She said, “Good evening, Matilda,” in a withering voice that could hardly be heard across the room.
“Please come this way,” Matilda invited them. “I need to talk to you about an important family matter.” She lowered her voice. “A disturbing matter.”
Once everyone found a seat in the living room, Matilda shared the conversation she had had with Giuseppe in the afternoon.
Umberto listened in silence, occasionally sighing and shaking his head. At the end of Matilda’s report, Costanza wept and Umberto said the matter shouldn’t be ignored and all the family members should take precautions. As he was still expressing his view on the matter’s gravity, Raimondo came in. He didn’t look like Umberto at all. He was one full palm shorter than his brother, stockier, and had none of Umberto’s stylish presence. His hair was uncombed and the puffiness around his eyes so pronounced one could hardly see his pupils.
“Where did you sleep last night, in a fish dump?” Umberto asked with contempt.
“Mind your own business,” Raimondo said in a hoarse voice.
“I am minding my own business,” Umberto specified. “That is, the law firm. The whole town is still talking about your last court performance.”
Raimondo slapped his forehead. “I forgot. Mister Perfect never makes mistakes.”
“I certainly don’t get drunk as a skunk every night,” Umberto rebutted. “At least, you could have cleaned up before coming here.”
“Stop it, both of you!” Matilda intervened. “There’ll be no fighting in this house.” Her voice sweetened. “Good evening, Raimondo. I’m glad you could come.”
Raimondo produced a tired smile. “I’m glad, too,” he said, sitting down.
For the second time that evening, Matilda summarized the threats and the reasons the Chief of Police had visited with Giuseppe earlier that afternoon.
“This family is cursed,” Raimondo mumbled when Matilda had finished.
Umberto hissed, “Our only curse is you.”
“I said no fighting,” Matilda repeated. Her lips stretched into a smile when Giuseppe entered.
Umberto stood from his chair. “Father,” he said, shaking Giuseppe’s hand.
As he acknowledged the rest of the family with sharp nods, Giuseppe noticed that Costanza was holding back tears.
“What are you crying for?” he asked.
“I told everyone about the letters and Antonio’s visit,” Matilda explained.
“That was unnecessary,” Giuseppe commented.
“I disagree, father,” Umberto said. “We all need to be careful. And we all want to help put an end to this outrage.”
Giuseppe turned his hands palms up. “I wish I knew how,” he said sadly. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. I feel confused, as if I had fog in my brain.”
“I say we all need good food and a few bottles of the best wine,” Matilda stated, having noticed that Viola was at the door, signaling that dinner was served.
Eagerly, they all moved to the dining room and took their seats around the ebony table. Giuseppe opened a bottle of Dolcetto D’Alba and tasted it with more thoroughness and pleasure than he had tasted the Rossese at lunch. Viola served the soup, and soon the conversation steered away from the anonymous letters.
It was when Viola began serving the stoccafisso in umido, a stew of cod and potatoes that was typical of the Ligurian cuisine, that the peace of the family dinner was interrupted by two loud knocks.
“Who might this be?” Matilda wondered. “Viola,” she ordered, “please see who is at the door.”
“Yes, Madame,” Viola said, curtsying. She left the room, reappearing shortly to announce, “Miss Eugenia Berilli is here to see you, sir.”
Matilda raised her hands in irritation. Umberto and Costanza looked into each other’s eyes but said nothing. Raimondo let out a deep sigh.
“At this time? It’s past eight!” Giuseppe exclaimed, wondering what might prompt his sister to pay him a visit at such late hour. “Something happened?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir,” Viola replied.
“Very well, Viola,” Giuseppe said. “Have Miss Berilli join us.”
Viola nodded and tiptoed out of the dining room.
“Really, Giuseppe. Don’t you think that she could find a better time to visit than while we’re having dinner?” Matilda complained, but received no answer because Eugenia was already in sight.
“Good evening, everyone,” Eugenia said, approaching the table. She gazed quickly about the room and grimaced when she noticed that Raimondo was there.
“Good evening, sister,” Giuseppe said, standing up and pointing to an empty chair. “Have a seat.”
“Have you had dinner, Eugenia?” Matilda asked with a sour smile.
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”
What a coincidence, Matilda thought, for she knew all too well how much her sister-in-law enjoyed eating in other people’s houses—for free. She spoke without concealing her sarcasm. “Then why don’t you have some