Sicilian Tragedee by Ottavio Cappellani

me to get married?” says Betty, getting right to the point.
    Wanda makes a serious face, tips her head to one side, pouts her lips so as to hollow out her well-upholstered cheeks, gazes at Betty very seriously, and nods firmly.
    Betty raises her right arm, puts it over her head and down, grabs her left jaw with her right hand, and tries to wiggle the crick out of her neck. She repeats the operation with her left arm and her right jaw. The damn crick just won’t go away.
    Wanda watches this operation with interest. “Aren’t you a little young for neck problems?”
    Betty throws her head back, points the fingers of both hands under her chin, and pushes. No luck, the crick won’t budge. She loses interest in these operations and turns to look her mother in the eyes.
    Wanda smiles. She begins to explain. “Your father, as you know, is a dickhead. And this Turrisi is another dickhead.” Wanda thinks. “Actually, I think Turrisi is more of a dickhead than your father. That Baronessa Faillaci, baroness my ass, was gobbling him up at that lunch at Palazzo Biscari. He’s got real estate in London, he’s got a collection of English cars, he’s grabbing all the land in the province of Siracusa where they say there’s oil, but above all, they say, he has intellectual pretensions. And take my word for it, Betty, there’s no dickhead more dickhead than one who has intellectual pretensions.”
    Wanda looks at Betty. Betty doesn’t look convinced. “And I’ll bet he’s a pansy too,” she adds.
    Betty looks at Wanda.
    Wanda sighs. She makes a no with her head. “Betty, don’t make
the same mistake your mother made. My mother said to me, ‘Riddu the Cement-Mixer has a hard-on all the time.’ I didn’t want to listen to her, back in the days when he used to come and pick me up in the Mercedes. ‘If he has a hard-on, I’ll make it disappear,’ I said. And my mother, who was smart, your grandmother, know what she told me?”
    Betty goes no with her head.
    “She said, ‘You think that’ll be easy?’ How right she was, your grandmother. You ought to get married to someone like this Turrisi. Don’t make my mistake and marry someone who likes to …” Wanda stops, not wishing to sound vulgar, and raises her right hand with a closed fist to make a fuck gesture.
    Betty is staring at her elbow.
    Wanda looks at Betty. “Betty?” she asks.
    “Yes.”
    “How come you aren’t saying anything?”
    “Me?”
    Wanda rests her elbow on the arm of the chair and begins to massage her brow, looking worried.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Have You Ever Been in Sicily when the Hot Wind of Love Blows over the Land?
    Have you ever been in Sicily when the hot wind of love blows over the land? Cagnotto walks happily along Via Etnea, this morning like every morning an explosion of almond and lemon granita, smells of pasta reale melting in the heat and cannoli just out of the oven, whiffs of vanilla and almond from all sides mingling with the unmistakable smell of moisturizer and carotene (which deepens your tan.)
    Cagnotto is drunk with happiness even though he can’t go to the beach. He can’t go because now he has a proposal and if he gets to work right away he can have his new production on the stage by September.
    He’s got an appointment with Falsaperla, the culture commissioner for the province. The culture commissioner for the province of Catania deals with distribution. While the culture commissioner for the city of Catania takes care of culture in Catania, and the culture commissioners for towns in the province of Catania take care of culture
in their hometowns, the culture commissioner for the province distributes. The culture commissioner for the province is very pleased with his duties: He sends an artist to Pedara and he sends an intellectual to Trecastagni. He keeps track of political favors and tries to accommodate everyone as best he can. He has an important job: by oiling the wheels of culture on the slopes of Mt. Etna, he