Page 41 of Luca
Two weeks later, I roamed the city of Palermo in Sicily.
Alone.
No job. Funds that were quickly diminishing. Despair that was quickly growing.
I’ve walked aimlessly through the streets. The sky was darkening and the streets were quiet. It was the opposite of the constant buzz of the city.
I continued walking aimlessly down the centuries old streets. The cobbled alleyways led me to the beach where I lowered myself down and turned my attention to the paper gripped between my fingers.
For a moment, I stopped and considered going back to the little room I rented above Paolo's tavern but then decided against it. I needed more fresh air. Sitting in that room would drive me insane.
Paolo and his wife ran a little local tavern. Quite a popular one too. Every night traditional old Italian songs drifted through the air as the smell of Italian cooking and the sound of Italian words traveled through the air and into my room. I had yet to sit in the tavern for any of my meals. I mainly kept to myself, searching the newspaper ads for any job opportunities.
But with those it was always the same. Do you speak the language? Who do you know? What can you do?
I found myself at the little beach and struggled to lower myself onto my ass. The sand was still warm from the sun.
Uncrumpling the paper, I stared at yet another application. By now, I could even read it in Italian. It was always the same questions. Past experience. Where; when; how long. But the most important question seemed to be your reference. It seemed to be all about who you know here.
Well, I knew nobody.
The sea breeze swept through, cooling the skin on my face. The scent of salt drifted through the air and seeped into my lungs. The view of white sand stretched for miles. It was a beautiful city. A beautiful island.
I could see myself raising my kid here if only I could find a job.
I wanted to make my own money, not depend on my brothers or family. Besides, nobody knew where I was. My brother believed me to be in northern Italy. Instead, I opted for southern Italy. I’d like to keep it that way.
My eyes traveled over the printed letters of the application as I rubbed my growing belly.
“Why can’t they ask whether I know how to fight?” I grumbled under my breath with my eyes on my stomach, as if I was talking to my daughter. “Defend myself? Kill? That should be more important, don’t you think so?”
Waves crashed against the shore. The sun was high up in the sky. I waited for an answer. Instead a soft chuckle sounded behind me.
“I think so,” a voice behind me agreed.
I glanced over my shoulder to find an older man standing behind me. He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat that kept his eyes somewhat hidden and an old-time suit with suspenders. Like inThe Godfather.
“Can you fight?” he questioned in broken English, a smile on his lips. The tone of his skin was olive despite his old age. His eyes were sharp and on me. It was then I noticed two men standing back.
His guards, I realized. They both had guns hanging from their shoulders. One of them dug in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, then lit one up.
The old man was still watching me, waiting for an answer.
I rubbed my belly. “Maybe once upon a time, but not now,” I said. “It’s not good for the baby.”
He went to lower himself but before I could even move, one of his guards assisted, then respectfully nodded and stepped away.
“Are you a president here?” I asked jokingly.
His laughter filled the air, the breeze carrying it on its wings. It made me smile, despite the bullshit I endured over the last two weeks. I wondered if that sound would travel across the seas and make another soul smile.
“No, not a president,” he answered, meeting my gaze. He had dark brown eyes full of knowledge and pain. This man knew of loss. I didn’t know how I knew it but I’d bet my life on it. His gaze flickered to the paper in my hands, then to me. “Looking for a job?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
“Where are you from?”
“The States.”
