The Singer

“I am told you are looking for a vacation home. I might know a place. Word travels fast here, and I am happy to oblige.

It comes with a history. The fate of a man, a troublemaker, you see.

Let us walk and talk. Enjoy the summer air, the breeze coming over the hills.

It is a shame you have come today. Last night you would have experienced the feast of San Giuseppe. The fireworks. The marching band. But do not worry, there are plenty more celebrations throughout the year, if you are planning to stay.

Turn here on Via Garibaldi. Every town has a Via Garibaldi. He was a great man. ‘The Hero of Two Worlds’ they called him. People have been walking up and down this street longer than your country has existed, American. Look how smooth the stones are. They have seen much history.

This is our main street. You’ll find the whole town gathered here. To talk, have a coffee or beer. At night this street fills with people of all ages. They close it off to cars and everyone walks up and down, up and down, talking and talking.

If you are around tonight, perhaps you will see the town drunk. All night he walks up and down Via Garibaldi. He will ask you for a cigarette. If you say no, he asks for a coin or two. If you say no again, he shrugs and moves on. He has a home and some money. He asks just to ask. If he can get something for free, then why not?

There you can gamble on sports over there. Next door there is a club for men if you like billiards or watching football—soccer, here.

We will start from where it ended, American. There, where you are standing is where they found the body, limbs twisted from trying to break his fall.

The blood has been washed away, of course. It would be bad for business to leave puddles of blood in front of the shop. In fact, business is already bad for the tobacconist. People go in only for cigarettes or fireworks, kids too, but she does not only sell tobacco. Nobody buys her newspapers or children’s toys anymore. Their novelty is gone. Nobody reads. You know how it is. Business is bad for everyone actually. You can buy cigarettes from a machine on the corner twenty-four hours a day. Same price.

If she sold coffee or beer, her prospects might be better.

But that is not why we are here.

Cigarette?

Above the tobacconist is where the woman lived with her husband. There on the second floor. The apartment has been empty since the death.

Not many people move to this town anymore. It has been in decline since the sulfur mines were closed thirty years ago. It is a slow death.

Let us go inside. I brought the key. You are wondering how. A favor, nothing more. Favors are kind of currency here. And in this I am wealthy. Ah, yes, with money, too, but that is neither here nor there. It is easy to make money. It is only a matter of what you are not willing to do. You will find people are not willing to do a great many things.

I knew you would want to have a look around.

Take the stairs. The elevator is not reliable these days.

My English is good, no? A rare thing here in Sicily. Perhaps another time I will tell you. I have many stories, perhaps they are all true, perhaps not. You must decide for yourself what is true and what time has changed.

Up up up.

It is a nice little place. To your left, the living room and kitchen. The balcony wraps all the way around. If you go right you will find the two bedrooms and bathrooms. There were no kids, but they kept the space just in case. 

Come, come.

The appliances are included. Washer, dishwasher. There is even an air conditioner. Your clothes will have to hang outside to dry.

I am not unsympathetic to our young singer. The women he spoke with were very pretty, naturally. Women have a difficult time here. It is still very much about appearances here. Traditions, religion. But they do not want it to be this way. Maybe one day the lights stop working in this room and you have to call an electrician. Well, the electrician will come out, but he will want to speak to the man of the house. A woman living alone will need her brother or father to come over to deal with the electrician. That is just how it is done.

Step out onto the balcony.

What do you think of this view? It could be yours, and it is a hard one to resist. The hills are beautiful in every season. On a clear day you can see Mount Etna from here.

See that smoke in the distance? Open the window. It might be stuck so use a little force. A little force is a good thing. You will adjust, American. Things here are not as you are used to.

Take a deep breath.

The fire smells nice. That is the farmers burning the straw in their fields. Most of the time those fires are controlled. But like I said, business is bad everywhere. Firefighters get paid to fight fires. This goes without saying. But when there are no fires, well… 

I have heard stories too, maybe I know a guy or two. What they do might not sit well with you. I will tell you anyway and you decide. It gets dry here. There is never enough rain. 

When times are rough, someone will go and find a cat. 

They will take that cat, drive it out to some remote part of the woods. 

They will soak it in kerosene or gasolene, whatever is around. 

With a little prayer—religion, remember—the cat is set on fire, hopefully to run into the woods. Who can tell which way a burning cat will run? 

But it will run and run hitting all dried out sticks and leaves and grass. If they are successful the forest will go up in flames and they will be called into work for a few hours.

When there are no jobs around, you are bound to get creative. Then again, this is just a rumor, of course.

But enough talk of cats. You are here about our young singer.

Things rarely go well for men who chase married women. But once you think about the men I have told you about it is easy to understand how the women fell for him instead.

He would stand, more or less where his body was found, and sing, serenade the woman who lived here. But not only here. There were three or four others around town, too. He had a great tenor. I think he could have done opera. It was impressive, even to me. We have many great composers of opera, you know. Puccini. Rossini. Verdi. You have probably heard of the works, not the composers. Madama Butterfly, The Barber of Seville.

If you look in that bedroom to your left you overlook the street we came from.

Notice that it is still fully furnished, right down to the towels and sheets. Ignore the dust. We will have someone clean it, if you are planning to stay.

The judge turned out to be very lenient in the sentencing. He had a similar experience to the others, you see. Their wives seen around town with another man. Tradition, religion, remember.

This is where it happened.

I have changed a lot since then.

It was not as exaggerated as you will probably hear around. Our singer was not made for a town like this. There is a lot of jealousy floating around. Enough that a simple walk ends up as town gossip. Things become exaggerated. The truth is lost.

People still say that I threw him off the balcony. But that is not the case. I beat him up a bit. You know how it is in moments like that. 

You see the bar attached to the balcony? The one that holds the wires for hanging the clothes. He got up to run away, to jump over the side. We are only on the second floor. Probably he would have been fine. But his foot got caught under that metal bar, and, well, it is another thing those stones remember well.

The hospital is very far away. This is a place where people still die in their homes. They are not sent to nursing homes, do not spend months or years in a hospital waiting for death.

People were not shocked to see his body in the street. There was a time when that was common enough. They were shocked that it had not happened sooner.

Is that enough for you, American?

Come, let us leave. There is much left to see, if you are planning to stay.

What do you think? I can let the house go for very little. You should know that I would consider it a favor.”