(continued from: “The Bishop – part one“)

We left the “Pensione Mirafiori” immediately after breakfast and got on a bus to Livorno’s Central Station. We figured out the best connection to Lauredana Colonna’s convent and then we were on our way. On the train we sat next to a Calabrese family that was surrounded by kids and a multitude of parcels which were all tied meticulously with pieces of string. The mother was making sandwiches with olives and garlic and rubbed tomatoes. Then, after having provided for the kids, the father held out a sandwich in each hand and offered them to us. There was simply no way we could possibly refuse, and we joined these wonderful people in an unexpected lunch.

Brunella Colonna was looking down the long entrance road towards the country house from the terrace of her temporary lodgings. She rubbed her unseeing eye under the black eye patch she started wearing shortly after having recovered from the wounds that were inflicted upon her during the raid on her family’s mansion, now one year ago.

After the raid, the gardener of the estate contacted the only person in the Colonna family he knew to be alive and trustworthy; Aunt Francesca. As soon as Francesca learned what happened, she took both sisters to the United States and made sure that their safety and the recuperation of Brunella was guaranteed.

Slowly the sisters started to adapt to their new lives and surroundings, while trusted private teachers taught the girls all necessary disciplines and subjects to befit real aristocrats. Still, as their presence was kept as secret as possible, always on the lookout for potential betrayal and afraid to be recognized, they hardly ever got to travel beyond the boundaries of the large estate of Aunt Francesca.

Brunella, who had just become twelve year old, was two years younger than her sister Lauredana, but was in all respects superior and more confident. Of course she would never say or do anything to be condescending or give her sister the feeling of being inferior, but instead made an effort to give the older sister the respect that was expected of her in accordance with her upbringing.

Catharina cursed softly under her breath and asked me for a Tampax. After which she left the train cabin, leaving me in a linguistic vacuum, alone with the Calabresi. Still, gesticulating and feeling an actor in a pantomime, I got by and realized for the first time I started to be educated in Italian culture.

(to be continued)

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