Page 55 of Just for a Taste

D octor Cora Bowling expected the Abbazia di Santa Dymphna to look the same as when she had inherited it so many years ago. The idea that, like her, the abbey would age, had somehow never struck her.

Even before she reached the apex of the hill, the discrepancy between her expectations and the reality of the abbey was undeniable. The olive trees, so ancient and gnarled she had thought it impossible for them to grow any larger, had done just that. Serpentine roots had unfurled through the maze of tiles, now cracked and overgrown with encroaching wild grasses. The statues and architecture had been overtaken by vines and moss and ivy. More so than even in Puglia, the air had a distinct, dusty odor to it, and the sisters got the sense that the main building itself had remained untouched by the elements by the same magic that had allowed it to survive the earthquake so many decades ago.

Not that it was in prime condition, of course. Dead branches and small animals alike had found ways to nestle in its dusty crevices, some of the facades had smoothed with time, and even a few nonessential bricks had toppled out of place. All in all, however, the skeleton of the looming building was an unchanged artifact.

A gust of icy wind sent a wave of freshly fallen leaves spiraling toward them, and as if to beckon them from afar, the rusted main gate to the abbey creaked open noisily.

With her long dress billowing around her, Opaline pulled her tan cardigan more tightly across her slender frame, trapping several russet locks of hair. Already in front of her sister, Opaline’s pace quickened even more, as she felt strangely compelled by the imagined gesture.

“Slow down, Peachy!” Cora yelled. “I’m not in as good of shape as I used to be.”

Opaline slowed her speed and tried not to turn and look back at her sister. Cora hadn’t cried very many times in front of Opaline since they started speaking again, but the mere mention of this place always seemed to make her eyes glaze over. Opaline knew the ragged breaths of her sister behind her were not because of physical strain, but she wanted to grant Cora the excuse.

Opaline couldn’t help but wonder at the significance of the items her sister was carrying. Such disparate things could only have one unifying factor: a person she knew little about. Cora had told her so much about the abbey itself, about its gorgeous architecture, its curious history, and the hill beside the graveyard, but only in the sense of the historian she had come to be. The name Zeno had slipped out of Cora’s mouth by accident once or twice, and an immediate change in topic always followed. But these objects, so light they had to be carried in a box for fear of being blown away by the slightest gust, were some of the heaviest things the doctor had ever held.

The two finally reached the entrance, and only once tucked into its mouth did Cora realize the abbey would be locked. She juggled the box from arm to arm to dig into her pockets, cursing to herself all the while at the clumsiness of the movements. In most circumstances, Opaline would have waited for her sister to remember that it was she who had the key and take full advantage of the opportunity to tease Cora back for once. Today, though, she opted to pull the freshly copied skeleton key out from her pocket and show it to her sister before unlocking the door herself.

The key fought with Opaline, and it took a few deft movements to maneuver the old lock into submission. After a soft click, the door opened on its own accord, far too quickly.

The hallway, which utterly engulfed any shred of daylight, illuminated itself. Row by row, the sconces flickered on, casting the vacant room with a low, amberish hue. With chills running down her spine, Opaline glanced back at her sister, half expecting her to be terrified, half expecting her to mutter some excuse about how the building’s foundation must have shifted. What Cora actually did was entirely outside of Opaline’s imagination.

She brightened, even laughed as if seeing an old friend, and stepped inside slowly.

“Sorry, Peachy,” Cora said over her shoulder. “I forgot to warn you that this place has a tendency to show you ghosts.”

The younger sister quickly vanished further into the hallway, hugging the box tighter than before. Opaline peered back outside at the bright, sunny Sicilian landscape, and then back into the belly of the beast. Opaline could not deny the abbey was beautiful, despite the decrepit state of its exterior. It was as though the baroque room had been factory sealed centuries ago, with ornate marble flooring and a celestial fresco of a cloudy day overhead, joined by sinuous columns that also acted as frames for the murals painted across the walls.

Red, velvet curtains marked every open entrance. Portraits and sculpted busts alike stared at her expectantly, so lifelike it seemed like they would scold her for leaving the door open. Opaline wanted to say something to Cora, but instead she sucked in her breath and kept her eyes to the ground. She didn’t know why her sister had brought her along, and she didn’t know what was the right or wrong thing to say.

Silence, Ma had always told her, was a lot easier to apologize for than misplaced words.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Cora said in front of her. “I don’t think a more beautiful place exists in this world, and I’ve looked for a long time, Peachy.”

Opaline couldn’t argue with her sister if she wanted to. Cora led the pair into a smaller, plainer hallway that was more functional than decorative.

“I’ve always preferred this portion, though. It feels more like home.”

“What are we doing here, Birdie?” Opaline finally mustered the nerve to ask, following her sister into what seemed like the umpteenth corridor.

Finally, with a small, strange smile gracing her lips, Cora turned to face her sister. “I’d like to show you around my home.”

That didn’t answer Opaline’s question fully; instead, it raised even more. How long had her sister lived here, and under what circumstances? If Cora had inherited such riches, why did she insist on hopping from apartment to apartment in London and Partanna, even crashing with her for weeks at a time at their childhood home in Red Creek? And why hadn’t she been told anything of its former owner?

Yet the housewife didn’t have it in her to press any further. She simply followed her sister and wondered at Cora’s beaming face.

After setting down the box on a side table, Cora turned into a small room, one that was plain compared to every other place they had traveled. There were no true decorations, just barren stone walls and floors and ceilings, all lit by a window so small, it looked like a porthole. Undecorated shelves were crammed across every wall, stuffed to the brim with old books and files, and a plain wooden desk and chair. Covering it all was a thick layer of dust, much of which stirred at their entrance.

The sisters sneezed in rapid succession, and Cora burst into laughter. “I didn’t think this place could get any dustier! I should have brought a shovel!”

Opaline pulled her cardigan over her mouth and nose as her sister ventured in further.

“This is the little library. We won’t stay here long. After all, I’ve studied every document in here back and forth! Most of my ideas for my thesis came from this room.” Suddenly, Cora grabbed Opaline’s hand and grinned broadly. “Are you ready, Peachy?”

“I—” Before Opaline could respond, her sister broke into a run, dragging her along effortlessly, although Opaline towered over Cora. “Hold on!” Opaline giggled, barely able to move her legs fast enough.

Cora stopped in front of two large doors, and Opaline nearly crashed into her. They were visibly heavy, and Cora had to lean into them to make them budge. Finally, just as Opaline had decided to help Cora, they gave.

Opaline was already a little out of breath, but what little breath remained was stolen from her in an instant. Realizing her sister was too stunned to walk, Cora dragged her in behind her.

Though not much of a reader herself, Opaline could still certainly empathize with the utter rapture possessing her sister. The library itself was two stories tall, the room larger than the largest church Opaline had ever been in. Shelves upon shelves of gorgeous leather-bound books, perfectly organized, were illuminated by the largest chandelier she had ever seen. Vases and bronze busts had been placed in every corner in such a manner that they were still easy to navigate around, forming a clear path that reminded her of the museum she had seen on a field trip. Even the floor beneath her feet, every stone carefully carved with patterns so delicate she was horrified at stepping onto them, was its own work of art.

Cora picked up a jog once more, and instead of one of the hundreds of gold-leaf books, she sought something entirely different: a spiral-bound binder, utterly innocuous other than how tightly it was stuffed.

“My reading list, past and future,” Cora said to her sister with a smile, flipping through both the front and back of it. Then, mostly to herself: “I wonder if I’ll feel differently about Il Canzoniere after so long.” Despite its size, Cora managed to put the binder down gingerly. “All right,” she said. “I guess it’s time.”

The room between the little library and the main library was a bedroom that balanced utility and beauty to be luxurious, but the two only lingered for a minute. Compared to the jovial air the dusty room had conjured between them, and the elated tone of the main library, a somber miasma permeated within this room. Though it was stately, what with its velveteen, king-sized bed, mahogany furniture, and Tiffany glass lamps, something about this room was clearly lived in.

Cora trembled as she neared the bed, her hand visibly wavering on its path to the mattress. Her fingers barely touched a faint outline.

“I wonder if this was the room they found his body in,” Cora whispered shakily. “I never asked Doctor Ntumba. I never went to the trial.”

Another name Opaline had heard occasionally but seen on a few letters addressed to her sister. As far as she knew, Cora had only written back to the penitentiary once.

Cora spoke, hands still caressing the indent, back turned to Opaline.

“It’s been fifteen years since I’ve been here, Peachy. In those fifteen years, I’ve done everything I’ve ever dreamed of and become the person I’ve always wanted to be. And yet through it all, I’ve felt . . . nothing.”

For a long time, Cora’s eyes lingered on the floor. When she finally met Opaline’s again, they were brimming with tears. “When I inherited this place, I told myself that if my feelings had changed, I’d donate it to some historical society in a heartbeat. But if my soul still felt as empty as the day I closed that door, I’d return and care for it for the rest of my life. Here we are.”

“Oh, Birdie.” For the first time since they had reunited, Opaline embraced her sister just like she did when they were children. And Cora sobbed just as she did as a child, and Opaline rubbed her arm.

“I’m sorry,” Cora said, half laughing and half crying after a few minutes. “I didn’t mean to make this awkward.”

Opaline gave her a squeeze and stepped back. “It’s like I used to tell you. Having feelings isn’t something to apologize for.”

Once more, Cora let out her half laugh and wiped away a tear. “You’re right. That’s all I have left, isn’t it?” Then, resuming that serious tone, she placed a hand on Opaline’s shoulder and said, “Sorry, but I have to visit this last room alone.”

“I understand,” Opaline replied. “Do you want me to wait for you?”

Cora shook her head. “You don’t have to wait for me. Do you remember the way back?”

“To the car, you mean?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “In Poggioreale?”

“No, you can go all the way back to Lucia’s place. I’m . . . going to be a bit.”

Despite her internal protests, Opaline didn’t argue with Cora. She gave Cora an understanding nod and departed after giving her sister’s hand a single squeeze.

Cora stayed in the room for several minutes longer, finding several trinkets left untouched. Her beaded bracelet, she discovered, fit her perfectly still. She was so lost in her thoughts, so lost in memories, that it took her a long time to hear the music. It was suspended in the air around her, and its origin was impossible to ascertain. At first, Cora assumed it was being played from her old record player in the bathroom, but soon she noticed that the keystrokes vibrated in the air in the way that only a live piano could produce.

“I see,” she whispered with a smile. “So this isn’t the room you died in.”

Her limbs feeling heavier than ever, Cora retrieved the box and hugged it tightly to herself. She considered going back, saving herself from more tears, and never coming back to this painful place. It was gorgeous outside, beautiful and bright and simple. But the idea vanished the second she recognized the song: Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini , Opus 43, Variation 18.

Zeno’s room was unchanged. More than the rest of the house, it was exactly as she remembered it. The scent of his cologne, woody and musty, still lingered as if he had sprayed it that morning. The scarce light of an already lit candle played across the furniture in the dramatic lighting she had painted so many times, shining through a wineglass that still bore the imprint of his lips. The song Leonore sang for her departed mate had long faded away, leaving Cora in a peaceful silence as she ducked into the innermost sanctum. The curtain ran across the nape of her neck as she entered like a gentle caress.

Cora moved aside sheet music and set the box on his desk, opening it carefully. One by one, she retrieved its contents and placed them on top of his piano.

Dried rose petals, a page of sheet music from Liebestraum No. 3, an old copy of the Aeneid , and a single dove feather.

“I told you the truth, Zeno. I told you the truth when I said I’d always be yours. Forever, not just for a taste.”