Prisca's Miseries

Chapter 2

Prisca had no idea what was coming for her this time around. She had been a victim of circumstances, circumstances way much weightier than her age. Her experiences paled in comparison to her peers’. Right from childhood, she had felt like she was in a cage, like something was constricting her throat, not making her to breathe. She envied the freedom her peers enjoyed when she peeped out of the window in her room and always looked forward to the little freedom she enjoyed only during breaks – that was whenever the school was on. What more could be tragic than this?

Was it getting her admitted to scuola dell'infanzia, the kindergarten, what was like a camel passing through a needle’s eye for her? Her mother, then, ensured that she never registered her with the family name and had to resign her job as director in the customs service to be fully involved. Every move suspected; eerie silence suspected. On holidays, she was forced to stay indoors, imaginatively figuring out what life was like outside the walls of her father’s palace-like mansion. Stepping out of the house, she was always chauffeur-driven in a tinted Osca 1600 car.

Once, after school, she escaped the prying eyes of the heavy security presence she was placed under and gone with friends on a picnic to the Cheradi Island. She was one young girl who just wanted to be herself, wanted to explore the world. She had looked forward to this opportunity, and here she was getting it on a silver platter with friends who didn’t give a damn. She was old enough, fourteen years and five months.

Excited that she had finally found the freedom she craved, she took off her school sweater and the long skirt underneath and sported a polka-dot bikini before linking up with her friends, all of whom had also changed into short but groovy dresses too revealing for their different body sizes. They were dancing to Genevieve, with each of them wiggling their hips to the rhythm of the music coming from the loudspeaker.

Not far away, on the shore fledged with palm trees, were two love birds, the girl leaning against the boy suggestively, dropping the ice-cream into her lover’s opened mouth. Behind this was the darkness of the forest and the intruding open space. Prisca stood, one hand against a grey trunk and screwed up her eyes against the shimmering water. Out there, maybe a few miles away, the white surf flunked on a barrier reef, and beyond that the open sea was pale blue.

Within the irregular arc of coral, the lagoon was still like a mountain lake- blue of all shades and shadowy green and purple. The beach between the palm terrace and the water was a thin stick, seemingly endless. The grey trunk had stealthily give way to her as she hung on to it, not willing to let go. The more the pressure she put on it, the more it gave way. All of a sudden, she was down, writhing in pain as she clutched her right hand. She screamed for help, but there was nobody in sight to offer it. It took her friends some minutes after they were done to realise she was not with them. With panic written on their faces, they scoured everywhere for her but couldn’t find her. One aha moment from Emilio was all they needed to find her almost breathless, on the sandy floor. She was rushed to the hospital afterwards.

Or was it the nature of her father’s job that made her and her mother fugitives, always on the run from what they perceived as haunting shadows? She barely understood why they had to do this then, for each time they did left her with the impression that they were living on borrowed times and everything would soon be over.

Or was it when life took a new turn when she clocked fifteen? That morning, she woke up to the bright sun penetrating her curvy body through the blinds, all smiles and giggly. She got down from the bed and ran into the waiting arms of the smiling nurse. Just after the nurse caught her, she glanced over her shoulder and saw a penetrating hole on the door – a hole made by a bullet when looked at closely.

It took her a few minutes to realise she was in a pool of blood, not hers, but the nurse’s. In horror, she disentangled herself from the dead body and dragged her soaked body to safety. She could hear sound of gunshots outside, loud enough to deafen the ears. It looked strange to her that the joy she had, just a few minutes ago, would be short-lived. She made for her mother’s room, ignoring everyone she met on the way. The floor beneath her felt like hot coal, melting her consciousness as she approached the room through the doorway. An expression of pain and inward concentration changed the pale contours of her pretty face.

“Mamma, wake up!” she screamed amidst scalding tears spilling from her eyes.

She hung her head in despair, thinking about what would become of her now that her mother was no more. Though she could be sometimes overly protective of her, she was her world – the world that had come crashing down; the crash that hit her so hard.

Now at twenty-two, she had intentionally let go of the fears of childhood and embraced the awkwardness of adulthood. She had seen it all, and if what was rumoured as coming for her was true, she was more than ready to see it through. You could see now that she might make a Miss World, as far as her expressive brown eyes, slender yet curvy frame and A-line lob went.

On a suntanned porch in Sicily, where she had travelled to on one of her trips, she sported a pink sleeveless Italian riviera in the company of friends who were with her relishing the moment. She gave the impression of the doe-eyed innocence, yet effusive about her personal experiences, all the while excitedly holding a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka.

“Now a graduate of the University of Trento, I don’t care about what happens to me in or outside Italy,” she said boastfully.

She paused, scanned her listeners’ faces to be sure what she was saying was sinking in and splayed her head. Her phone kept ringing, but she wasn’t ready to pick it.

“Dad, I’m sorry I’ve chosen this life, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” she concluded, shrieking with laughter and leaving the phone to keep ringing while she sipped vodka with friends.