Prisca's Miseries

Chapter 5

A call from Alessia jolted her back to reality. Before then, she had anxiously waited to hear her soothing voice, for it had become her companion ever since it all started. She had been somewhat encouraged to endure it. But deep down, she knew she wanted more, more than this mess she found herself in. She got to where the telephone was, leaned like a tree bent by wind to pick it up and waited for the voice at the other end.

“Prisca!” Alessia screamed excitedly. “Are you there?”

“Yes, I am,” she responded, sounding indifferent.

“What is it again, Prisca? The way you sound this morning isn’t encouraging. Haven’t you had your coffee?”

When no response from her was forthcoming, she went ahead to tell her about her “little adventure” to the Bahamas and how interesting it was: people she met, contacts she exchanged, parties she attended, beaches and nightclubs she frequented and how she expected her to join her on her next trip to the country.

While she was talking, Prisca was just nodding, agreeing. If someone else had said what Alessia did, she would instantly hang up. It was that simple. She enjoyed everything Alessia was saying, but her heart was too heavy to process a response. As soon as she was done talking, she called out to Prisca to respond to everything she had said. But when she got no response again, she promised to visit her later in the day. She was sure something was eating her up, which she didn’t want to share with her on the phone. What she wasn’t sure of was what exactly it was.

***

Now on her way back home after spending three weeks in France, she was anxious. She would see her dad and could come back to France if she wished. But she needed to know why she was asked to go there in the first place. As she looked out of the window in the cab she chartered from the Ciampino Airport, she dusted off a few strands of hair on her clothes.

She sat staring into space, like someone in a trance. The driver, observing that she had been quiet ever since she stepped into his cab, smiled at her.

“Do you care for the old newspaper on the storage box between the two front seats?” he asked.

She wondered why, for the second time in the space of four weeks, she had to read old newspapers – newspapers that had been before she was born. The one introduced to her was about how trade unions became powerful after the Socialist Party got to power and the number of political appointments increased in the firms and agencies of the public sector. When she was done reading, she left it where she took it from and resumed her thinking. Beads of sweat had formed on her face, dripping down her cheeks, and she was left with no option to wipe it with the handkerchief she brought out of her handbag.

A few things about Marino had changed, but Alessia hadn’t. Even on the phone, she remained her chatty self, bringing her up to speed on the latest developments in the municipality, particularly in her house: how Roz had frequented, how the security outfit at home had been changed to look exactly like the ones that she had previously seen with Roz, how their old mansion had been given a facelift and how the mayor of the municipality, who cut all ties with him years ago, had suddenly reunited with him.

Everything was worth the gist that she had looked forward to hearing from her except the part where Roz made her house his haunt. That sounded suspicious to her. If nothing else, what could be between Roz and her dad that would have made him a frequent visitor? Perhaps her thought was specious. Perhaps not. She would find out when she got home. She longed to reach home and have a cold shower and lie down in her room.

Before she stepped out of the cab that evening, she scanned everywhere to confirm what Alessia told her about her house. It seemed all true to her now. Even the air smelled differently: it was dense with royalty. From the entrance gate to the first staircase leading to the mansion was red carpet, with each metre having a lady’s maid who sprinkled roses on her feet. This looked too good to be true.

At the end of the red carpet was San Tata who couldn’t hide his excitement when he saw his daughter come out of the cab. She sported a billowy bridesmaid’s dress, with her blusher too red on her cheeks like bruises.

“You look beautiful in this dress, my baby,” he said, hugging her.

“Thank you, Dad,” she smiled.

“I would have sent an emissary to you if you had told me you were at the airport,” he said.

“An emissary? What for? I couldn’t afford to come back home with fanfare. ”

“Come sit with me here,” he said, pointing to the wooden chair beside him. “How do you see our home?”

“Everything here surprises me. Things have changed since the last time I was here,” she responded.

Before she could say another word, San Tata told her about Roz’s kindness to the family in the last three weeks, as evidenced by everything she could see around them, as well as his proposed plan to marry her. She fancied being with her man someday, not very soon though. But this idea of getting married to Roz shocked her. This was somebody she had no iota of affection for.

Now, she could piece together how events leading to her going to France unfolded and concluded it was all premeditated. She played into their hands, acting out a script that had been written before now. Regrettably, Alessia wasn’t there to witness how she was being led to the slaughterhouse, for the feeling inside her, that deep-seated anger, wasn’t different from being led to the place.