging contact information and courtesies, we got off the train in Livorno, and bade the old lady goodbye. She said she would be in Rome for another few days, in order to arrange for an earlier flight back to Chicago. It was during our goodbye that we actually introduced ourselves formally. The old lady said ‘Oh, please don’t call me Signora Colonna, my name is Brunella.’

We waved while she stood at the window in her compartment, smiling at us faintly as the train left for Rome, and slowly gained speed. I looked at the hand written scrap of paper she gave us with the address of the convent and the name of her sister, Lauredana Colonna. ‘Sounds like a Corsican name,’ Catharina said. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but this whole affair made me hungry, and as I was talking about my uncle Salvatore, I remembered he once took us to a Restaurant here in Livorno that was really marvelous!’ ‘And if my memory serves me well, it’s Corsican too. So much for coincidence’, she said smiling at me’

Brunella could barely feel how two strong arms picked her up as if she was weightless, before passing out again. When she woke up she found herself in a semi dark room, between clean white sheets. The physician hovering over her, just finished his examination. He turned around and spoke in a low voice to the other persons in the room, who later turned out to be the estate’s gardener and his wife. Brunella could make out only fragments of the conversation that took place… ‘Internal hemorrhaging… save the right eye… extreme trauma… don’t know if she’ll…..’

Then she heard her sister’s soft voice close to her ear: ‘You’re gonna be fine Bruna, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.’ The drugs that were administered kicked in, and Brunella fell into a dreamless sleep.

Part four
It was almost eight o’clock in the evening when we arrived at the Corsican restaurant. We were ushered to a private corner and the waiter brought us “bruschette” with fresh tomato paste and garlic. Apparently the restaurant decided what their clients were going to eat, as nobody seemed to be able to order anything. Patiently waiting for what was being prepared for us, we discussed our strategy for the visit to the convent the next day.

I asked Catharina if she was convinced that the lady on the train had given us an accurate account of the situation of her sister in the convent. She smiled and softly stroke my cheek; ‘her story seemed genuine enough, although her distraught state could render things somewhat out of proportion. But yes, it looks like something is at least slightly out of the ordinary there, and I have a feeling we might be in for a surprise tomorrow,’ she spoke softly.

In an instant our table was filled with seafood by several waiters and as I had little or no experience with these delicacies, Catharina was showing me how to crush the paws of the crab in order to extrude the meat, forking the sea-snails and dipping them in vinaigrette sauce. ‘Hmmm, I could certainly get used to this’ I mumbled with my mouth full.

When we were through the first course, a fierce looking chef presented himself at our table. He addressed Catherina bowing politely: ‘buona sera signorina Catharina, what an gargantuan pleasure to have you here in my most humble kitchen, Salvatore’s niece, no less!’ he spoke in his deep baritone voice. While Catharina introduced us and he continued to spread his Latin charm, it became clear to me that Uncle Salvatore was evidently someone to be reckoned with…

‘I will bring you and your lovely friend, my most special dish: “La Soupe Paysanne” or Corsican Country Soup, which is a main course in my ristaurante, and with which I won 3* national competitions already!’

(to be continued in Chapter Four – The Bishop)

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