Sweet Life by Linda Biasotto

someone tell you I wasn’t? Who’s been shooting off his mouth?”
    “No one.”
    “You would like me to get sick and die so you could take this farmhouse. I know what you are like, nothing to do all day but scheme. If I find out someone has been talking about me, I will grab his –”
    Paola waves the hand holding the cigarette. “No, no, I’m only asking how you are.” Her entire back is clammy.
    They don’t look at each other, smoke in silence until the coffee spurts into the pot. Carlo jumps to his feet. After setting down the small white cups and a bowl of sugar, he again drops to his chair. He sucks at the cigarette, blows smoke clear across the table and drums his thick fingers next to the ashtray. “Your coffee’s getting cold. Are you afraid to drink it? Do you think it is poisoned?”
    Paola helps herself to sugar and grappa. She sips with her lips barely touching the cup, and then takes a deep breath. “My dear Carlo – ”
    “‘Dear’ my ass.”
    She takes another breath. “You know I’ve always had your best interests at heart.”
    “Ho.”
    “I know it’s difficult for you to see –”
    “I see you, you dried up old maid.”
    Paola stubs her cigarette in the ashtray and lifts her chin. “There have been complaints. I came here to help you.”
    Carlo jumps to his feet, leans across the table. “Help me, you thief, you bitch? First you steal my house, then instead of marrying, you take lovers. Whore. If you ever come here again, I will grab your neck and squeeze until your flesh oozes between my fingers!”
    The look in his eyes frightens her more than does his speech. Paola drops her lighter and cigarette case into her purse, stands, gazes past him to the pots hanging over the granite sink. Her hands tremble, but her voice is steady. “I have done my duty. Whatever happens now is not my fault.”
    “Oh, what happens now. I am afraid, watch me shake. Get out of my house.”
    She feels him behind her, herding her through the yard to the gate, but she walks with her head high and won’t run no matter how close he gets.
    “You should send me more money, you selfish cow. How shameful to let your brother walk about in such boots.” He slides back the lock on the door. “Look at you, your ass is fatter than your head and you will never catch a rich husband.”
    The street is full of strangers. The woman from next door tries to stop Paola. “ Signorina , I must speak with you.”
    This is Carlo’s doing, this circus parade, this trampling of respect until a farmer’s wife dares lay her hand upon Paola Catelli’s arm.
    Not until she makes it home and drives through her own gate does she let go. She parks the car in the gravel driveway and weeps into a linen handkerchief. Now her entire family is lost to her.
    Once inside, she confesses the whole mess to Maria.
    “The doctor, Signorina . You need to call the specialist, the one who looked after your friend’s mother. He can tell you what to do.”
    Paola calls and he agrees to observe Carlo, but only at her home and only with Carlo’s consent.
    “But doctor, if he knows you are here, he may not come. He is unpredictable.”
    “This is precisely why we must do our best not to place ourselves in an unpleasant situation.”
    Paola writes a dinner invitation to Carlo, which Maria takes to the Manna post office.
    Next evening, soon as the sun drops behind the mountains, Carlo halts his mule outside Paola’s locked gate. He climbs onto the wagon seat and hollers: “I tore up your invitation. Have a doctor examine your thieving brains. It was you who made Papà change his will. One night I will catch you and squeeze your throat until the flesh oozes between my fingers!”
    Paola stands near her open window. She expected this from him and has been half afraid he would climb the side of the house like a spider. Not until she hears, “Hey-ho, Nero!” does she dare look out. And sees Maria head for the gate.

    ~
    To prevent her slippers from