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He pulls a funny grimace, and in a theatrical voice, he exclaims, " Unimaginable pain and suffering—why can’t the gods have mercy on us?”
Serfania scowls “Ti prego di non dire altre sciocchezze! - Please stop saying stupid things! You old goat, the gods might just play a trick on you during your next performance!” She prods her father jokingly with her elbow.
Agostino chuckles, shaking his head at Serafina's playful jab. “And don’t you go messing up my magic tricks with your mumbo jumbo,” he shoots back at Serafina with a twinkle in his eye. “Magic tricks?” she gives his shoulder a small bump with hers. “Even a toddler could perform these things you call tricks.”
“Well, the little ones from the preschool group and the elderly who attended with their grandkids seemed pleased enough,” he says in mock vanity.
“Did you have some good clientele last night?” I turn my face back to Serafina, who is now polishing her crystal ball.
“That is my cue to get my things together…” I hear my father mumble from over my shoulder as he shuffles into the shadows.
Serafina looks up, a mysterious gleam in her eyes as she answers, "Oh, just the usual. Some came seeking advice, others seeking solace. But none as intriguing as the man who walked in just before dawn."
Her words pique my curiosity, and I lean in closer, eager for more details. "Who was he? What did he want?"
"He was a man cloaked in untold secrets," Serafina begins, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He sought answers from the beyond, questions that even I dared not delve into."
At her words, a chill runs down my spine, and the air in the tent suddenly feels heavier. I glance over at my father, who still seems engrossed in meticulously arranging each piece into his magic suitcase.
"And did you... help him?" I ask cautiously, unsure if I want to know the answer.
Serfina’s light eyes fix on me. She sets down the crystal ball, her expression grave as she leans in closer.
"My dear Romola," she whispers with caution. "I tried to warn him, to guide him away from the darkness that clouded his path. But some are drawn to the shadows like moths to a flame, unable to resist the allure of the unknown."
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The tent seems to grow colder, the incense smoke curling ominously in the air. My father has stopped mid-movement and is watching us with a frown.
"What did he seek?" I press on, but my voice is barely a whisper now.
“He sought to speak to the ones beyond the living.”
“And can you do that, Serafina?” I ask, for a brief second, thinking of my mother, who died when I was far too young. She was an acrobat in this traveling circus. Serafina and my mother used to be her best friend and remained so even after my father and mother fell in love on the road.
But then I was born, and my parents decided to make Rome their home so I could have a more grounded childhood. Together, they bought a little bakery with the living quarters above. They would join in on the circus performances whenever they came to the city. By the time I was four, Papà and I were a team and part of the seasonal performance.
As though sensing what I’m thinking, Serafina leans forward and grabs my hand roughly, the rings on her fingers digging into my palm. “I can do a lot more, Romola. But remember, leaving the dead at rest is wiser than finding answers to our mortal questions.”
She keeps her gaze on me for a moment longer, her eyes searching mine as she awaits an answer. When I don’t give one, she whispers - “your mother loved you, and that should be enough. Don’t go finding darkness under the pretense of seeking answers.”
“I…I won’t, Serafina,” I say, my voice jagged. I swear, sometimes I feel like Serafina can read all my thoughts.
Our conversation is cut short when I hear the onset of relentless coughing from the corner of the room.
"Father," I call out with concern. "Are you alright?"
He waves me off with a weak smile. "It's just a cough."
"Maybe you should take a break from the shop and from the circus," I suggest gently, but he shrugs off my suggestion and returns to his handkerchiefs and metal chains.
Serafina watches the exchange with wise, knowing eyes. She places a comforting hand on my arm, offering silent support. I know she understands my worry, having known my father for years and sharing a close bond with both of us.
"Sometimes, it's hard to acknowledge the passing of time," she murmurs softly, her words echoing my unspoken fears. "But we must trust in the journey ahead."
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat at the thought of my father growing old and ill, and turn my attention back to Serafina. Her presence always seems to soothe me.
"Now, onto happier things. Tell me, Romola," Serafina begins, her light brown eyes filled with warmth and curiosity, "how have you been these days?"
I hesitate for a moment, unsure where to start. Lately, my life has been a whirlwind of emotions—from my father's deteriorating health to the responsibilities that weigh heavily on my shoulders—never mind the bothersome mishaps at the bakery.
