The sorceress

By Isabella Lorusso

Avvincente rimanzo ambientato in Puglia con sullo sfondo alcuni degli avvenimenti storico politici contemporanei, dal G8 di Genvoa alla resistenza italiana, dalla lotta del popolo curdo alla guerra civile spagnola. La Puglia si presenta nella sua bellezza artistica e naturale ma anche nella sua realta' sociale, dalla lotta contro lo sradicamento degli ulivi all'opposizione al progetto del gasdotto proveniente dall'Azerbaijan. Il popolo resiste e lotta, protagoniste le donne che, per cambiare il mondo, decidono di cambiare prima se stesse. Donne femministe, antisistema, donne simbolo per altre donne. Donne che, attingendo dal passato, guardano al futuro; donne che ci abbracciano, ci sorridono e ci stimolano a cambiare tutto, anche la nostra vita.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Youcanprint
• Release date: Apr 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9788831611862

Book preview

yours.

I

Carla arrived in Lecce on a summer night in August. As a biologist expert on Xylella, she wanted to understand why those beautiful olive trees were affected by the bacteria. The citizens accused the Region, the Region accused the central government, the central government accused the European government and the European government accused them all.

Carla immediately realised that large-scale political and economic benefits were hidden behind the bacteria; she was a member of an independent committee, but she knew that it was impossible to fight against the interests of the upper-reaches of power.

She had never been to Lecce and booked a room in a hotel in the city centre to visit the so-called Florence of the South in her spare time. Carla landed in Brindisi from Milan; then she took a taxi southward and, although it was late in the evening, she saw a large area covered with olive trees along the coast.

«Is it the first time you've been to Apulia?» the taxi driver asked her.

«No, I’ve already been to Apulia, but I’ve never visited Lecce. Excuse me, perhaps I shouldn’t even ask you this, but can I smoke?» «Go ahead, no problem.»

«I don’t want to bother you, but do you know anything about Xylella?»

«Yes, what do you want to know?»

«I wanted to know your opinion about it.»

«I think that they caused the infection!»

«What do you mean?»

«Undoubtedly, the bacteria already existed, but they brought them here!»

«Who are you talking about?»

«Politicians!»

«And what do politicians have to do with Xylella?»

«Before the infection, nobody could touch our olive trees.»

«And now?»

«Now they are cutting them down and will build houses and shopping centres on that beautiful land.»

«It's horrible!»

«Yes, it's horrible. In Apulia tourism has grown by 200% and there isn’t enough accommodation. In the past, you went to the beach and could enjoy the sun and the sea, now the beaches are too crowded!»

Carla smokes another cigarette.

«A few days ago they cut down a dozen trees in Oria.»

«What? »

«I was talking about olive trees.»

«Oh, yes. Go on, please!»

«The workers were about to cry. The policemen surrounded us and beat us like criminals with their batons; four people had head injuries, five people were arrested, a woman fainted.»

«But why?»

«To make us understand that we are the flock and they are the shepherds; they gave the order and in a few minutes seven ancient trees were cut down! They fell with a thud, bang! That thud broke our hearts, believe me. Then the 'experts' paid for by the government arrived, but those trees weren’t affected by Xylella!»

«So what was the problem?»

«They were infected by a fungus and could be saved with a pruning, but those criminals cut them down!»

«I can’t believe it! But haven’t you applied to lawyers to defend you?»

«They’re fine ones! Excuse me, but they are all the same to me. Here we are, that’s your destination. If you need me, call me, this is my number.»

«That’s kind of you!»

«Have a good day and enjoy this wonderful city!»

«Can you give me a piece of advice?»

«Collect information about the gas pipeline coming from Azerbaijan and put two and two together. Have a nice holiday!»

«Thank you!»

II

Carla left her suitcase in the hotel and rushed to the 16th-century church of Santa Croce featuring two statues of Saint Benedict and Saint Celestine. She wanted to visit also its interior; over the years, she became interested in the Baroque and that city was like an endless museum. She sat down on the steps to enjoy the view of the beautiful rose window and the intriguing images of mermaids and griffins which supported the stone balcony. It was hot, as usually happens in August in Lecce and she longed for a glass of wine.

She suddenly recalled Croatia: she had been there some years before and had promised to return. She took a seat at a table of the Moor Inn in the amazing Cathedral Square. Many people were walking along the streets; Carla did not believe that Lecce could be so beautiful.

Her phone rang.

«Yes, I’m fine, mum. I'll stay here until I finish my research. It will take one month, maybe two, I don’t know. I'll call you tomorrow, goodnight mum.»

III

The next day she was awakened by some drums in the square. The celebrations for Saint Oronzo were approaching and the city was full of people; she went downstairs to have a coffee and everybody was talking about the city's patron. He was beheaded on 26 August, sixty-eight years after Christ’s birth, and was also worshipped in Ostuni, the white city.

Carla wanted to see the Roman column on top of which the statue of the saint was placed, ancient remains of the Appian Way of Brindisi; while she was admiring it, someone started shouting slogans against the government.

Taking advantage of the patronal celebrations, some protesters had organised a demonstration against the felling of olive trees ordered by the Region. The slogans became stronger and stronger and she saw some policeman try to divide the protesters from the pilgrims who had come to the city to pay homage to the saint. The streets were blocked, but the protesters tried to reach the column to attach a banner saying "Don’t touch Salento, you are the Xylella!".

Carla paid attention to a girl who was reading a leaflet: «The committee for the enhancement of Salento expresses its solidarity with all the farmers whose tens of thousands of olive trees will be cut down. We strongly oppose this approach aimed at defending the caste interests instead of the needs of the people of Salento, therefore we ... »

Suddenly there was an assault; a policeman grabbed the leaflet from the girl's hands, threw her on the ground and hit her in a fit of hate and rage. He kicked her in her shins and hips, the blood was dripping from her nose; then he grabbed her by her hair and dragged her toward the armoured vehicle.

The girl looked senseless, and suddenly Carla rushed towards the policemen.

«What the hell are you doing, you idiots!?»

The policemen stood speechless, who was that woman who dared face them?

The girl, covered with swollen bruises, was lying on the ground with her eyes full of blood, and Carla shouted: «You are beasts!»

Even some years later, recalling that episode, Carla - a master's degree in biochemistry and a doctorate in bacteriological research – could not explain what urged her to act that way.

She passed through the police line, laid down next to the girl, wiped her face and kept on screaming.

Suddenly the policemen retreated. The journalists were approaching the two women and the images of the assault in Piazza Sant'Oronzo would soon spread worldwide: the police had better leave.

Some protesters gathered around Carla. «They would have killed her without you!»

The ambulance arrived; the girl was bleeding and the rescuers feared that an internal haemorrhage was going on. That beast had flung himself at her helpless body with all his strength.

Carla hugged the girl as if she knew her. «If you need help, call me, please,» and she put her business card into the girl’s pocket. Then she returned to the hotel dead tired.

«Are you OK?» the porter asked her.

«Yes, thank you!»

«But you are splattered with blood, what happened to you?»

«A girl has been beaten in the street.»

«Do you want me to call the police?»

«No, a policeman beat the girl  ... »

The porter gave her the keys to her room. «Call me if you need help.»

«Thank you!» and she ran to her room to change her clothes.

«No pasarán,» she thought and recalled Mika, the militant who had fought in the Spanish war. She wanted to wash the blood away; whenever she saw an assault, she was about to throw up, as happened in Genoa in 2001: there she threw up blood. She had gone there for a congress, but then she stayed there for another reason, and what she saw made her regret being born.

She decided to stay in the hotel; she had brought along a collection of interviews with the militants of the Spanish civil war and wanted to read it. She had just found out that George Orwell, who had gone to Spain to fight against fascism, was on the Stalinists’ 'black list'. Of course, 1984 was a masterpiece, but Homage to Catalonia was worth being mentioned as well.

A few days before going to Lecce, she was in Milan, the city where she lived, and while she was walking down Viale Monza, she had learnt about the presentation of the Voices from the POUM book in the occupied house in Via dei Transiti. She had always wanted to enter that building; she had passed before it many times while travelling by tram and wished to understand how people lived within those walls.

«How does it feel to occupy a house?» she wondered. «Do you have breakfast at a café in the morning or prepare the leaflets to be distributed at the market?»

She could not miss that opportunity: she did not want to go home and there was an aperitif in Via dei Transiti after the presentation of the book. She entered the crowded building. There was a girl, Carmen, who was talking about the exiles after the war: as soon as she met them, she realised that the only right thing to do was to tell their stories and interview them.

Carla paid great attention to the debate and had her book autographed, the one that she was holding in her hands in that hotel room. She opened the chapter dedicated to Andreu Nin¹, the leader of the party.

IV

Looking for Nin

Detective Nocito, after having finished his beer, left the smoky café and quickly turned into the deserted alley towards his home.

«What if Nin were still alive?» he thought. Blood froze in his veins.

He had to go to the central precinct, the road was long and it was very hot; he had moved from Valencia to Madrid to investigate the alleged murder of Nin, but the corpse of that man had not been found and the witnesses disappeared as soon as he asked them something about that event. Nin could be still alive, so what did people fear?

Red flags were waving along the streets, a few miles away the fascists tried to conquer Madrid, there were banners everywhere saying "No pasarán". The image of La Pasionaria with her fist up in the air urged to resist the bombs and misery.

It was strange that, during a war, with all the resulting problems, the fate of one man was so important; the detective wanted to go home and hug his wife, but an inscription drew his attention: "¿Gobierno Negrín dónde está Nin?".

«Good God,» he murmured to himself, «Where is Nin?»

He could not have been shot; there were disagreements with the Trotskyists², but they did not kill each other with the Fascists hot on their trails. Since that damned war had begun, he had torn off the poster of Ibarruri³ from the wall of his house, as he could not believe that that woman was responsible for such wickedness. She was beautiful and charming; he would have wanted her to be appointed Minister for Education or Minister for Justice; did she really know something about Nin but did not cooperate?

Detective Nocito found the house keys in the right pocket of his jacket and noticed that they were covered with dust and debris. Plaster was falling from the balconies, the Fascists’ bombs were causing cracks that nobody repaired.

And how could those hungry people repair the roofs? The detective could not understand how the revolutionaries, the Communists, wasted their time on false evidence,