Free The Obsession and the Fury by Nancy Barone Wythe Page B

understood him half the time as he only spoke Sicilian. Italian was the language of the well-read; doctors, lawyers and pharmacists, and he doubted whether this man with sea- weathered skin could even read. Alex handed him a few Lira and watched him disappear down the steep hill among the luscious bushes and turned back to the house.
    He sighed. The place was like a bomb-site. He took off his clothes and changed into a pair of over-alls.
    The first thing he looked for was a writing table. The only available surface was the dining table which he dragged into the front room by the window for some light. The bed surprisingly had drop sheets, but also droppings of every other kind. It would take him ages to make this house a home.

CHAPTER THREE

    Alex spent the next few hours sweeping with a straw broom and cleaning with some old rags he found. It was useless. Whatever he did the dirt would not come out. He needed detergent of some kind and a mop. Wiping the sweat from his neck, he picked up two large buckets and trudged down the goat path towards the well Mark had told him about. On his way he passed the hut where the fisherman had lingered and he turned, curious. It was quiet and the door behind the screen was now closed.
    He dragged the water back uphill, careful not to spill it. Alex washed the floors as thoroughly as he could. Then he changed into clean clothes and clambered down into the center of the town.
    There, he stopped, somewhat overwhelmed by the size of the square. It sloped seaward as did the hill, and was surrounded by palm trees on every side. It looked like a village from A Thousand and One Nights. A small church stood off to the side, dwarfed by the enormous piazza and slightly askew. It was magnificent in its simple, rugged beauty. The opposite side of the piazza was lined with low, closely built houses. From up here he could see the shoreline, and noticed the waves were starting to get choppy. Of course. The tide.
    He stepped into what seemed to be the only shop around and was instantly engulfed by its cool, deep interior.
    A large counter stood across from the entrance, and as his eyes adjusted to what seemed like pitch black darkness, he realized the place was a café, a bazaar, a grocery shop and a haberdasher’s. All the goods that made it to the island were sold here and here only, and the old man behind the counter was running the place like a despot, ordering the helper boys to and fro, waving his arms in a constant dance and yelling as if the place was on fire. In the corner sat an elderly woman, presumably his wife, knitting. She seemed to be satisfied with his behavior, her eyes bright but also fierce, as if ready to catch any fault in his behavior. He instantly knew who wore the pants in the family. As Alex walked in they all looked up and silence fell immediately.
    “Buongiorno,” he greeted politely.
    All eyes swung to the owner who scrutinized Alex at length before nodding slowly, and soft murmurs of greeting were uttered. Not one smile. Just a diffident look of scrutiny. He moved to the side, patiently waiting for his turn.
    Without warning, a tall attractive brunette floated in and it was as if the sea had flooded the shop. People gasped and turned away, their eyes darting to her nervously. She greeted no one and no one spoke to her as she selected a few items and stepped up to the counter and stopped.
    “After you, Miss,” Alex beckoned.
    That’s when she turned to look at him, and Alex felt a shiver down his spine, and he knew his life would never be the same. But in her deep, dark eyes there was an animosity that made him flinch and he instinctively stepped back.
    Without a word of thanks, she turned away and plunked her items onto the counter, looking defiantly at the old man who in turn watched her at length, his own eyes glistening with what could only be satisfaction. Then he shook his head.
    “No!” he uttered.
    The young woman slipped a slender hand in between her breasts and