The Sicilian Inheritance

by Jo Piazza

“She was many people and also no one. She was a poor shepherdess and a seller of prickly pears and an enthusiastic murderess who could slice a man’s head off in a single stroke. Some scholars are convinced she never existed at all,

MariaTestadilana

Despite the espresso I was exhausted and a nearby bed with no one else’s husband in it sounded perfect.

“Sometimes I sneak up here and watch the tourists take their Instagram photos in the church. They pose with their duck faces in front of the mother of Christ

“We are a nocturnal city,” Agata whispered, and she eased her way back down the ladder. “Let me show you.”

“That is what Giusy told me too.” “Oh, Giu, Giu. I know her well. Do not trust everything Giusy says. Do not trust anyone here. But for serious Giusy will always be looking out for Giusy. We have a word in western Sicilian dialect, furbezza, it means ‘a devious intelligence.’ I think about it whenever I think about Giusy.”

“Where are we?” “The catacombs. The Capuchin Catacombs to be exact.” I gripped the wall to steady myself and found a handhold in the rock. Agata whipped her phone around to illuminate my fingers gripping the eyeholes of a whitewashed skull.

“Most of these tunnels have been closed to the public for a long time, ever since the child mummies were discovered.” “The child mummies?” “You never heard about them? They are in all the guidebooks. Hundreds of child mummies. Many of them so well-preserved they look as though they are merely sleeping.”

“The sisters of Saint Accursia protected the children born of a mother’s affairs from the cuckolded men who sought to kill them. The women of Sicily have always kept track of our history in spaces like these, caves or tunnels beneath the ground, spaces where it was safe to share our stories.”

“Less than five percent of women were literate even a hundred years ago, so it’s nearly always pictures and oral history.

“Astarte.” “Is this some kind of cult?” “It is more a way of life, a spirit, a story we pass down, a way of reminding ourselves that the only way for a woman to survive in this world is to help other women.

“In Caltabellessa they say your great-grandmother was a witch and a whore, but she was really a doctor, a healer, and a woman mostly abandoned by her husband as he sought his fortunes in America.

“The unification of Italy continues to do nothing but destroy Sicily and Sicilians. It has been much worse since the Great War. The northern Italians are our new conquerors. And worse, now all of Europe steals from us and gives nothing in return. There is much anger here and many believe there will be another war and Sicily will suffer. They won’t even let us speak our language!” I knew what he spoke of. Marco and I talked often about the rise of the militant journalist Benito Mussolini and his new political movement,

Mussolini’s supporters called themselves the Blackshirts and formed sects called the squadristi. They attacked anyone they believed to be anti-Italian, which included those who saw ourselves as Sicilians first and Italians only when necessary. I had treated several men who were attacked by the squadristi in Sciacca for daring to fly only a Sicilian flag and speak only in dialect. Mussolini wanted to force us all to only speak proper Italian.

“It was never finished?” There was a bygone grandeur in the unfinished ceiling and the simple bare walls. “It was meant to be a monastery in the sixteenth century, but the Ottoman raids on the island halted the work and the stone that was meant for the ceiling was diverted to build new walls to protect the city.”

Then she said to me, “I told him to go screw his dead relatives.” “Aren’t they your relatives too?” “I meant he could screw the relatives on the other side of the family.

“I don’t want to get her all upset. When she hears your voice she spends the rest of the day asking for you,” he said. “Of course she does. I’m her mom and she shouldn’t have to ask to be with me.” Yes, I had agreed to let Jack stay at the house with our daughter all those months ago. But he had made the choice to try to keep me out of my daughter’s life.

She leaned in closer. “It is my turn to take a hand now. It is time for things to change. The Cosa Nostra is weak in some parts of the island because the men have been lazy. Nino was an idiot, but so many are. You know the saying. The mother of fools is always pregnant. And in Sicily…she is always having twins.

“None of this was an accident or fate. I did this. Let me enjoy it. I have been underestimated my entire life.”

The writings of Sicilian author Maria Messina were incredibly inspirational. Messina is one of the only published authors to highlight the real daily lives of Sicilian women. I also devoured Little Novels of Sicily by Giovanni Verga.

Along the way, you may be greeted by the ice-cream boat, which is like the ice-cream man except it is a boat that sells gelato and beer!