Turn to Stone by James W. Ziskin

Author:James W. Ziskin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Turn to Stone
ISBN: 9781633885530
Publisher: Seventh Street Books
Published: 2018-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

The first course was the minestra. Berenice had prepared a tortellini in brodo, which she doled out herself. At least she served Mariangela, cooing over her and petting her hair. The girl submitted to the fawning without a word. The rest of us passed the tureen around the table and helped ourselves. No one bothered to comfort us. Locanda’s ill humor, coupled with Peruzzi’s quarantine, had sucked the spirit out of our mealtime conversation. Gone were the repartee and bonhomie that had characterized our previous meals, replaced by a clinking of spoons against bowls and disjointed, uninspired banalities.

“Ottimi,” said Franco with no real conviction as he chewed his tortellini.

“Davvero,” concurred Tato.

“I heard the weather might cool down,” added Bernie.

“Is there any salt?” asked Vicky.

“One doesn’t add salt to Berenice’s cooking,” said Locanda a mite more sharply than the beauty was probably used to.

Not even pretending to show interest in her food, Mariangela sat motionless, eyes cast down toward her lap where she’d folded her hands. She looked miserable, poor thing, and I wanted to talk to her, listen to her sorrows, comfort her in some way. The indifference of her uncle’s welcome was a cruel offering. No wonder she wanted Teresa.

I’d had enough.

“Mariangela, my name is Ellie,” I said in English across the table. Everyone fell silent. Even the spoons ceased their mirthless tune. “I’ve been admiring your dress. It’s quite pretty.”

She was still wearing the simple blue sailor dress, so my compliment surely struck her as odd. In fact, what I really wanted to say to her was how sorry I was for her terrible loss. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and hug her and give her the barest minimum of compassion her uncaring uncle should have provided. That we were all seated at the dining table and hadn’t been fittingly introduced—or at all—prevented me from offering proper condolences at that moment. So I complimented her on her dress instead.

“My frock?” she asked, lifting her gaze for a moment to see who’d spoken. Her English was perfect, with a prim little British finishing school accent. She thanked me then returned to the silent contemplation of her hands.

Locanda glared at me, clearly trying to communicate his displeasure with me. Too bad, I thought. He couldn’t exactly send me away given the quarantine.

“I saw you have a camera case,” I said to Mariangela. “Do you enjoy photography?”

More awkward silence from the others, and another disapproving look from Locanda. But the girl was intrigued.

“Yes,” she said. “My father gave me a camera last year. I’ve been learning about film speed and exposures.”

“My father gave me my camera, as well.”

She seemed to be debating whether to proceed and ask a question. Finally she did. “What kind of camera?”

“A Leica M3. I got it for my eighteenth birthday. How about you?”

“An M3? That’s a wonderful camera. Last year my father gave me a Braun Paxette. Nothing like yours. It’s secondhand but in excellent repair.”

“I’d love to see your Braun later if you don’t mind.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.