My lips moved with hers, but no sound came out.
What did I want? What did I need? What was I really asking for?
An old romantic poet once told me that we don’t always get what we want, but what we need.
I needed to stop running. To stop hiding. To stop living in fear of hell and to look forward to something much more heavenly. I needed to be safe. To live a life worth living.
I tried to imagine it. This new life my father, mypapà, had arranged for me. What would this new man be like? Would he treat me the same way the bull did? Like nothing but a cow in a pasture?
A tear slipped down mymamma’s cheek. I wiped it before it could turn cold on her warm skin.
I had until October—when our marriage would be finalized—to come to terms with this new arrangement and accept it. I would stand in this church that my family had attended for generations, face the man who accepted the termspapàhad set, and commit my life to a stranger. A man who could be another bull that deserved to be castrated.
Papàtold me that I was hardheaded. That it was better to marry and live rather than to hide and be found and then killed, or worse: to be taken back to New York, never to be heard from again.
Papàwas old school, not unfamiliar with arranged marriages, but I had never wanted that for myself. I wanted the freedom to choose. Under different circumstances,papàwould have wanted that for me, too.
I glanced to the left, at my sister Anna, when she reached out and wove her fingers together with mine. She didn’t open her eyes, but she squeezed, letting me know that she agreed. Sometimes we could read each other’s thoughts, likemammashed the tears that I could not.
My sister’s marriage was not arranged. It was love at first sight. What most parents want for their children—the power to decide.
A woman dragging a little boy with her sat across from us. She took her seat first, him right behind, and then she told him something in a hushed whisper. He bent his head right after.
Accussi normale.So normal.
I found myself watching other people from time to time. Imagining that her life—or his—was much easier than mine. My grip on the rosary grew tighter. Sadness, the cold ache for something better, overwhelmed me and drug my heart deeper into darkness.
I closed my eyes to the overwhelming feeling, letting my mind get lost in the warmth of the amber, before I heard my name.
“Alcina,”mammawhispered.
I opened my eyes to find her waiting for me. My sister stood next to her.
“Time to go,” she said in Sicilian.
I sighed, standing and slipping my rosary into my pocket. I felt darkness pushing in on me as I stepped out of the doors. Night usually sheltered me and allowed me to burn brightly, as if I was a lit flame, but the cold wind struck me, and I flickered against its strength—my light as uncertain as the months to come.
5
Corrado
The paper in my hand had become creased and worn, but I would never forget the writing that inked my memories.
Alcina Maria Parisi
Around 5’5, brown hair, dark brown eyes, 25 years old
Parents—Giuseppe and Angela
Sister— Anna
Anna is married to…?
Alcina was born in Forza d’Agrò on May 8, 1995; her parents still live there
She was baptized at Maria S. Annunziata e Assunta
It seemed like Silvio had scribbled down the information as Junior was telling it to him, probably trying to remember all of the things he knew about his wife and her family. There were no pictures of her, only the paper he’d ripped from a notebook in a rush.
