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“No. No, my love. I do not care about the money. I will tell him it is impossible.”
“But it is not. That land is yours to do with as you wish. Sell it if he needs money. I do not care. Sell it tomorrow. Go to the Banco di Sicilia on via Roma. I filed a copy of the paperwork there. They have what you need. But, Serafina, you must promise me one thing.”
“I cannot promise you anything.” I had no agency in this situation. None at all.
“Sell the land, but do not leave. Give him what he wants. Give him money. But do not leave me.”
He was still a sick man and I worried that he would only get sicker if I took the dream of our future away from him. So I lied.
“I will not leave you.” I wanted to mean those words with every ounce of my soul. My whole body ached. Bile rose in my throat as if I had swallowed quinine, but I managed a meek “I love you, my darling. I love you.”
Marco and I were both shivering by then. I found two towels set on a chair at the end of the bath, helped Marco to his feet, and dried us off.
We didn’t make love again that night. I let myself linger in his embrace for only a few moments after opening my eyes before I rose and got myself dressed before he was awake. I paused for a moment, leaning out the window, clutching onto the marble sill and breathing deeply to fortify myself before gently kissing his lips one last time and walking quietly out the door.
—
It took the entire day to return home. My house was dark, and my front door would not open. My key did not turn in the lock. My first thought was that I was doing something wrong. That the door not opening was a trick of my exhausted mind, but then I realized that something, or someone, was behind the frame preventing the door from opening. I heard a movement, the scratch of a chair moving across the stone floor, a clatter of metal falling to the ground, perhaps a key stuck into the other side of the lock. I tried once more.
When the door finally creaked open I froze, afraid to enter my own home.
Gio stood a few paces from the door, his legs wobbly. I winced at the smells coming off my husband: sweat, liquor, sickness, and unwashed skin. His feet and chest were bare.
“Where are the boys?” I asked. How I hoped they were home and safe in their bed, close by in case I needed their help.
“My mother’s house.”
I tried to walk around him to reach the stairs to the second floor, but he blocked my path.
“What did you learn about the land, Serafina? About selling it.”
I lied. I had decided that if I couldn’t keep my promise to Marco and stay in Sicily, I also could not sell his land. I could not take his money. I was not a prostitute. I quickly told Gio the story I had invented on the drive home. I told him that I learned that it didn’t legally belong to me, that it belonged to whichever doctor ran the hospital, that it was essentially public property. I told him I had misunderstood the transfer of the land because I was stupid about such things.
Gio raised a hand in the air as if to strike me. When I cowered backward he thought better of it and wilted onto the floor. He glowered up at me.
“What in the devil have you been doing while I’ve been gone? My mamma has suspicions about you. She mentioned them when I said you went to Palermo to meet with the mayor. She says the two of you are too friendly. She said I put too much faith in you.”
I stared him directly in the eye. “Everyone in this town suspects everyone else of something. You know that.”
“My mamma said I should beat you to remind you of your honor.”
I reached my hand to his cheek and discovered it was wet with tears. I hated him in that moment, but I consoled him anyway.
“My darling, the rumors are just gossip. There is no truth to them. I will keep inquiring about the land. But we will sell this house. There will be plenty of money from that. Soon we will be in America, all of us together.”
I had been foolish to go to Palermo on my own and I’d eventually learn I’d been foolish about other things. It would be months before I realized the extent of my folly, before I knew without a doubt that the child growing in my stomach was Marco’s and not my husband’s.
TWENTY-ONE
SARA
The meeting at the Caltabellessa city hall was already underway by the time I made it back and the chamber was packed. This was clearly the most exciting thing happening in town. It was a pageant, a spectacle, and I was the main event.
A scrum of elderly women, dressed head to toe in long black dresses, huddled by the entrance. One of them reached for my hand as the heavy door slammed behind me, her touch warm, the skin of her palm paper-thin and soft.
“Diu ti binirici.” God bless you.
The cavernous meeting room had to be three stories high with rows and rows of benches that resembled church pews. A massive Sicilian flag hung above a mahogany podium flanked by two long tables where six older men sat in high-backed wooden chairs, three on each side. I assumed they were various municipal officials. A smaller Italian tricolor flag fluttered begrudgingly next to the Sicilian banner.
