Page 21 of The Girl from Sicily

21

LUCIA, JANUARY 1944

Anticipation tightened in Lucia’s chest as she swept the courtyard. Gero was coming home later today, and she wanted everything to be perfect. It had been three months since their wedding, and so much had happened during that time. Italy had finally declared war on Germany, thereby becoming a co-belligerent with the Allies. From now onwards, military government would be restricted to the combat zone, and a control commission would supervise the Italian administration elsewhere. Gero had been needed in Palermo to assist with the start of the transition process and had relinquished responsibility for local affairs to don Nofriu, the mayor of Villaurora.

Dust stung Lucia’s eyes, along with sadness. When he wasn’t with her, she missed Gero with an intensity that had surprised her at first. But when he’d suggested that she might like to live in Palermo with him, she’d baulked at the idea. The Allies had bombed the city to bits prior to the Americans’ arrival, and she had no friends nor relations there. At least in the village, she had her family. Life was better now, and the freedom that came with her new status as a married woman, with no longer needing to be chaperoned in public, had made her feel better about herself.

Her body tingled as her mind filled with images of her husband. He’d been so patient with her in the bedroom. She loved being kissed by him; she loved it when he held her close; she loved the sensation of his warm lips on hers. Recently, their kisses had become more passionate, and she’d open her mouth so their tongues could dance and light a fire that made her burn for him. Was she ready for physical love? For them to become one? She almost thought she was…

She remembered Christmas. Gero had showered her with gifts of nylon stockings, candies and scented soaps, not to mention providing all the ingredients for her to make a traditional feast for the family. She’d prepared homemade ravioli, stuffed with ricotta cheese, followed by roast pork with potatoes and artichokes. For dessert, she’d made Sicilian almond cookies. But the entire day had been spoiled by Dinu.

When Ma, Pa and Annita arrived for the meal Lucia had made, they told her everything that had happened after Pa had got home from mass. The carabinieri searched the house and discovered nothing. They threatened Lucia’s father with summary arrest if Dinu’s hiding place wasn’t revealed, but Pa had refused. Ma spent the entire lunch weeping, Pa couldn’t stop berating Cardona for his actions, and Annita said she’d lost her appetite.

A couple of days later, Gero informed Lucia about her brother’s success in springing Francu from the jail, and that Francu hadn’t come out alone, but with ten others. Dinu and Francu had now formed a band of thugs up in the mountains – they’d truly become outlaws.

Her belly twisting with worry for her brother, Lucia carried on sweeping until the courtyard was spotless, then went indoors to the kitchen. It was a big step up from her family home down in Villaurora. There was running water, pumped from a well behind the house, a wood-burning stove provided warmth to the interconnecting rooms in the chill of winter, and she’d polished the red-brick floors until her face practically shone in them. There was also a telephone – the height of luxury – but an absolute necessity for Gero to keep in touch with his office when he came to visit.

Lucia wasn’t complacent, however. With her father’s help, she’d already started digging the soil to prepare for spring sowing. The baglio had once been the home of a family of tenant farmers who’d worked the land on behalf of don Nofriu. When their son had died fighting in Russia for Mussolini and Hitler, they’d lost the will to carry on and had moved to live with relatives in Agrigento.

After checking the canazzu she was cooking for the evening meal – a vegetable side dish of potatoes, aubergines, tomatoes and bell peppers she would serve with involtini as the main course – Lucia went to wash and then change into clean clothes. Gero had phoned yesterday to say he’d invited don Nofriu and an associate of his for dinner. Lucia’s chest squeezed with trepidation and she prayed her culinary skills would be up to the mark.

* * *

‘My compliments on a fine dinner, Lucia,’ don Nofriu said after she’d poured him a glass of homemade ammazzacaffè bitter digestive liqueur.

She took her seat next to him on the wooden chair, its seat made of woven straw, and smiled. Everything had gone well, despite her reticence at being sat with Gaetano Sacca, the son of Aurelio Sacca di Melita – the new mayor of Palermo. Gaetano was running the latifondo estate on behalf of his father and was a leading member of the Sicilian Separatists – a movement which had existed for about eighty years, since the unification of Italy, apparently, with the aim of splitting the region from its Italian masters.

Gero had explained to her earlier, before their guests had arrived, that in the early days after the Allied landings last July, the American Special Services had done everything they could to foster the organisation. Now, however, the Allies could no longer sponsor the movement; they couldn’t incite civil war in the territory of a co-belligerent.

‘If that’s the case, why are you meeting with Gaetano Sacca, Gero?’ Lucia had asked.

‘So that I can pretend support, when what I’m really doing is gathering intelligence.’

From what Lucia knew, Rome governments had treated Sicily as a poor colony from the outset, imposing high taxes and draining her of her resources. None of the money that was taken from the island had ever been reinvested in it. She welcomed the idea of Sicilian independence, she’d realised out of the blue.

‘You shouldn’t spy on a fellow Sicilian, Gero,’ she’d said. ‘Promise me you won’t!’

‘We’ll talk about it after the dinner, my love,’ he’d responded.

Conversation around the table now focused on how a Separatist army would fight for an independent country, either as part of a future United States of Europe, or with permanent independence guaranteed by America and Britain.

‘Our worst enemies are communism, monarchism and clericalism.’ Gaetano fixed his gaze on Lucia. ‘Would you be able to help in the distribution of our leaflets to discourage people from following those politics?’

‘I’d love to.’ She swallowed hard, truly surprised.

Lucia had been brought up firmly anti-communist; the king of Italy had been born into the aristocratic house of Savoy in Piedmont, which was at the opposite end of the country and as removed from Sicilian affairs as it could be. As for clericalism, she believed that the Church had no business meddling in politics.

‘Here, have this.’ Don Nofriu took a small ceramic figure from the bag he’d left by his feet. ‘It’s the emblem of Sicily.’

Lucia stared at the turquoise sculpture. Three human legs had been arranged around the head of a medusa in a shape that reminded her of a swastika. She found it both beautiful and repulsive at the same time.

‘Thank you,’ she said, taking it from the godfather.

Before the men left, they taught Lucia the movement’s secret sign.

‘It’s like the British V for victory, but with three fingers extended instead of two,’ Gaetano said.

‘To represent the three joined legs?’ Lucia asked.

‘ Esattamente .’ Gaetano smiled. ‘We’ll reconvene here next month, all going according to plan.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Lucia returned his smile.

* * *

‘I’m proud of you, tisoru ,’ Gero said as he helped Lucia clear the dishes – something neither her father nor her brother had ever done at home. ‘You cooked us a delicious meal and held your own with don Nofriu. But be careful of that man. He’s only a Separatist for one reason, and that is because he thinks it will benefit him.’

‘Thanks for the warning, Gero,’ she said, keeping to herself that she didn’t need cautioning. She’d been wary of the godfather for years.

‘You can never be too careful with the Friends of the Friends,’ Gero said. ‘For the last hundred years, like thousands of spiders, they’ve spun a gigantic web over all of life in Sicily. Don Nofriu now stands in the centre of that web.’

‘I’ll take care,’ she said. ‘Cosa Nostra sickens me too much to do otherwise.’

‘Brava.’ Good girl.

Gero went to his briefcase, which he’d left by their bedroom door. He withdrew a sheaf of documents.

‘These are the deeds to the baglio. Before I return to the city, I’d like your signature on them.’

‘Of course, but why?’ Lucia ran a hand through her hair.

‘I want to transfer the property to you.’ He handed her the papers and a pen. ‘The Palermo office looks as if it will only run on a skeleton staff once the transition to the local authority is complete. I could be sent to the mainland, and I’d like to leave you with some security.’

‘You’re so good to me, Gero. I don’t deserve you.’ Sudden tears welled up in her eyes.

‘Don’t cry, sweetheart.’ He brushed her tears away and kissed her on the nose. ‘You’re worth everything I can do for you, and more.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, sniffing back a sob.

‘Sign and then we’ll get ready for bed.’ He lifted her wrist, kissed it.

She did as he asked, and he put the documents back in his bag.

‘I’ll get it all notarised when I’m back in Palermo, tisoru . Now, let’s go to bed.’

* * *

In their room, they undressed quickly in the cold night air. Lucia placed the three-legged ceramic figure on her bedside table, got into bed, and turned to face Gero. She trailed her fingers down his cheek to his lips.

He kissed her palm and pressed his body against hers. She felt his desire and, for the first time, returned the gesture, pressing herself into him and relishing the look of longing in his eyes. She loved him, she realised. He’d come to mean everything to her.

‘I want you to make love to me, Gero,’ she said. ‘I’m ready now.’

‘Are you sure, amuri ?’ He sounded surprised.

‘I’ve never been surer of anything.’

Then his lips were on hers, and she opened her mouth to him before he kissed his way down her body until he arrived at her most intimate part. He pressed kisses there, ran his tongue over her nightdress, creating a hot wetness that sent tingles to her core.

‘Oh, Gero,’ Lucia sighed.

‘You’re so beautiful, bedda. ’ He lifted off her nightgown and gazed at her, his dark eyes glowing. ‘I love you so much.’

She luxuriated in his gaze. ‘I love you too, Gero. Ti vogghiu beni. ’

‘I’ve waited so long to hear you say that, Lucia,’ he said.

He took off his pyjamas and held her in his arms, skin against skin, kissing her passionately. Lucia moaned, losing herself to the pleasure as his mouth explored her breasts. She couldn’t think of anything but him. Her one and only love. Her thighs fell open for him, and he covered her with his magnificent body.

She threaded her fingers into his thick dark hair, and he kissed her, his tongue caressing hers with such love it brought a lump to her throat. At the moment he rocked into her, he was so gentle she barely felt any pain. Exquisite sensation filled her body.

Afterwards, Gero stroked her hair and held her tight. He looked deep into her eyes, repeated how much he loved her, and she told him again that she loved him in return. Gero completed her, she realised. A much brighter future beckoned with him by her side.

He fell asleep within minutes. But Lucia lay awake, gazing at the three-legged figurine. In the morning, she would beg Gero not to report on the Separatists to his superiors. He was Sicilian by heritage, and his loyalty should be with Sicily, like hers. Then, closing her eyes, she said her prayers in her head, praying for Dinu’s safety like she always did before dropping off.