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With Eyes Like the Sea

January 6, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Palm Tree in Palermo

Excerpt from “Falco”

Tuesday, October 23, 1866

As the objects took on familiar shapes, headless bodies became models wearing uniforms or clerical garb. On one wall, shelves held spools of thread, braids, buttons, bric-a-brac. On the opposite wall, rolls of fabric leaned against a tall chest. Serafina walked over to it. She reached out to examine one of the small carvings sitting on top of the chest. Smiling to herself she put it back: Falco’s clay figures.

Baldassare pointed to a dress uniform worn by Joachim Murat, an ostrich-feathered hat sitting on its shoulders. Another mannequin sported a red Garibaldi shirt beneath a leather jerkin. Others were draped in grey or blue homespun—for soldiers in America, Nittù told them. Several figures wore monastic scapulae and hoods. Neat and well-ordered, the room, almost a museum.

Serafina wiped her eyes. Presently she heard footsteps. A door opened and Falco entered, stroking his mustache with a table napkin.

“This woman with eyes like the sea—she investigates the killing of Bella and wants to meet you,” Nittù said.

Filed Under: Characters, dislocation, memory, Palermo Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

What Are You Doing Here?

December 15, 2011 By 1 Comment

Capogallo, Palermo. Photo credit: Dedda71 (Wikipedia Commons)

Excerpt from Part Two of Death of a Serpent

Serafina watched the sun melt the mist. Deserted the shore, as usual, at this hour. She stared out at the Tyrrhenian Sea, telling herself to be watchful. From now on her movements must be deliberate: she had two more days to catch the killer.

For the past several mornings she had combed the beach close to where she found Bella’s reticule. So far the tall grass yielded nothing more than bits of old newspaper and cloth, the shells of sea urchins, the sticky remnants of a spider’s web. Had Bella been killed elsewhere, her purse washed here by chance?

Yesterday she noticed a boulder and some smaller rocks partially covering what looked like an opening in a massive outcrop that stood below the orphanage. She was able to squeeze through the fissure into a small space, but the darkness prevented further exploration.

Before she set out this morning, she shoved her notebook, a lantern, some candles and match sticks inside Giorgio’s old knapsack. She slung the bag over her back and started off on her usual trek down to the lower part of town, determined to uncover as much as she could before leaving for her appointment with the contessa.

Serafina consulted her watch. Seven o’clock, still plenty of time before there’d be others on the shore. She squeezed past the boulder, its sides slick with dew, and stood for a moment. After mopping her brow with a linen, she lit the lantern and peered inside at a long narrow hall of stone leading into blackness. She was interrupted by a voice behind her.

“What are you doing here?”

Filed Under: Characters, dislocation, Palermo, Sicily Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,

That Flat, Dead Landscape Called Grief

November 26, 2011 By 2 Comments

Sicily. Photo credit: dottorpeni (Flickr)

Excerpt from Death of a Serpent, “On the Road to Palermo”

As the carriage picked up speed Serafina’s mind wandered to the days surrounding her mother’s illness, the news of her sister’s and cousins’ deaths on the same day, the family’s helplessness. Caskets lined the piazza, many of them flimsy boxes with ill-fitting lids slapped together. Nobles, merchants, peasants—no class escaped. And after the condolences, the funerals, the prayers in the cemetery came the agony of quarantine.

The memory pitched her once again into that flat, dead landscape Giorgio had called grief.

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Fra Yellow Feet

November 24, 2011 By Leave a Comment

Ceiling, Santa Maria dell'Ammiraglio, Palermo. Photo credit: Allie Caufield (Flickr)

Excerpt from Death of a Serpent, “The Brazen Serpent”

A tall man entered, tonsured and wearing a hooded cassock. He had a large set of rosary beads hanging from his belt. Serafina wondered what possessed some monks to bare their feet. This pair were yellow and blue.

After introductions and a brief explanation of her murder investigation, she asked, “What can you tell me about the symbols on these pages?”

He examined the plates. “The Brazen Serpent. Where did you get these?”

“In the room of a seamstress, one of the victims,” she says.

“Beautiful, this magazine. I’d like to study it some more. May I?”

“Sorry, Father, not mine to lend,” she said, and continued. “Each of the murdered women had a spiral carved into her forehead, not unlike this,” she said, tapping the embroidery detail of a serpent. “The mark was a spiral of some sort, starting from the bridge of the nose winding to the top of the forehead.”

He shrugged. “But the brazen serpent is a symbol of salvation, not of death. In some form it appears in most cultures, representing new life or salvation. Has done, ever since the ancients. Michelangelo painted the brazen serpent saving the Hebrews on his ceiling in the Sistine Chapel.”

In her mind she was with Giorgio on their honeymoon in Rome, what, some nineteen, twenty years ago? He was explaining one of those writhing depictions on the ceiling. Was it the fresco with Moses and his staff? She wished she’d paid more attention, wanted to rest her head on her husband’s shoulder instead of listening to Fra Yellow Feet.

Filed Under: Characters, Churches, history of Sicily, Palermo, Sicily Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

Lola Interrupts

November 23, 2011 By Leave a Comment

Piazza Vigliena (Quattro Canti), Palermo, circa 1900

Excerpt from Death of a Serpent, “Lola Interrupts”

“Gusti said she’d be down in a minute.”

Tall and blonde, the prostitute. She spoke with an accent. “She’s dressing, you know, but perhaps I can help? I’m Lola. Oh, yes, I see. You do look just like Carmela, Gioconda was right, but you’re much taller and, you know, older. If Carmela wants to know how she’s going to look as an . . . older woman, she should look at you.”

“Carmela doesn’t want to look at me, not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”

The prostitute’s smile was warm. Serafina saw why Rosa liked her.

“You knew Carmela?” Serafina asked.

“Not very well. We didn’t talk that much. Liked one another, we did. Bit of a thing, Carmela, but she had her opinions. Not very friendly to me.” The prostitute brushed a curl from her face. “Probably jealous. Most of the girls are when they first meet me. And Carmela wasn’t here all that long. A year, maybe a little longer.”

“But she worked here? Like you? I mean, she wasn’t a maid or a laundress?”

“She worked like me. Not very good at first, but those of us with experience, we helped.”

She retrieved a cigarette holder wedged in her front. From somewhere in her pocket she drew out paper and tobacco and began rolling a weed. “I suppose you want to know about the murders?”

“Not interested in the madam or her murders. I’m a midwife, not a sleuth. But I’d like to know for certain if the person that looks so much like me, according to Gioconda, is my daughter.”

“Well, her name is Carmela, and she was here for a year, maybe more, and she looks exactly like you. Same eyes, a light jade, I’d say. Doesn’t have your wrinkles or crooked nose.”

Filed Under: Characters, Palermo, Sicily Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
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