The Demon Catchers of Milan (25 page)

“Ah, yes, Noopo,” said Uncle Matteo thoughtfully. “Now I remember.”

“You were such a bad boy,” said Aunt Brigida. “She cried for days.”

“I know, I know!” said Francesco, and to me, “She kept reading my comics without asking, so I stole her Snoopy doll and put it on the roof. She had one almost exactly like that. She called it Noopo. Anyway, I put it up on the roof, and then I forgot about it. She couldn’t find it, she looked everywhere, she cried and cried, and I remembered—but it had rained in the night, and Noopo had gotten washed off. We never found him. She was six. I didn’t think she’d remember, let alone get so emotional about it.”

Anna Maria came back in just as he was saying that, walked over and punched him in the shoulder. He yelped.

“Idiot,” she said to him. And to me, “
Buon Natale
, Mia. I have something for you, but I was waiting for
La Befana
.”

I thought she might be lying to be nice, and immediately felt guilty for thinking that when she picked up her purse again and said, “In fact, I’ll go get it. Wait here,” she added as if I were about to rush off somewhere.

Emilio stared after her. He smiled at me.

“Who knew?” he asked.

Then there was Emilio’s present. His had been the hardest of all. I gave it to him, and he laughed, shaking it to tease me. “It’s not a stuffed animal, anyway,” he said, and then he opened it.

It was a very fine, light blue cashmere-and-silk scarf. I’d seen one on a guy with his coloring, and after days of agonizing about what to get him, I had decided on that. I had spent way too much time thinking about how it would look on him, how it would bring out the darker blue of his eyes.

But he wasn’t looking at the scarf. He was looking at the red box it came in, with the shop logo on it.

Nonna made a soft sound, her eyes on him.

He stared out the window, a long time. Égide came over to thank me for the ink; Francesca teasingly congratulated me on making Anna Maria cry. I kept waiting, worrying about Emilio. Was he angry at me? I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so still and grave.

“No one could have told her that, either,” said Nonna, resting a hand on his shoulder.

He looked down at the box in his hand, then up at her. He coughed.

“Do you want me to explain?” she asked very quietly.

“No, thank you, Nonna. I should. It’s right. Mia,” he said.

I came over.

He made himself smile. I could tell it was hard work.

“You seem to be quite a psychic gift-giver today,” he said with painful wryness. “Thank you very much. This scarf is from a shop that is special to me. Our mother used to take us there every year for my father’s gift. He was always losing scarves,” he said, and paused. I had never heard his voice so rough. “Thank you.
Buon Natale
, Mia.”

“
Buon Natale
, Emilio,” I said when I could speak. I wasn’t sure I was ever going to dare buy Christmas presents for any of them ever again, but it was a good day anyway.

Someone buzzed the door, so it couldn’t be Anna Maria returning. Indeed, it was not; it was Father Giacomo, who wished us
Buon Natale
with an effort. Giuliano took him into the kitchen and made him a coffee, but we were Della Torres, so of course somebody had to eavesdrop; Emilio stood in the hall doorway and listened. We watched his face. The news wasn’t good.

After a while, Francesco traded places with him, and Emilio said, “He feels he’s put up with us long enough. It’s no secret in the neighborhood, but everybody protects us. Last night was too much. She wasn’t one of his parishioners—a student at the Brera who was staying in town and got lonely for Christmas Eve Mass. He says he doesn’t know what we are playing at, but it can’t happen in his church.”

Nonna sat up very straight at that. For such a tiny woman, she looked awfully tall.

“He is forbidding us to go to Mass?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” said Emilio.

She stood up and marched into the kitchen like a general. Aunt Brigida joined her son at his post, and the rest of us gave up trying to make small talk and leaned in to listen.

“Is she asking him?” I whispered to Francesco. He and his mother shook their heads.

We could hear the calm buzz of Nonna’s voice for quite a
long time. When Father Giacomo came out, he didn’t look at any of us, but murmured his farewells. When his footsteps died away on the stairwell, Emilio started to laugh.

“Defeated by panettone, I think,” he said.

“And the fact that the family has been in this neighborhood longer than the church,” said Aunt Brigida.

I knew from my studies (and my relatives) that the first Santa Maria del Carmine had been built in 1268, and of course we’d been around; after all, only nine years later the Visconti had taken the rule of the city from us.

Anna Maria opened the front door and said, “I passed Father Giacomo looking like he wanted to violate all Ten Commandments. What happened?”

“Nonna happened,” said Francesco. Nonna and Nonno were still in the kitchen talking.

“Ah,” Anna Maria said in a satisfied tone of voice.

“Still, we’ll have to tread carefully there for a while,” Uncle Matteo pointed out.

Aunt Brigida rolled her eyes. “Tread carefully! We always have to tread carefully with the Church. Sometimes I wish the Tiber would rise up and swallow the Vatican.”

“Ah, well, the Church is an outdated opiate that doesn’t even seem to work on the masses anymore,” Anna Maria said.

“Don’t let Nonna hear you say that,” said Francesco.

“Don’t let
me
hear you say that,” snapped their mother. Anna Maria stuck out her chin. But it was Emilio who stopped them from turning Christmas Day into a fight.

“Tell me,” he asked gently, “Anna Maria. Why is it that you believe so easily in demons, but cannot imagine the presence of saints?”

I thought it was a good question. It certainly stumped me. She opened her mouth to answer, frowning, then shut it again. She walked over and touched her mother on the arm.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

Her mother touched her fingertips and said, “I know.”

But under cover of Nonna and Nonno’s return, Anna Maria said to Emilio and me, “It’s not the saints that bother me, Cousin. It’s the institution.”

He mimicked his aunt’s tone, saying, “I know.”

She added, spreading her fingers on her purse as she sat down between us, “I don’t know what I believe, but I do know what I see. I’ve seen more demons than saints.”

He laughed and clasped her shoulder.

“Maybe you should look harder. Certainly today there have been miracles.” He looked at me and smiled. I didn’t want to blush; in fact, I wanted it less than anything else in the world at that moment. But I did anyway.

She followed his eyes and said, “Oh, yes! I almost forgot. Here you are, Mia. I hope you like it.”

I unwrapped her gift. It was beautiful. It was beyond beautiful, and it must have been about ten thousand times more expensive than Noopo II had been. It was a worked leather purse, beaded and fringed and studded until the purse itself was almost completely hidden, but somehow the whole thing
worked out to pure gorgeousness. It was also about a zillion times more stylish than anything else I owned, 110 percent up-to-the-minute Milan
moda
.

“Every girl should have one,” she said, smiling at my expression.

Maybe she wrapped one of hers—I still don’t know. I wanted to believe she had gotten it for me. I gave her a big hug.

I stayed up late, sitting with everyone, so strangely filled with joy. Sometimes a memory of the possessed Lisetta, floating in front of my face, reaching out to strike me, would jolt me—but at the same time I would remember ringing the bell, and the way I had stood still. Every now and then, all day, someone from my family would touch my shoulder and say, “Well done last night, Mia.”

The whole family gave me another gift before I went to bed: an hour alone in the living room, talking with Mom, Dad, and Gina on Skype. The first thing I saw on the screen was a giant, dim eye. I squealed until I realized that Gina was holding up the ring I had sent her and laughing hysterically. Everybody wanted to talk at once, and all that English ran together and made no sense. They finally settled down to taking turns, Mom first.

It was so good to see her face. Now that I had been in Italy for almost four months, I could really see how she looked so much like people I saw in the street here. When I had time, I would research where her family came from. I knew they had gone to America much earlier than Dad’s side of the family. While Grandpa Roberto had never wanted to talk about Italy,
my relatives on Mom’s side just didn’t seem to remember or care all that much, unless Italy was doing well in the Olympics. All I really knew was that they weren’t Milanese. But that was okay, I guess.

“Thank you so much for the bracelet,” she said, modeling it for me on her slender, brown wrist.

“You’re welcome. It looks great.” I smiled.

“You look great, too. Looks like they’re feeding you really well,” said Mom approvingly.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You look different,” she added. “There isn’t a … a boy in your life, is there?”

“Mom!” I groaned. “Please. And, anyway, since when do you care about that stuff?”

She smiled, caught in the act. “I know. I was just trying to figure out what’s changed.”

“Just my entire life,” I said, rolling my eyes, but then I smiled to soften my words. “My entire life except for the boy thing, that is. You know me, Mom.”

Dad didn’t ask about boys directly. He just said, like always, “You being good?”

“Trying my best, actually,” I replied, looking him seriously in the eye. He looked startled.

“All right then,” he said. “They taking care of you? You think you’re going to be able to see this thing through?”

These were all questions he’d asked before, mostly through Gina and Mom, but I didn’t mind answering him yet again, facing him on the screen.

“Yes, Dad. They are. And I do. I really do.”

“Something’s happened,” he stated.

“Yeah,” I said. “But I can’t really explain it right now. There is something you can do for me, though.”

When I said that, he lit up.

“Sure! What is it, honey?”

I felt bad, because all I really wanted was an answer to a question I’d been meaning to ask. He looked like he wanted a dragon to slay or something.

“I need to know when Grandpa left Italy. It’ll help me figure some stuff out.”

He knit his dark eyebrows together, just like his father—and just like his cousins.

“Is that all? Okay. Well, let’s see. He married Mom seven years after he got off the boat, he always said that. Although actually I think he might have taken a plane, to tell the truth. And they got married in sixty-five, because it took them three years after they got married to make me. There were a couple of miscarriages.”

“Poor Grandma,” I said. “She never said anything.”

“She only told me about it once, after your mom almost lost you. She said, ‘Well, when you want ’em, you want ’em.’ ”

I had forgotten that I’d nearly been lost. I was quiet for a minute, thinking about how we come into this world on a slim chance, and stick around on an even slimmer one. Dad, on the other hand, was busy doing math.

“So that makes it 1958. Dad left Italy in 1958. That help?”

You might ask him about a young brother of his, named Martino, who died about thirteen years after the war
.

“Yeah, Dad,” I said when I found my voice. “That helps a lot.”

I wanted to tell Gina about this next piece of the puzzle, but Mom and Dad were still in the room and, anyway, she wanted to tell me all about Luke, who was the most important person in the universe right now. She was petitioning to be allowed out with him on New Year’s Eve. Neither of us was sure how that was going to go. It was hard to say good-bye to them, but I kept yawning, so Mom got back on and told me to go to bed.

The last person I talked to that night wasn’t a person at all. I was tucking myself into bed when I heard Pompous speak.

“We heard,” she said, and it took me a moment to realize she was speaking to me. “Well done, Mia.” She had never used my name before, either.

“Yes, well done,” added Gravel.

“Thank you,” I said, when I stopped feeling shocked. “And
Buon Natale
.”

TWENTY-THREE

A Soldier

T
he next day started badly, so it was just as well that Christmas had been so nice. Emilio shook me awake.

“Get dressed, quick as you can,” he said.

“Uh?” I sat up, dazed.

“Signorina Umberti is worse,” he said. “We have to go.”

“Oh! Lisetta. I’m coming.” He slipped out.

I rolled out of bed, landing on my feet, and took a wide step to the dresser. As I was pulling on my jeans, I heard Pompous speak overhead.

“Mia?” she asked.

I stopped dead.

“Yes, uh …” I almost called her Pompous but caught myself. “Signora—?”

“Signora Gianna,” she supplied helpfully.

So! That was her name. I filed it away to remember; I was pretty sure I had seen it somewhere in the apartment.

“Yes, Signora Gianna,” I said.

“Be prepared, my dear. I must be frank with you. Many do not make it, after such a possession. Do you understand? Be as kind as you can, to her—and to yourself.”

I stared upward, trying to guess where her voice came from. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”

She was right. Lisetta didn’t make it.

Her family was there when we got there: parents, a sister and brother, some aunts, uncles, and little cousins. She was awake, her face gray. Now I know what that means; I’d never seen anyone look so drained before, even in hospital shows on TV.

She didn’t exactly remember us, at first. Her mother thanked us for finding her and rescuing her. I didn’t know if they’d been told anything about what really happened, so I just said, “It was nothing,” like everyone else. I had never seen anyone fade like this, slipping out of the world so fast; but then, I’d never seen anyone die before, and it took me the whole of our few minutes in the room to realize that it was truly happening.