The Bone Flower by Charles Lambert

Author:Charles Lambert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallic Books

Chapter Thirteen

Some days after the unsuccessful baptism, Edward was walking to his bedroom when he heard Concetta speaking in the nursery. He assumed that Marisol was with her and went to join them, but came to a halt at the door when he saw that Concetta was alone with the child. She was leaning over the side of the cot, talking to Tommaso in a low, insistent way. She had no idea that Edward was there. As he listened to the words, which were Italian but not an Italian he recognised, he wondered if she was reciting a nursery rhyme, but something about the tone of her voice and the manner in which certain phrases seemed to be repeated, as though Concetta were mesmerised or in a state of trance, unnerved him. He was about to steal away, pretend that he had seen and heard nothing, when Concetta became aware of him. She raised her head and looked towards the door, and towards him, but seemed not to see him. Her face was pale, her eyes glazed over somehow. Edward stepped back, shocked. Concetta blinked and shook her head slightly, as if to clear her vision. ‘Tommaso dorme,’ she said, and placed her hands together in a gesture of prayer. Edward, unsettled, walked away.

He found Marisol in her room, with Rosaria, sewing clothes for Tommaso. He told her what he had seen. Marisol sighed and put down her work.

‘I confess that I worry about her. I’ve never seen her so fretful.’

‘You are worried about Concetta? I am more concerned about our son.’

‘You misunderstand me deliberately,’ said Marisol. ‘Of course I am concerned about Tommaso. But Concetta has been behaving strangely ever since the baptism.’

‘I thought we had put all that behind us,’ said Edward. ‘Surely she doesn’t still believe that the holy water in the font changed temperature by some sort of magic?’

‘Not magic, Edward.’

‘Then what?’

She sighed a second time. ‘She senses evil.’

‘She thinks our child is evil?’ said Edward, his voice rising slightly with irritation.

‘That is not what I said. Please don’t be angry with me. I was there too, you know.’ Her tone was accusing. ‘I saw.’

‘So you think there is evil in this house as well?’ he said, increasingly exasperated, but, more than that, apprehensive.

Marisol hesitated before speaking. ‘I don’t know what to think. All I can tell you is that Concetta feels the presence of evil. Of death.’

‘Good God,’ said Edward. ‘You’ll be telling me all about the evil eye again if you carry on like this. I thought you said that was all foolish superstition, old wives’ tales. The dead are dead, Marisol. Let’s have no more of this nonsense.’

Slowly, she shook her head. ‘The dead are not dead, Edward. They are always with us. They eat at our table. They sleep in our beds.’ She picked up her work as if, for her, there was no more to say; the conversation had come to an end. Rosaria muttered something he failed to catch. More perturbed than before, he left the room.

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