In Belinda's heart and mind, ancient and profound disturbances stirred, like the ocean depths. Within her lived the memory of her mother and grandmother, the desire for redemption from a life spent with heads bowed before cruel men, wholly disinclined to love. Her mother had always taught her to be strong and independent, never to be afraid. Now a mother herself, she hoped to pass on to her daughter that ancient courage of her ancestors. One step at a time, towards a new path for the soul that heals ancient and deep wounds, the time had come to visit Anna, her mother-in-law.
Anna had lived in Belinda's same town for only a few years, ever since Belinda and Elia had decided to move her from the hill where she had spent her entire life, to the sea. It was a decision Anna made with great difficulty; though she wanted to be closer to her granddaughter and son, she did not want to leave her home, which was full of memories—sweet and bitter memories of a long life spent with her beloved and her children. "The house is falling apart, Mom, you can't live here anymore!" Elia would tell his mother in an attempt to persuade her. Neither he nor his brother could afford a renovation of that magnitude; the house needed to be razed and rebuilt. In the end, Anna, reluctantly, moved into a large apartment near the sea, in a condominium that was more crowded in summer.
In Sicily, especially in coastal areas, towns fill up in summer while cities empty out. The scorching heat of the Catania plain makes the city uninhabitable during the summer months. Catania is one of Belinda's favorite places: it's where she studied at university for two years, where she lived before dropping out of her studies and returning home. Catania is difficult to describe, with a harsh and disarming beauty. The Piazza del Liotru (elephant) is rich in symbolism, beautiful and gigantic; the Bellini Theater a poem of art and culture; Via Etnea bustling with life, between shops and places to taste every delicacy. The scents of Via Etnea smell of bread and oranges and cedar and cinnamon, vanilla and chocolate. Walking through Catania, one can only fall in love with its great beauty. The Benedictine Monastery is a work of art. It's impossible to list all of Catania's wonders: Ursino Castle, the fish market, the municipal park... So from May well into September, the coastal towns are populated by tourists from nearby cities as well as from all over the world. Taormina was known everywhere and was not far from these towns. Taormina too was indescribable in its beauty, which was not just that of the center and its shops; Taormina was stunning in its alleys and its very veins.
Belinda, before leaving home to visit Anna, put a notebook in her bag to take notes. Since she believed strongly in the symbolic power of objects, or rather, since aesthetics also mattered, the notebook had a red suede cover, and its pages inside were of antique beige paper that smelled of cardboard. The notebook was tied with two rubber cords, at the ends of which hung an intricately shaped bronze-colored metal key. It was truly the ideal little book on which to write prayers. She slipped it into her bag and left.
As soon as she arrived at Anna's house, she stopped on the threshold of the small terrace to greet Tango; it was almost an obligatory gesture if she wanted to enter the house. Since the terrace was not the main entrance to Anna's house, to be let in she had to call out, as there was no doorbell. Belinda called loudly for Anna from the French door, which was always open to allow the sole and undisputed master of the house, Tango, to come and go.
Anna welcomed Belinda, as always, with surprise and affection. Belinda had not called Anna to announce her arrival; she never did. Their familiarity was such that she truly felt at home. Anna embraced her, kissed her on the cheek, and said: "O che bellu me fighitta duci arrivau!" (Oh, how lovely, my sweet little daughter has arrived!). Anna had given birth to two sons, but in her heart, the desire for a daughter had remained, so much so that she let both her sons grow their hair long well past adolescence. So much so that she told Belinda: "I know I cannot take your mother's place, nor would I claim to, but believe me, you are like a daughter to me." Belinda allowed herself to be lulled by those sweet words; they were comfort, home, refuge for her. Belinda could not quite gauge Anna's sincerity; perhaps she overdid the endearments a bit, but she willingly let her. There was only one boundary she couldn't cross, because she believed that doing so would disrespect her mother's memory. That boundary was set by a tiny, powerful little word. She could not call her "Mom" as was customary in Sicily when addressing one's mother-in-law. Anna, for her part, hated being called "mother-in-law"; she considered it a derogatory term because in dialect one says: "mala soggira" (bad mother-in-law, the word "mala" also understood as a person who brought evil). Anna was still a beautiful woman; in her youth, she had long blonde hair, was tall and slender, had blue eyes like the clear summer sky. She was beautiful and had a bountiful bosom; she dressed in 70s fashion, always well-groomed and stylish. After youth had given way to mature age, her hair had turned white, and by choice, she had decided never to dye it; she wore it short in a delightful bob that gave her a playful air. She always wore trousers; she found them more practical; she only wore dresses in summer, to cope with the heat. The unspoken agreement between Anna and Belinda was to call each other by name, like friends.
"Hi Anna, how are you? Do you have some time for me? I wanted to ask if you would teach me the prayers to remove the evil eye?" Belinda blurted out all at once, partly to conceal the embarrassing request and partly due to her impetuous nature. Anna, astonished by that flood of words and that sudden question, asked, without any embarrassment: "E comu mai ti vinni stu spinnu?" (And how did this desire come upon you?). Belinda, before leaving home, had prepared a valid excuse for Anna because she didn't yet feel ready to reveal the discovery of her moral epiphany. Perhaps she would never confess to her that she wanted to approach the new religion, and then how could she tell her she believed herself to be a witch? She could only be so direct with Elia, but with Anna it was different. In Sicily, women have always been ambiguous about religion: if on the one hand they prayed to God, on the other they performed spells under the moonlight. They maintained a duality between the sacred and the profane in a completely natural way, and even men would go to have the evil eye removed; it wasn't often spoken of, but it was a normal custom. Some women prepared remedies and love potions to bind the unfortunate person of the moment to them. So Belinda replied to Anna that she would like to keep alive the tradition that was before her mother and her grandmother of "precantare l'occhio." Anna readily accepted and made Belinda comfortable in the kitchen in front of the fireplace where a cheerful fire was crackling. Tango did not move from in front of the burning wood and sat between Anna and Belinda. Further away, on the grill, an earthenware pot was slowly cooking lentils, heated by the fireplace fire. The scent emanating from the pot was truly inviting and comforting.
Anna began to recite the prayers. Belinda wrote, her hand trembling; the moment was charged with catharsis. Then they repeated the first stanzas together, and then again and again until the chant turned into a song. The fire, as if it were an independent element, living a life of its own, capable of interacting by itself, decided to participate and suddenly crackled and rose strongly. Anna said to Belinda: "Look, the fire is speaking to you." As Anna spoke, she peeled a mandarin and threw the peels into the fire, which crackled even more. The air became imbued with a citrus scent; it was a natural incense.
While Belinda was busy noting down the prayers so as not to forget them, and the bell of a nearby church rang its chimes, out of the corner of her eye she saw a dark shadow pass. In an instant, she turned and behind the kitchen windowpanes, she saw a black blackbird with a yellow beak perch. Belinda trembled, but kept that sensation to herself, too powerful to explain. Anna urged Belinda to guard those prayers well and to learn them by heart so as not to leave notes around or any trace of what they had just done. She also recommended repeating those words on Christmas Eve because only in that way would they be valid and then produce the desired effects. The two women said their goodbyes, hugging again. Tango, like a good host, left his warm and comfortable cushion to accompany Belinda outside and get another caress.