Proving the dead animal theory wrong, the stench came in bursts every so often, and I imagined the explosions of gas would’ve looked like the videos shown in class of nuclear warfare, mushrooms of black smoke exploding from the ground up, people dropping to the ground like flies, until finally,finally, we made it to the villa.
Enzo called to Livio and ordered him to stay close to me in a hushed whisper, before he tore off in a hurry. I had an idea ofwhathe was in such a hurry to do. I almost gagged. My stomach felt queasy. Not even his good looks could ever make me forgetthat.
“Judas,” I hissed at Livio, eyes narrowed in resentment.
“Vipera,” he hissed back, and then went to take my arm.
I moved in time to avoid his touch.
A robust woman came out then, smelling of fried food and some kind of meat, a dishtowel in her hands. My stomach couldn’t even work up the nerve to rumble. Sometimes what the men considered good eating was boiled spleen on a bun with a squeeze of lime.
A shiver tore over me at the thought. Not that I was ungrateful or a food snob—I had tried my share of “different” foods—but for whatever reason, I couldn’t get over the fact that it wasspleen, and in order to divert some of the taste, lime had to be used. Or that was what I assumed it was for. The pieces resembled grey flab.
The woman said something to the men. She was shorter than me, no taller than five feet even, with an angry, deeply creased face, hands to match. I could almost imagine her being able to rest them on her hips like a table; the apron she wore highlighted her figure.
All of the men stood rigid around her. Even Italian In Command, who had appeared with Curly, shrunk in her presence. She pointed to a few men, seemingly ordering them to do this or that. After she had spoken, they moved with fire under their asses. Then her round, obsidian eyes fell on me.
She pointed to Livio and said something sharp. He turned to me. His eyebrows narrowed. “Are you sick?” he asked.
“I am,” I said to her. Since my body seemed to have a point to prove, I sneezed in an explosive fit, five times in a row.
He repeated my reply in her language, wiping some of my spray off his hands with his sleeve. She didn’t move for an intense minute or two, our eyes holding, and then she nodded and told him something else. She disappeared back through the door.
Livio nodded toward the door. I went in first. The inside of the house was only a little cooler than the outside air. The old villa had been maintained, was in pretty good shape for its apparent age, and kept well cleaned. It had a homely smell, full of life and food simmering. They were cooking the kind of dishes that takes a full day or longer to prepare.
A younger woman waited for us beyond what I assumed was the kitchen. I realized that the villa was vast, built like a compound. The young woman spoke to Livio as she acted as a guide. She kept turning her face every so often, batting her lashes at him, laughing at whatever he was saying in an almost playful tone.
I made a disgusted noise that almost came out like “ack.” She stopped to stare at me. He put a hand to her back and urged her forward. He said something that both of them found funny.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,ha!” I mock laughed, egging him on.
He made a similar noise to the one I had made but said nothing else after that. There was no time. The young woman stopped at a door, sticking her chin toward it in a gesture that clearly meantin here.
Livio pushed the door open, gave it a once over, and then told me this was where I was supposed to go. As I passed the young woman, she stuck her tongue out at me. I slammed the door in both of their faces.
The room was nothing to write home about. One window with fluttering curtains, a hand-carved bed, small dresser to hold three drawers of clothing, beside table, and a lamp. There was an adjoining private bathroom with a small sink, toilet, and shower. It was simple and clean and private, which equaled to manna in the midst of a wild jungle.
The voices of the men carried outside of the room, keeping a vigilant watch, and voices from the kitchen, women speaking loudly and occasionally laughing.
Limping over to the bed, I opened a suitcase that had been left there. It took me a few minutes to realize what sat before me.Myclothes, clothes from our villa in Tuscany.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, coming to my senses, rummaging through the contents. I found shirts, jeans, dresses, pajamas—the slinky kind—bras and underwear, even a few thongs. “Enzo, you dirty, dirty son of a bitch!”
My fists curled aroundmine, knowing he had broken into our home and rummaged throughourthings. What else had he taken? Or was it someone else? Someone who was in cahoots with Ciro and Enzo too? Someone the men at our villa wouldn’t notice?
I felt both enraged and thankful. I hated thatsomeonehad crossed that line, severed the security I felt in our home and violated that trust. But on the other hand…the items belonged to me. They smelled like our home, and I almost released a sob. I could smell Brando and our life in each fiber. I could still feel his warm touch through the thin, white cotton t-shirt in my hands. It was like finding a piece of home in an alternate universe, something to find comfort in, even understanding.
“Oh God,” I muttered, sniffing though no tears came. “Get it together, Scarlett.Holdit together.”
A knock came at the door and then it swung open. The young woman peered in. In the next second, she was throwing bandages and antiseptic cream at me. I caught the bandages, not wanting them to get dirty, but I allowed the cream to fall to the ground with a solidwhack!I felt like a circus monkey attempting to catch spare peanuts.
She said something that didn’t sound nice, and then she shut the door and locked it from the outside. I would’ve panicked at being shut in, but I decided that if something should go awry, there was a glass window. It was already cracked, allowing in fresh air. A few men stood around it, their forms nothing but shadows against the fluttering curtains in the dim room.
Someone had placed a pitcher of water, a glass, and a bowl of fruit on the small dresser. I wouldn’t starve, nor would I go thirsty. I had no one to deal with but myself. And I could put that off for a while, in return for a hot shower (hopefully) and clean clothes (most definitely).
I rummaged through the suitcase, keeping the cotton t-shirt and a soft pair of pants out. I found shampoo and other toiletries that were mine too. A folded towel and a washcloth sat on the edge of the sink in the bathroom. There was a small window in the bathroom as well, which let in brighter light and more fresh air, but it was a privacy glass, a silver crank on the side moving it open or closed. I decided to close it. Men loitered out there too, and raucous laughter filtered in, along with the smell of smoke.
Sending up a quick prayer, I turned the water on. Fresh manna poured out, and not long after,hotwater.
