Echoes through the years

The first thing that Caterina was aware of when she opened her eyes was the silence.
A feeling of fear crept over her.  Last night she had gone to bed so happy.
It was the first day of the school holidays and the whole summer stretched ahead.
 Caterina loved the summer months when she would wake to the sound of the sea and the concert given by the cicale outside her window.
She had told her little brother, four year old Tommaso, the story of the grasshopper and the ant, the day before, while her mother, Brenda, was busy working in her study, and he had looked at her with wide eyes asking why the ant would have been so selfish not to have shared his food in the winter. She had hugged him, as always thrilled by his loving and caring personality, so like their father.
Her father, Giulio would usually bring her a cup of espresso before he left for work now that she was fifteen, but he had gone to Palermo to help with the immigration situation. He was a human rights lawyer and quite dedicated to his work. He always told her that to understand his country it was necessary to study its law. Caterina's mother was English and taught at the local university.

Caterina's bedroom was in darkness but she could see from the luminous hands of the clock that it was past 10am. As she sat up and reached out for the handle of the shutters there was a blood curdling scream. She sat frozen with fear, her heart beating fast and listened. She could hear loud sobbing and her mother calling out for help. She seemed to be begging for mercy. In answer, there was a loud mirthless laugh and a man's voice shouted out, the words slurred as though he had been drinking. They were both speaking in English.

'You'll never see Katie again and as for that little horror Tommy that you idolize so much, see what I do to him.'

Loud screams followed and her mother calling out, 'Please Rex, don't, please!'

There was a thump and her little brother crying out.

Caterina walked towards the door, holding her breath, she turned the handle and peered out. She was dazzled by the bright sunlight that streamed along the corridor. She could hear her mother singing, the endless stream of English nursery rhymes that she was convinced would make her little brother bilingual. She went towards the kitchen door. Her mother was sorting out basil leaves to make her father's favourite pasta dish of pesto, green beans and potatoes. Her little brother was busy with uncooked pasta shapes and string.

He called out when he saw her at the door,

'I'm making you a necklace Cate, you are princess!'

Her mother looked up and smiled at her and then gasped.

'Caterina what is it? You look like you've seen a ghost! Come and sit down and I'll make you some coffee. Hooray, hooray, Papà will be back today !'

Caterina sat down next to  Tommaso and took the cup of coffee. As the strong sweet liquid slid down her throat she looked across at her mother's back bent over the stove.

'Mamma, do you know anyone called Rex?'

She saw her mother stand up straight, her back rigid and a stillness creep over the kitchen. There was a chill in the air. Her voice was low and Caterina had to strain to listen.

'Yes I did know a Rex once, we were going to get married but my father didn't approve of him and I always trusted grandpa Joe.'

Brenda carried on crushing the garlic and pine nuts for the pesto, feeling as always gratitude towards her mother-in-law, Amelia who had taught her so much, recipes to comfort her husband through the years, and a graceful and elegant yet frugal way of living.

She shivered as she thought of Rex, of the violence in him that her father had perceived.  She could no longer deny that Caterina had inherited her own father's ability to feel sensations from other lives and times. Brenda knew this trait could be a mixed blessing.

She turned round and looked straight at Caterina,

'Our lives are fragile and precious Caterina, and we often have to trust those who love us when we have important choices to make.'

Tommaso broke the tension by holding up the pasta necklace and hanging it round Caterina's neck with a flourish. She smiled at him and pulled him onto her knee. She sat there enjoying the warm softness of his little body, staring at the vibrant flowers on the terrace, the purple bougainville, the baby blue plumbago, the stunning orange hibiscus, the bright red geraniums trailing over the pots, butterflies were dancing over them all, a lizard scuttled away behind one of the terracotta pots, a bee wound its way around the lavender.

She raised her gaze above the garden to take in the view of the mountains above her home. 

She heard the shouts of the men working with Michelangelo as he personally chose the marble that he would transform into the magnificent statue of David, the screams of agony from the people trapped inside the church at St Anna, the women weeping as their sons left for distant lands, but then she felt a hand caress her cheek and a whisper full of warmth and love and she knew Grandpa Joe was near.

Her heart lifted at the thought of her father coming home, of her mother preparing his favourite meal. She picked up her little brother,

'Come on let's blow up your paddling pool.'