The Maestrale Voice

III

III

Outside the room where the heir was born, the Baron of Mezzocannolo found himself in front of the matronly figure of Gaetanina. The woman, in her fifties and aging, lit up, showing her teeth and her horrible smile.

“Baron, finally you are here,” she said.

Disgusted by her wink, Turi Musumeci replied with his sharpest tone that was often used in his conquests of women.

“Where's the baby?”

“U’ picciriddu4...The boy is in the room,” replied the nurse, distracted by his magnificent appearance.

“Does he look like me?” asked Turi, who was pleased with himself for having engrossed the woman, so accustomed to all sorts of relationships with the opposite s*x.

Turi Musumeci was amused, thinking about how Donna Gaetanina, who had just arrived in Granata along with Ada Caronia, had slipped into his bed. He didn’t like her at all, he thought she was monstrous. But he was a lord and had to act like one. The woman, aware of her new role in Musumeci’s house, was always available for a f**k, anytime he wanted it. The first servant had to get into her master’s good favor to make sure to keep her job and receive more gratifications. Gaetanina couldn’t escape this role and Turi, the fresh Baron, cared a lot about it.

“Something is not right, Baron,” the woman replied. “The nose,” she added and hastily ran for the stairs.

Turi Musumeci was puzzled, so much so that he did not strike her with one of his reproaches.

Before entering in the room to see his nephew, he stopped in the hallway in front of the mirror on the shelf and looked at his reflection. Sure, he had a big nose and two large nostrils, but it was straight and it did fit well on his round face. With this consideration, and now convinced that having a large nose was no big deal, he shrugged and walked into the room without knocking.

“Dad... we were waiting for you,” Vincenzo said, turning his head.

Turi smiled and walked over to the Ada’s bedside; the stepdaughter tried to compose herself as much as possible, while Vincenzo remained kneeling by the bed. The open window let in a breeze and flowers filled every available jar. The room smelled of jasmine.

“My daughter,” Turi kissed her on the forehead. “Let me see my grandson.”

“He’s in the cradle, father,” Ada answered in a low voice.

Turi went to the wooden cradle, chuckling. He had noticed the royal crown engraved on the side of the bed. It was an unfortunate initiative of Ciccio "Three Fingers," the carpenter of Granata who lost two fingers from one hand and who thought that Turi would have appreciated that gesture. Moving away the little organza curtains, Turi Musumeci felt the same sensation he had felt many years before, in the moment he had become a father. He tried to control the emotion that was intensifying his heartbeat, and spoke softly, without letting his inner turmoil shine through.

“He is beautiful,” he said.

He was amazed by the calm look of the sleepy baby. The baby was slender, but his face was rounded and his hands were puffy. The nose was a little too big, but it wasn’t out of place. That detail made him smile with satisfaction, but then immediately transformed into perplexity. His skin tone was pretty dark. He wasn’t black, but his mother’s genes were apparent.

Weddings between cousins were a custom in Ada’s family. So the Caronia had kept their patrimony well-maintained, but they had gradually weakened with the newer generations. Ada, in fact, belonged to the fourth generation of the children of cousins ​​and this explained why she was small in stature and so fragile. She certainly was not the right woman to make a man happy, and the risks to be faced by marrying her were numerous, so much so that among relatives no one was willing to take her to the altar. So that was the reason why her father, worried, began to explore the families of the emerging industry. His economic position was substantial and the appeal of a dowry was very attractive. The Baron of Mezzocannolo could not pass it up.

Turi Musumeci was observing his grandson and tried to count all the properties he would have inherited one day. The estate of Bragone, the one your mother will leave you – these outweigh a darker complexion. The important thing is that you have my brain, he thought, before his eyes flowed over the thousands of olive trees and the manor house that Ada had brought as a dowry to Vincenzo.

“Thank you. You were great,” said the Baron, talking to his young stepdaughter.

Then he gently lowered the curtain of the cot and went back to the bed of Ada. He kissed her again, inhaling through his nose her scent of lavender and, after looking at Vincenzo with approval, he left the room. Outside the room, in the hallway, leaning next to the shelf was his stick. He picked it up and went downstairs.

The family surrounded him to ask about the newborn and he replied to everybody, while cutting a Tuscan cigar in two. He was clumsily looking for matches in his trousers’ pocket when Lena offered to help him, using a long chimney match.

“Thanks, daughter,” his words diced up by the Tuscan cigar between his teeth. “Why don’t you go upstairs to see Vincenzo’s masterpiece?”

“I can’t wait. He must be handsome like his father,” Lena answered.

“Well, he is a nice puppy, but he doesn’t look like him,” the Baron had to admit. “Go, look at him carefully and ignore all the others causing a ruckus around the baby. Take your time and then you will tell me what you think.”

“I’m going, Turi,” Lena said.

Maddalena smiled at him quickly, before leaving.

Musumeci Turi thought that the beauty of his adopted daughter was irrepressible. He wished for a grandson from her as well.

“That would be great!” he said, nobody listening to him.

As before, the embers broke away from the cigar and made a hole in his silk shirt. Turi checked, happy with the width of the hole: it was a sign of nobility.

The look in Ada’s eyes became sweeter; she was happy for Lena’s visit.

Lena knew how much Vincenzo's wife was genuinely fond of her. They lived far away and in two different worlds, but it took just a letter that was sent the day of the wedding to make that woman her favorite relative. Other letters followed the first, in which Lena told her about her hard work in Eritrea. Ada had responded and a long correspondence was born. When they met for the first time three months before, they already knew each other well. Ada tried to pose as a beautiful and energetic woman, and this, Lena thought, often happened to a weak person who, finding themselves in front of a strong personality, tried to imitate them. But then, looking at the reality of their existence, they realized they weren’t suitable to lead a special life, adventurous and free.

“Oh, I am so happy you are here,” Ada said.

“Me too.”

“I feel so tired…”

“That’s normal. Don’t worry about that.”

She kissed Ada and made and caressed Vincenzo fleetingly, who looked at her in silence. The baby cried.

“Now, let me have a look at Turi Musumeci,” Lena said.

“No, I don’t want you to call him that,” Ada cried.

“I don’t like Turi; I’d rather him be called Totò.”

“As you wish, Ada,” Vincenzo added, to prevent her from crying again.

“Good, Totò Musumeci. Let’s see who you look like,” Lena said, gently picking the baby up from the cradle.

“He cries because he is sick. Poor baby…” Ada kept complaining.

How Vincenzo could stand her is a mystery, Lena thought, as she removed the bands to the infant. Since I’ve been home, all I’ve heard from her is moaning.

She had been very kind and patient with Ada. She wanted to know her more deeply, to understand if she had lost Vincenzo forever. But she soon understood how that insignificant woman couldn’t stand up to the comparison. Physically, she was full of defects, and she wasn’t smart at all, as she seemed to comprehend the exact opposite of what people told her. She used to live in her own world and was proud of her sad h****n role because she thought it fit her well. Vincenzo, so insightful and sensitive, was completely different and could not love his wife as he had loved Lena. He would be hers, forever.

So, why doesn’t he leave her? Why did he marry her? Why didn’t he have the strength to wait? Lena asked herself. She was angry with the Baron who had feared being left without heirs, and perhaps without the properties of the Caronias.

Keeping the little, n***d baby in her arms, she approached the bed and tried to smile. She professionally examined the child, trying not to think, to repress her feelings. She feared Vincenzo's gaze and she wanted to hide the whirlpool in her mind, the selfishness and wickedness of her thoughts. Then, little by little, she became interested in Totò only. Holding him up by the armpits, she checked the movements of the legs kicking and used the stethoscope to listen to his heart and lungs. Afterwards, she dressed him and started to kiss him dearly.

“It's all right. He's fine,” she said, as she placed him next to his mom.

Lena left the room. Vincenzo walked her down the stairs, tight-lipped.

Vincenzo and Maddalena had grown up together. Turi Musumeci and Peppone of Ventimiglia, Maddalena’s father, were friends and inseparable companions during the tournaments of scopone, a card game.

Peppone came from an old and noble family that owned four hundred acres of cultivated land. The Ventimiglias produced a sweet wine, even known outside of Sicily. And he, who was the youngest son of the Earl of Ventimiglia and, like all cadets of the nobility, had no right to the title and his paternal inheritance; he had to choose between becoming a religious man or joining the military of Bourbons. But he had other aspirations. He struggled endlessly with his father and got the money he needed to study medicine. In return, he promised that after graduation he would serve in the army of King Ferdinand, as a medical officer. He knew that, as the son of a wealthy Sicilian gentleman, a professional middle class was inconceivable. So, he became a soldier but, after his father's death, he left his uniform to devote himself to the profession among the people. The belief that medical science should serve those in need had finally taken over for the problems of his dynasty. Thus, Peppone Ventimiglia moved to Granata and became a doctor, loved by the people.

The prince appreciated his professional skills, but despised certain non-conformist attitudes of his. The same prince let him work in peace, perhaps, out of respect to the memory of his father who already revolted enough in the grave.

In Granata, Peppone knew Turi Musumeci, with whom he shared ideologies with that, for those times, were strong, and with the support of the people. The strength of the middle class was the industry, which provided jobs. Thousands of poor Sicilians went to work in factories and, finally, they had the right to get two meals.

It was Peppone who suggested to Turi to buy the title of Baron. Certainly not to raise the social status of his friend, who was already wealthy, but to give more credit to his work in the industry and to affect the opaque world of the nobility. He himself, though of noble birth, could not stand the attitudes and the falsity of a social organization founded on violence against the weaker.

Peppone was, therefore, a great friend of the Baron, and being a widower too used to travel with his inseparable companion during the summer, never forgetting the encounters with beautiful women away from the gossip of the village.

Often the two families met in Mezzocannolo for a vacation. In order to strengthen that friendship, in fact, Turi had given him on loan a farmhouse with twenty acres of land to use, within the feud.

Vincenzo Musumeci used to spend the whole summer in the country, having fun acting like a farmer in the lands of his father and taking care of the oil company that the Baron had built among the olive trees. At seventeen, he was already a giant and had reached his final height. Lena was the same age.

During a hot afternoon, while they were sitting at the highest point of the timpa, the cliff behind the country house, she kissed him.

“We can’t,” Vincenzo said clumsily, red with shame. “I like how you taste, but this is inappropriate.”

She looked at him, and in her eyes Vincenzo read the malice and the desire of a woman who wanted to be loved. He had been taught all about this from the lady that his father had hired to help him become a man, to help him stop m**********g.

“When a woman stares at you like I do... now you know what she wants from you,” his life teacher often told him during their weekly lesson.

Lena put a hand behind his neck and began to pull his curly hair, while the other hand looked for the buckle of his pants until she found it. Vincenzo gently unbuttoned her silk chemise. Lena's breasts, smelling like watermelons in August, stunned him. He made love to her and it was an explosion, long and twitching. The sun was setting and the sky was on fire, framed by the green of the secular olive trees, silent witnesses of their pleasure.

The meetings continued and the passion overwhelmed him. Vincenzo began to carelessly forgo the initial precautions taken to avoid being discovered by peasants. He was happy and that was the only thing that mattered. Once he spoke to her about their situation and the future. But she was categorical.

“Vincenzo, I love you. But I will not tie myself down... I do not want to be a housewife. I want to become a doctor and treat people.” Her eyes were red from love and seemed to gaze far into the distance. “I think of Africa and the work of missionaries,” she added.

These words amazed Vincenzo was amazed. Not even the teacher of life, nor his father, the Baron, had taught him that a girl could think and act this way, rejecting a comfortable and rich marriage. He admired her courage, but he was sincerely sorry.

“What you say goes against nature,” he said, entrenched in his own loss.

“No, you're wrong. I said I love you, and I would also be willing to give you a son, but I will not give up the freedom to choose what to do with my life.”

A year later Vincenzo Musumeci, once he graduated as an accountant with the highest honors, entered the family business; Maddalena Ventimiglia enrolled in the degree course in medicine and surgery at the Royal University of Palermo.

When Lena graduated, they organized a grand party in Mezzocannolo. It was June and the estate, beautiful and sunny, seemed to throb with life. The reception was considered to be the event of the season. The relationship of Lena and Vincenzo was known to all, but with a mixture of reserve and amused irony, no one talked about it.

“I will leave for Africa in a month,” said Lena, turning to Vincenzo. He faltered. He was used to hearing about the missionary vocation and her desire to improve the living conditions of the black men; however, he doubted that the moment would ever come.

“What?” he asked. His voice choked.

“I've always said what my intentions were. I thought you understood.”

The world of Vincenzo Musumeci suddenly stopped. Damn degree, he thought. And silently began to give birth to the most obscene epithets against cultured people. He had found a balance in his love life and even the tranquility necessary to excel in the job. But now, everything was getting messed up.

“And now, what do we do?” Vincenzo tried to conceal his sorrow, putting a smile on his face. “What do I say to my father?” Lena did not answer, but her face was serene and her features relaxed. She was not as distressed as he was.

“Vincenzo and Maddalena, come closer,” called the Baron Mezzocannolo.

“Here we go,” Vincenzo whispered. “He’s going to call everybody together and announce our engagement.”

“Please gentlemen, give me your attention for a moment,” Turi Musumeci called to the two hundred guests, selected with great care.

Vincenzo was on pins and needles, always fearing the actions of his father, but even more, he feared his words.

“Dear friends,” began the Baron. “You are all aware of the long friendship that binds me to Dr. Giuseppe Ventimiglia, a long and close friendship...”

The guests listened in silence. Someone, intrigued, spoke out.

“Soon, he will announce the engagement of his son,” they said.

“You also know that Dr. Maddalena, celebrated today for her brilliant achievement, is my goddaughter. I baptized her and I have always loved her as a true daughter. Indeed the daughter that fate has denied me, today is she.” The voice of the Baron was cracked and moved. Then he spoke with vigor. “On this occasion, I want to make an announcement...” and with a mocking sneer turned to Vincenzo. “Here is my act of giving, to my dear Maddalena, the cottage and twenty acres of the estate of Mezzocannolo, which has already been in use for many years by the Ventimiglia family.” In saying so, Turi leaned over and kissed her hand with elegance, handing her the property title.

The people scattered throughout the court burst into thunderous applause for the Baron, who, seated on the porch of his house, looked like an ancient leader.

She was beaming. She wore a long blue dress and her blonde hair were visible just under the liberty cap, placed carefully on her head. Her beauty obscured the splendor of the sun.

“I have not finished,” thundered Turi Musumeci, yet again arousing the attention of those present. “The feud of Mezzocannolo will now be the residence of the doctor during periods of rest from her duties of her new profession that soon will take her into our African colonies. The most eager farewell, my daughter.”

The party continued. And during the day and into the evening the servants continually served grilled meats, fine wines of Sicily, local fruits, desserts and frozen drinks. Ice then was a luxury for only a few, and among them was Turi Musumeci. His carriage had gone into Termini Imerese, where there was a factory that used to produce it, and returned loaded with blocks, wrapped in burlap bags and settled among the straw. Vincenzo had crushed a little; he added anise and stood aside under an olive tree.

“Vincenzo,” Turi suddenly appeared behind him and gave him a slap that sent his drink flying. “You thought you knew how life would go, am I right? Let's say that up until now you only knew flour.” The Baron walked away, smiling, without waiting for an answer.

Vincenzo had the feeling that the surprises were not over yet.