It was frustrating, frankly.
She worked hard to be a useful member of her community, attending town meetings to offer the wisdom of her more global experience. She was always ready to share her extensive business acumen with local vendors. She wanted nothing more than to put Santa Lucia on the tourist map. And yet she was never included in anything. Not really. Her advice was laughed off. Attempts at intimacy with townspeople were met with awkward discomfort.
Such small-minded xenophobes. They just couldn’t stand that she was an outsider, succeeding in their community when so many of them lacked the creature comforts she provided to her guests. Yes, they were jealous xenophobes. And, she thought, placing the bag of prunes in her basket, they probably still held it against her that she was from a wealthy country. Small-minded, jealous xenophobes. She should have settled in Rome. That was a city with an open mind. But no, her stupid husband insisted on a stupid small town. Said it would be easier to integrate with the locals. Ha! How many locals did they befriend?
If she was going to be honest, Gustav befriended a few. But that was obviously because he threw his money around like an obnoxious American. Everyone likes the guy who never haggles and always buys the priciest bottle of wine. She had been able to control her husband in many ways, but never when it came to finances. He had insisted that his family money was to be managed by him alone, which meant settling in this dusty village, and overspending. Overspending, that is, until he wandered off in Thailand. Who knew what he was doing for money now.
Magda turned toward the potatoes and tried to find three with dry, curling peels. She wondered if Gustav was dead. Time was, that thought sent a shiver of horror through her heart. Now, it did nothing but raise her curiosity. If he wasn’t dead, what was he doing? Was he still in Thailand? Had he spent years funneling money into an account that she didn’t know about so he could disappear and live off savings without her being the wiser? After all, when she’d gone to investigate the contents of his trust, it had been empty. Well, if he wanted to live among people who ate dog (they all denied it, but she knew better—poor people would stop at nothing for a bit of protein and didn’t have the sense to be disgusted by it) and bathed in stagnant bays of algae-filled water then more power to him.
Magda’s fists clutched around the basket handles as she remembered walking into her in-laws kitchen after Gustav’s “funeral”. Her mother-in-law, in a carrying whisper, was telling her friends that Gustav’s bank account was empty thanks to the purchase of the property in Italy, a purchase made to accommodate Magda’s need to get out of Germany. And it was that empty bank account, coupled with his sour wife, that drove him to escape. Kill himself or wander off, Magda was never sure of her mother-in-law’s meaning. She could hardly ask for clarification after she walked into the kitchen to fetch a bottle of what Germans pass off as wine, scattering their gossip.
She tossed the last potato in her basket with enough force that all eyes turned to her. Throwing her shoulders back, she strode toward the counter and lofted her basket beside the register. Paola began ringing up her produce, and Magda bit back a remark about the poor quality of the lemons. Instead she attempted to crack a joke about how stupid Giuseppe was to not put a sign in his window advertising panini. Magda looked around with a broad smile, but everyone’s faces registered mute annoyance. One by one, their eyes began looking in other directions.
Handing her money to Paola, Magda defiantly snatched up her bag of produce and stalked to the door.
But her disdainful exit was marred by her own released gas. Magda paused. As she pushed through the door, she told herself that it wasn’t laughter she heard, just a rising up of more stupid, irrelevant chatter.
Arturo paused before paying for his coffee, ready to evaluate the next patrons for their likelihood of having some gossip, or a willing ear to listen to his newest proof that his wife was lying with another man. But there was just Magda hurtling by with her bag of produce as two vigili drifted into the bar. Arturo nodded at the officers with a resentful smile, and continued out the door. He paused momentarily when he noticed that Fabio, who worked at the hardware store, accompanied the police officers. Fabio was usually good for a few tales. But Fabio was looking stern today. Arturo sighed and left the bar.
Chiara wiped her hands on the soft white cloth as she greeted the men. The officers were looking particularly dapper in their creased pants with the red stripe down the side matching the trim on their jackets, their shined shoes, and their jaunty caps. Chiara grinned. She knew people in other towns that resented their police officers, but she had always felt affection for the vigili of Santa Lucia. The old, crusty ones that waved their sticks when an Ape drove by at too fast a clip as well as the young ones with their springy beards that seemed surprised to be on cheeks still rounded with the remnants of babyhood. These were the two young ones. Chiara leaned forward with a grin.
“What can I get you gentlemen?”
The smile faded from
