The Unbreakable Heart of Oliva Denaro by Viola Ardone

Author:Viola Ardone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-05-09T00:00:00+00:00

41

The last time Angiolina came, she left a carafe with some water in it and a few slices of stale bread. She hasn’t been back since. I feel cramps of hunger. Maybe no one will ever come. Like when we used to play hide-and-seek when we were little. Saro counted and I would run off and hide in his father’s workshop. I froze, holding my breath and my heart banging noisily. I don’t know whether I was more scared of being found or of nobody finding me.

Virgin Mary, I try and pray. Mother most pure, Mother most chaste, Virgin Mother. You have never known a man, you don’t know how strong their arms are, how warm their mouths are, how harsh their voices are. I knew how to recite the Rosary in Mrs. Scibetta’s living room, under Mother’s supervision, protected by women’s voices as they joined together in prayer and in tittle-tattling, warning me against the dangers of the world. Now I’m alone. Feminine, singular. Is this what happens to a woman when she is on her own?

I get up from the bed. How long has it been? A day, two days, a week? The silk scarf is lying in a corner of the room. I bend down and pick it up, feel how smooth it is, and then I tie it around my neck and look in the mirror. Is this how I will look when I get out of here, wearing Paternò’s scarf instead of Mother’s? I angrily try to rip it with my hands but I have run out of strength and fall facedown on the bed.

“Come,” I whisper, and jump at my own voice after so long. I walk over to the door and start banging on it with what little energy I have left. “Come back, let me out! I can’t take it any longer. It’s all my fault. I’m to blame. I’ll do what you want, open up! I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m scared. I don’t want to be on my own anymore.”

The banging echoes feebly around the room. Maybe there’s nobody there. They’ve all gone. He doesn’t want me now. Like when we used to play hide-and-seek when we were little. In the end, they’d forgotten me here.

I slide down onto my knees in front of the door, my ear pressed against the wooden surface. Not a sound. Then I hear a noise, in the distance to begin with, and then coming closer and closer, a hoarse voice and then silence again. An hour goes by, or maybe two. Time no longer exists.

I feel as though I may have dozed off at a certain point and, in my dream, I am clutching a little bouquet of orange blossom. The church aisle is long and cold. From the entrance I can just see a black dot in front of the altar, waiting for me. Father holds his arm out for me to take, and we start walking.

“What are you doing wearing a hat, Pà, you should take it off in church,” I warn him.

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