Bakhita by Véronique Olmi & Adriana Hunter

Author:Véronique Olmi & Adriana Hunter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Other Press
Published: 2019-04-15T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

He takes her back to Maria Michieli. The parona tells her to go change her clothes and relieve the housekeeper who is watching Mimmina. She adds that they will have words later about her escapade, one on one. Bakhita climbs up to the bedroom that gives her the illusion of freedom, the illusion of motherhood, of a life of her own.

* * *

—

Maria has invited Stefano to sit down in the drawing room, and she serves him a glass of grappa.

“I shall be needing you more than ever, Stefano.”

“I know…”

“The estate will be entirely in your hands. Of course, there will be financial compensation.”

He does not touch his glass. Looks out at the wet garden, the heavy magnolia and rain-battered flowers. Thinks how strange it is that the weather sometimes is in tune with our hearts. There will be more rain, the sky is colorless.

“Are you leaving for Suakin?” he asks, and hates the brevity of these little words.

“Mimmina is nine months old, and her father doesn’t know her.”

“Of course.”

“He can’t come home, I’m sure you understand, now’s not the time to abandon the hotel.”

“Ah…so he bought it, in the end…”

“In his letters he tells me the houses in Suakin are made of coral stone, can you imagine that, Stefano?”

“It must be very beautiful.”

“He tells me Suakin is a peninsula and is almost perfectly round, do you see, I mean completely, like…like a pearl nestled in the Red Sea. Can you—”

“Imagine it, yes, yes I can, signora. It must be very beautiful.”

“All of Europe is doing business there: the English, the Germans, the French, the Italians. Oh, the riches of the Sudanese coast, if you only knew…”

“I can imagine, signora.”

“Africa, from the moment you reach the Suez Canal, Africa is…! Oh, Stefano, it’s…a crossroads, a hive of activity, a—”

“Of course, of course, signora, but tell me, with the Moretta, aren’t you afraid—”

“What? That when we arrive she will escape?”

“No, no, what I mean is—”

“Escape to go where, I ask you? She doesn’t even know her own name!”

“What I mean to say is—”

“When the consul tried to help her find her family, she didn’t even know the name of her village, she has no sense of family.”

“I was thinking how difficult it will be for her to return to Sudan.”

“Sudan or here, it’s all the same, she’ll be looking after the baby!”

“Signora, could I ask you something…I would never forgive myself if I didn’t ask you…Tell me…Wouldn’t you like to have her baptized? Have the Moretta baptized? Before you leave?”

“I’m very fond of you Stefano. You’re stubborn and superstitious, but I’m very fond of you. You’re the only person I’ll miss in this country of scabious illiterates.”

The rain thuds dully on the magnolia leaves and the drawing-room windows. The garden is very soon lost in a haze and there is no horizon. The thunder returns from the mountain like a lazy wildcat. It is suddenly almost dark. Stefano can hear Bakhita passing in the corridor with little Mimmina in her arms, their voices mingled, one so deep, the other delicate, like an intimate song.

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