The Scent Of Rosa's Oil (19 page)

It was around midnight when one of the Luna girls heard knocks on the door. She was coming down the stairs from the second floor and deemed those knocks unusual, as the door wasn’t locked and all the clients had to do was push it to come in from the street. There was business in the parlor that night. Three men were waiting for girls, one was talking to Margherita, and three more were relaxing in armchairs before going home. Behind the counter, Madam C was making conversation and keeping the financial matters straight. When the Luna girl opened the door, she looked curiously at an old woman with penetrating dark eyes and tangled white hair, wearing a black vest that covered her feet. “Can I help you?” she said.

“I need to see Maddalena,” Isabel said.

“She’s busy,” the girl replied. “Who should I tell her came by?”

“Call her,” Isabel ordered, looking the girl straight in the eyes. “Right now.”

“But—”

“Call her, I said,” Isabel groaned, pointing her hands toward the girl, “or I’ll turn you into a toad before you know it.”

Maddalena was at the door one minute later, her face the reflection of her surprise. “Isabel,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I need help,” Isabel said. “I’m afraid Rosa is dying.”

“What?”

“Please come with me,” Isabel begged, tugging at Maddalena’s sleeve. “She’s terribly sick, and I don’t know how to help her anymore.”

“Wait here.” Maddalena crossed the parlor and took Margherita by the arm.

Margherita shook her off. “I’m working.”

“It’s Rosa,” Maddalena explained. “She’s sick. Go find Stella and come to the door.”

“What’s going on here?” Madam C demanded, arriving at the door as Margherita and Stella were coming down the stairs. She stared at Isabel, then turned to Maddalena. “What is
she
doing here?”

“Rosa’s very sick,” Maddalena said. “Isabel says that she may die.”

“I wouldn’t care if Rosa were already in hell,” Madam C said in her cold voice. “Everyone back to work,” she added. “We’ve got clients.”

Stella stepped in front of Madam C with eyes of fire. “How can you be so cruel?” she shouted. “She’s not even seventeen and she’s dying! Do something, for Christ’s sake! She’s your daughter!”

“She’s not my daughter,” Madam C stated. “And I feel sorry I spent so much time and energy raising her.”

“Let’s put it this way,” Margherita said in a cold tone to match Madam C’s. “You can either stop acting like a mean, jealous spinster and go with us to Isabel’s booth, or we’ll all quit working this instant. We’ll shut down the Luna. What do you choose?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Madam C said with a frown.

Maddalena stepped forward. “Try us.”

The five women arrived at Isabel’s booth ten minutes later. Madam C pinched her nose as she crossed the distillery and entered the flower room. In the penumbra, she squinted her eyes in the direction of a small bundle of clothes. To her dismay, she realized that what was inside those clothes was Rosa. She stared at the short, disheveled hair, the pale, gaunt cheeks, the gray eyes swollen with tears, and felt the first quiver of tenderness in almost a year. In an instant, she relived Rosa’s birth and Angela’s death, the trips to Mafalda down the street, the good-night kisses, the strolls to the port to see the ships, and the harshness of Rosa’s life in school. She whispered, “I never thought…”

“She needs a doctor,” Margherita suggested.

“I’ll go find one,” Maddalena said, then ran out of the booth.

Stella crouched next to Rosa. “Rosa?” she called, rubbing her hair. “Say something.”

At that, Rosa stirred and turned her head toward the voice. Through tired eyes, she gazed at Stella, Isabel, Margherita, and finally Madam C. She turned away. “Why is she here?” she murmured.

“We are all here to help you,” Stella said. “Including Madam C.”

Rosa sank her face into the mattress. “Liar.”

Madam C took a step back. “I should go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Margherita said. “Remember? Shut down?”

Madam C took another step toward the door. “Isn’t it obvious that Rosa doesn’t want me here?”

“Maybe,” Margherita rebutted. “But she needs you here. And you know it.”

In the corner of the flower room, Isabel nodded. “She does.”

“What is this?” Madam C said. “A conspiracy?”

Margherita and Stella smiled.

“All right,” Madam C said through her teeth. “Rosa?” she called. “I’m here to help you. I promise.”

“Did you hear that?” Stella whispered in Rosa’s ear. “Madam C wants to help. Tell me, how are you feeling?”

Rosa lifted her face from the mattress. “Like I have no life in me…”

Shortly, Maddalena returned with Michele Merega, the doctor of the Luna girls for many years. The last time he had seen Rosa was on the night of her sixteenth-birthday party. When he saw her in the flower room so thin and pale, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief. He examined her carefully for half an hour. “Rosa has nothing wrong with her,” he finally said, “other than her desire to die.”

“We can’t just let her die,” Stella said.

Margherita turned to Isabel. “How did she get herself into this state?”

Over the next twenty minutes, Isabel told everyone Rosa’s story. She told about Renato and the reason Rosa had cut her hair, and about Giacomo, the circus, the murder, Giacomo’s disguise and escape from town, and the farmhouse in Vercelli where he was going to hide.

“Who would have thought that my black wig would have so much power?” Maddalena said at the end of the story.

“Renato was supposed to be back eight days ago,” Isabel continued. “Rosa went looking for him all over town, then dropped on this bed, and here you see her. I’m afraid that the only person who can make her feel better is Renato, but I have no idea where he is.”

“Do you think that he may have run away with a street girl or decided to stay in Vercelli with his friend?” Stella asked.

“No,” Isabel said. “He’s very much in love with Rosa, and in Genoa he has a job, friends, and a home. The only explanation for the fact that he hasn’t returned yet is that something happened to him along the way.” She paused. “Rosa had a premonition.”

Madam C spoke with a tinge of disdain. “There are no such things as premonitions.”

“Premonition or not,” Margherita said, “we must find Renato.”

“How?” Stella wondered. “We don’t even know what he looks like.”

“I know what he looks like,” Isabel said with a clever smile, “but I’m a little too old to be chasing men.”

“Then Rosa will have to go with us,” Maddalena concluded. “There’s no other choice.” She squatted next to Rosa. “Rosa?” she called. “Try to get up. Lying here crying will do you no good. We’ll help you find Renato, but we need you on your feet.”

Rosa uncurled her body and stretched her legs.

“Good girl,” Maddalena said.

Stella headed for the door. “I’ll run to the Luna and bring back some food.”

“How about you?” Margherita asked, looking straight into Madam C’s eyes. “Are you going to help us or are you just going to stand there?”

“If you ask me,” Madam C muttered between her teeth, “Rosa needs a long bath and a change of clothes.” She bent her neck in Isabel’s direction. “So does she.”

The investigation began the following morning. Rosa, whom the girls had forced to sit up and swallow bits of food, had explained in a tremulous voice the exact location of Renato’s apartment and the fact that the farmhouse in Vercelli belonged to the family of Gabriele, a sailor. At once, Margherita headed for Vico Cinque Lampadi. “I’m looking for Gabriele,” she said when Marco opened the door.

“He’s not here,” Marco replied.

“When will he be back?” Margherita asked.

“In four months,” Marco said. “His ship left three weeks ago for Rio de La Plata.”

Margherita’s disappointment was clear. “Do you know where in Vercelli is the farmhouse his family owns?” she asked.

“No.”

“Do you know anything at all about his family or their place?”

Marco thought a moment. “The last name is Valle. And the only details Gabriele ever told me about that farmhouse are that it’s next to a rice field, off a dirt road, and that when he was a kid he could always find his way home when he walked back from town because at the corner of that road there’s a funny-looking tree. Its trunk is shaped like an amphora.”

Meanwhile, Madam C, who had finally given in to everyone’s insistence that she do something useful for Rosa, had gone to the Stazione Principe, Genoa’s main train station. “A close friend,” she said when she was seated in the office of Quasimodo Martelli, the stationmaster, “took a train one week ago from Genoa to Vercelli and is supposed to be back by now. I haven’t heard from him, and I’m worried. Have there been any accidents along that line?”

“No, madam,” Quasimodo Martelli replied. “No accidents.” He proudly lifted his head. “And not a single delay.”

On the way back to the
caruggi
, Madam C stopped at the main police station. “Have you found the man who killed the sword-swallower?” she asked a young policeman with a large nose. “I have a family, and I’m concerned about this murderer walking in our streets.”

“Not yet,” the policeman replied. “But we’ll find him. We’re looking mostly downtown, but also elsewhere. He can’t hide forever.”

“Thank you,” Madam C said, then rushed back to the distillery to tell everyone the news.

Stella arrived a few moments later, having checked the Pammatone Hospital, the hospice for vagabonds, and once more the Grifone. “Nothing,” she said. “Not a trace of someone by the name of Renato Corsi.”

As for Rosa, once she understood completely that the girls and Madam C herself were willing to help her find Renato, she made a spectacular recovery in a very short time. She ate a large amount of Antonia’s food, drank bottles of water and warm tea, and slept peacefully for several hours. All along, she and Madam C exchanged uneasy glances and silences, avoided all direct conversations, and made sure they were never alone with the other. Isabel watched them with her hawk eyes. “It’s like a dam ready to give in to a sea of water,” she told Margherita when Rosa and Madam C couldn’t hear her.

Margherita nodded. “You have no idea how badly those two have hurt each other.”

“I hope they’ll find peace some day,” Isabel said.

“Sometimes, when bigger problems arise, people can face their own issues in unexpected ways. I know that from my own experience with my father. He threw me out of the house for no reason when I was very young. Accused me of having seduced a priest, can you imagine? I swore not to talk to him ever again. A year ago I learned he was in a hospital, close to dying. I went to see him, I don’t even know why.”

“Did he die?” Isabel asked.

“Yes. I’m glad I saw him before it happened. Perhaps Rosa’s problems will help her and Madam C reconcile.”

“I’ll have a word with Rosa,” Isabel said. With a sarcastic smile, she added, “Occasionally, she listens to what I say.”

Meanwhile, the girl kept gaining strength. The day after Margherita had spoken to Marco and Madam C’s investigations had established that Giacomo was likely to be safe at the farmhouse, Rosa was up and ready to go to Vercelli. “Or to the end of the world,” she said, “if that’s where Renato is.”

As for Madam C, she had by then clearly taken charge of the situation. Three days after seeing Rosa sick in the flower room, at six in the morning, she spoke to Margherita, Maddalena, and Stella in the quiet parlor of the Luna. “I need one of you to come with Rosa and me to Vercelli, and one of you to run the Luna while I’m gone.”

“I’ll come,” Margherita said.

“No way,” Maddalena stated. “It’s my black wig we’re chasing. And I’m a Gypsy. I can follow trails like no one else can.”

“All right,” Margherita conceded. “You go to Vercelli. I’ll run the Luna.”

“Fine by me,” Stella said. “I don’t travel on Tuesdays, and running things is not my forte anyway.”

Madam C turned to Margherita. “You’re in charge. But…easy with the poetry, please. I’d like to find all my customers when I return.”

Jokingly, Margherita bowed. “Everything will be in order, my queen.”

With a frown, Madam C turned to Maddalena. “Get ready. We leave in two hours.”

“I knew that Madam C would love to get involved in helping Rosa,” Stella told Maddalena later, as Maddalena was packing on the second floor of the Luna. “All she needed was a little push.”

“And a little arm twisting,” Maddalena joked.

“Do you think you’ll be able to find Renato?” Stella asked.

Maddalena shook her head. “It’s a big world. He could be anywhere, doing anything. But this trip is good for Rosa. It’s much too hard for her to sit and wait.”

Two hours later, Maddalena, Rosa, and Madam C were at the Stazione Principe, boarding a train headed for Turin. Isabel had given Rosa a small velveteen bag containing one bottle of oil to cure motion sickness, another to keep away bad dreams, and a third to build up strength and body weight. To all that Rosa had added the flask of her perfect oil. In her right pocket she had, as usual, the blue stone. “Come back safe, Tramonto,” Isabel had said, “and with Renato.”

The first leg of the trip was long and uneventful, other than for the obvious awkwardness between Madam C and Rosa. As the train tackled a hill, Rosa stepped out of the compartment. “Stop looking at Rosa that way,” Maddalena told Madam C. “Why don’t you two talk about what happened and put it all behind you?”

Madam C said, “I’m waiting for her to say something.”

“Why her?” Maddalena asked. “She’s a young girl. You’re a grown woman. Help her.”

“I am helping her,” Madam C said. “Isn’t that why I’m on this train headed for God knows where?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you are on this train because you enjoy leading this expedition.”

“I resent your insinuations. I know why I’m here.”

“Then talk to her. You two haven’t exchanged a word since we boarded. How do you think she feels?”

Madam C shrugged and stared out the window as Rosa returned quietly to her seat.

“Are you liking your first train ride?” Maddalena asked, hoping to engage Rosa in some conversation.