Page 6 of The Stone Witch of Florence

FIVE

MANO FIGA

1333, City of Genoa

T he next thing Ginevra knew she was waking up on Vermilia’s little cot. The light was fading and she felt sick and thirsty as if she had swallowed seawater. She tried to sit up but her vision shrank to a pinpoint and she froze, midway up, waiting for the blood to come back to her head. Vermilia heard her stirring and came over to the bed.

“Ah! Good. Welcome—here you are again.”

“How...long have I been asleep?”

“Through last night and a whole day besides.”

“What?? My mother—”

“It is well, be calm. I sent word to your parents. They know you are here. Come, now.”

She helped Ginevra prop herself up and handed her a steaming brew of fennel fronds in a wooden beaker.

“Drink this. It will make your mouth feel clean after all the filthy things it said.”

Ginevra clutched her face and groaned.

“It’s alright, dear girl, you are not the first and you shall not be the last to catch the Eye.”

Ginevra looked at her friend’s face, lined all over from the decades of kind smiles and understanding eyebrow raises she gave her clients, free of charge. Her friend who had plucked her from a fish maid’s daily drudgery and shared with her secrets and stories nobody else knew.

“Your ears are not really so hairy,” she offered.

Vermilia laughed. “You know, you were right about that one. I plucked them while you slept.”

“Still, I should not have said it. I will never give another person reason to throw me the Eye. I’ll always be humble, and never care about my clothes and never think badly of anyone.”

“A nice promise, but one impossible to keep even for the worthiest of hearts. For you, it will be even harder. The skills you possess—the Eye covets them. And it will not forget how you punctured it... It will always be looking for you.”

“How do I stop it from finding me, then?” Ginevra said, afraid and exhausted.

“Hush. Breathe deeply of the fennel and I will tell you a story while your head clears.” Ginevra put her face down close to the top of the beaker and sneezed at the spicy steam.

Vermilia began: “In the time of the pagan gods, there was one called Phorcys, who lived in the sea and ruled over the monsters of the deep. Instead of legs, he had two spiny fish tails. Instead of hands, he had two slippery fins. Phorcys had a beautiful daughter called Medusa, whose finest feature was her hair, which she tossed about in everyone’s face, showing it off and always seducing men with it.”

Ginevra touched the spot where her own hair had been pulled out the previous morning and found it still tender. She pushed it harder, accepting the pain as punishment for her vanity.

“Eventually,” continued Vermilia, “she decided she wanted to lie with a god, so she went to Neptune, who was king of the oceans, and showed him her beautiful hair. He desired her so greatly that he took her to the closest place with some privacy, which happened to be a holy temple, and there they enjoyed themselves for many hours. But it was not so private as they thought: the goddess Minerva, who owned the temple, saw them. Minerva was a famous virgin and was furious to see such lewd behavior. So, to ensure Medusa would never again lie with man or god, Minerva changed her wonderful hair into writhing snakes, and made her lovely face as ugly and frightful as any demon from hell you see painted on the ceiling at San Lorenzo. She became so ugly, in fact, that any man who looked at her would turn to stone.”

“And what of Neptune? How was he punished?”

“He was not, because he was also a god, so could do as he wished.”

“That seems dreadfully unfair.”

“I agree. But this is not the point of our story. After Medusa was transformed into the hideous monster, she went and hid in a dark cave at the bottom of a mountain because she could not stand to see herself. Many men tried to kill her, but she turned them all to stone with her gaze. This went on for some time until a half god called Perseus decided to try his luck. He crept into Medusa’s cave while she was sleeping, and carried a shield with him, polished shiny like a mirror. He walked up backward to Medusa and only looked at her reflection in his shield, and this way he was able to cut off her head. This is how the malocchio was born. When Perseus cut off her head, he released her evil gaze out into the world, and that’s why it’s everywhere now. But—he also gave us a way to protect ourselves from it. On his way home, Perseus saw a woman chained up to some rocks in the ocean, about to be gobbled by a sea serpent. He went to rescue her, but to make sure his Medusa head was not ruined, he put it on a bed of soft seaweeds for safekeeping.”

“Did he save the maiden?”

“He did! And they got married. But that is not the point of our story, either. The point is that while Medusa’s head was sitting on the seaweed, blood dripped from its neck and the plants became red and turned to stone. And sea nymphs saw them and were delighted and planted their seeds all over the ocean, and this is how coral was born, from the blood of the Medusa.”

“So, corals are the blood of Medusa?”

“Exactly. And this is why I buy coral from your father and why it helps to keep the Eye away from things it might want to curse, like babies or sailors or successful businessmen. The Eye is drawn to coral, but then cannot stand to see its own blood and ugliness. It flees when confronted with its own reflection.”

“I need to wear a coral now,” said Ginevra, understanding. “I can do that. Lots of people do that. It’s so much easier than never thinking ill of anyone! I’ll fashion it in the shape of a cross, and this way Christ will protect me as well.”

“Ah, Ginevra: the Eye is older even than our God. It’s not intimidated by Christian symbols. The chantings of clergy are not relevant to it. This is why my business is always constant. People become ill, they pray to Saint This or Saint That. But after, they sneak here late at night or early in the morning to make sure the matter is attended to by someone who does not ignore other methods. What I mean to say is, instead of a cross, what you really need is this.” She pulled a small package from the purse on her belt and handed it to Ginevra.

Ginevra untied it carefully and drew out a long black cord. Dangling from the end was a piece of fine coral, red as oxblood, carved into the shape of a tiny hand clenched into a fist. The thumb was shoved between the pointer and middle fingers—it was the mano figa , a notoriously rude gesture representing intercourse, an instigator of tavern brawls for thousands of years. The mano figa hung from the cord so its phallic thumb pointed down into the earth. The wrist was capped with a gilded bezel embellished with symbols Ginevra did not know; shells, nuts, and fruits, delicately traced by some ancient engraver. She held up the strange and wonderful object. It was now quite dark inside Vermilia’s house, but the coral pendant seemed to emit its own light. Ginevra saw each finger was capped with a perfectly carved nail, tiny veins webbed the back of the hand, covered by wrinkles and folds of flesh so exquisitely wrought that it seemed a real living hand and not a carved jewel that swayed, pendulum-like, at the end of its cord.

Vermilia broke the almost-holy silence. “Like I said, the Eye can’t take a joke. Now, when it goes after you, it will instead be drawn to the red of the coral, but once it sees you’ve tricked it into looking at the rude figa , it will be very offended and leave.”

Ginevra was captivated by the pendant’s precise beauty. “Where did you find it?” she asked.

“A goldsmith owed me a favor. I visited him while you were sleeping, and lucky day, this is what he had. A drunk pilgrim pawned it and never returned.”

“This is for me?” Ginevra said, in complete disbelief that someone of her low station might claim such a jewel as their own. “The goldsmith must have owed you a really big favor.”

“Yes, yes he did.” Vermilia beamed. “He lived bloated and puffed up like a toad for two years until I managed to deflate him. Now, put it on and listen to me.” Here, she gripped Ginevra’s face with both of her hands. “This is a true amulet, you can see how it glows—the power is potent. It is stronger than the new corals your father fishes, than anything I can make. It was blessed by spells that are long forgotten, secret words, sacred strokes of the graver’s knife that modern hands cannot imitate. But there are three things you must remember about this amulet. First: while you wear it, you are safe from any mischief the Eye might wish to cause you. It cannot reach you, not even when cast by a jettatore . Second: so long as you wear this, disease cannot enter you. Third and most important: nothing is infallible. Do not attract the ire of men and women—they do not need the Eye to be evil and may harm you the same as they harm anyone else.”

Ginevra nodded solemnly.

“Good. You understand. You will pay attention to it—how its color and its temperature change. When other magic is about, or when it is protecting you from something unseen, like the malocchio or an illness, it will glow hot and red. When there is danger it cannot deflect, it will become pale and cold and you should know to run away. And for all this, you must wear it always, even when you sleep. Now that you pricked the malocchio with your needle, it will be waiting for its chance at revenge. So keep the coral tucked under your clothes, against your skin.”

“Under my clothes, against my skin. Always, always,” she said, still staring, transfixed. She placed it over her neck and realized that her life up to this moment was “before” and now it was “after,” and it could be glorious if only she stayed within the benevolent light of this magnificent jewel.

When Ginevra was fully recovered from the malocchio , she went back to where the girl with the flawed face had been, hoping to make amends. But she was nowhere to be found. She had missed her chance to be kind.