Death comes to us all. We just hope it comes quickly and painlessly, that our outage doesn’t come with too many unexpected consequences. You know, it’s the afterwards affairs, the bits left for others to decide when you haven’t written a will or told people how you would prefer to be disposed of that causes most complications.
Pietro had the foresight to leave a letter for Daniela. A matter of factsheet. Where he wished to be scattered, where the necessary deeds and documents were, where his secret places were, passwords etc. he was a practical man but certainly not sentimental. There was no regret or any utterances of love or affection, the final wishes of an old man condensed into a list of bullet points.
Burial wasn’t an option after the fiasco of Daniela’s mother’s funeral. No space. Stored in a makeshift tent and probably still there today waiting for the elusive hole in the wall to become free. Italians are famous for their queue jumping in life, i don’t see why death should be any different?
Pietro knew he was going to meet his maker. He had told everyone, the cleaner, the consierge, the barber, even complete strangers that he was ready to go. He knew he had health issues, a urinary infection, a dodgy heart valve and a swollen testicle but his distrust in doctors and hospitals surpassed his suspicions of banks. He ignored advice, picked and chose his dosages, stopped medication and generally never listened to any professional advice. So when an artery exploded, killing him instantly, even he can’t have been surprised in the slightest.
Now he has gone there is a very big hole in Palermo, along with the many other holes, in the roads, the balconies, the roofs everywhere. But this is a bigger one. He was a well known character in his area. I would say popular or well liked but unfortunately that wouldn’t be true of him. He said what came to his mind. There were no filters. This got him into many disputes and even physical fights. He would say the wrong thing often. But I liked him a lot. Probably because I didn’t understand a word he was saying. But I genuinely found him to be a charming and likeable character. He will be missed. But maybe only by a few.
In life he trusted no one. Especially banks. How or why is a mystery but Piero had squirrelled away lots of cash in various hiding places. A hidden vestibule behind a panel. A secret drawer under the wardrobe. He was certainly clever and very careful about who knew his secrets. Basically only Daniela. Or so we thought! But more on that later.
Death in Sicily is a strange affair. It brings out the very worst in people everywhere in the world but Sicily has its own unbelievable heights of atrocity.
First there is the laying out. This is usually done for one or sometimes two days so people can come and cry, sit with or admonish the corpse. Unless you die on a friday morning of course, in which case you are laid out for a little while longer. Like until Monday! if it’s not too hot and the corpse isn’t getting too smelly?
Daily smell checks are undertaken by, funnily enough, the undertaker, to determine such things. But in our case we spent a whole weekend with a dead body in the living room as it was cool and the body was degrading slower than usual, lucky us. It is interesting to see how a body changes colour over that duration but not interesting enough to start a new research topic on the subject.
People came and went. Not many it has to be said. But you have to be there just in case. The obvious family and bridge friends, and a few unknowns.
The cleaner was with him when he died. She was beside herself and obviously still in shock. It was an odd few days with some odd people but the decomposing corpse in the living room was the oddest thing of all. I am sure i will look back on the episode fondly and with regret for the loss but mostly for the conspicuous subjection to a dead body for three and a half days.
Daniela and a friend and I spent some time on one of the evenings gathering all the various cash he had deposited around the flat. We had no idea who had keys to the place or knowledge of the hiding places so thought it best to redistribute in different yet cunningly contrived places. He had amassed a considerable amount of money and all in €50 notes! It was a lot of dosh! But some was put back in the original locations as there were actually too few decent places and we assumed no one knew of them. But we were wrong!
On the Sunday night Pietro’s girlfriend, invited herself around to visit, pay respects and also stay the night in his room. It would have been wrong of us to assume she was up to no good. She also wanted to be in town for the funeral the next day. So we obliged.
The next day and the funeral. Piero wasn’t a religious man but he expressed in his letter that he wished to have a church service. Hedging his bets for an eternal afterlife I guess. So we all congregated at the church and witnessed a very moving ceremony. There was even incense. If the Catholics do anything well it is surely sombre celebration.
Afterwards, and this is why Palermo is so strange when it comes to death, we had to drive two hours to a crematorium in a distant village. Why? You may well ask. Because the furnace in Palermo is broken! Along with many other things. But the funny thing is that this one has been broken for the last 30 years. Cremation is obviously not as in demand these days. Or furnace repairman is a skill lost long ago.
We sat and watched a video feed of the burning process on a huge TV screen and even got a DVD of the event thrown in. That will be thrilling to watch later I am sure. The whole thing took all of 20 minutes and then it was off back to Palermo. As we drove away I said thought there was something burning in the car but it was actually Pietro. So we slowed and watched him in the rear view mirror disappearing in a plume of smoke into the vast unknown.
And so we were finally free and alone again in the flat. The business and arrangements and people had warn us both out. I was having a shower when I heard Daniela scream “It’s gone!” Me “What’s gone?” Her “The money” Me “What? All of it?” Her “No, the money in the cupboard”
We had, probably unwisely, returned 4000 euro to the secret drawer in the cupboard and this was now missing.
It was quite obvious who the culprit was, there couldn’t have been anyone else. His girlfriend had taken the opportunity to recover the cash when she stayed on the Sunday. Waited for us to retire and seizing her moment. We knew it, our friends knew it, even you must have known it. But how were we to get the cash back without directly accusing her of the theft? After all, innocent until proven guilty. And we had no direct evidence, and a lot of people had been through the property during the wake.
It was during a phone call to Daniela’s best friend that her friends 80 year old mother in the background suggested sending a text to the girlfriend asking whether she knew anyone who might have had access to the room during the weekend but also to mention that Pietro had installed a secret camera recently for security and that we were waiting for the police to gain access to the footage as we didn’t have a password. A cunning plan formulated by a lovely woman of great standing in my opinion. And actually totally believable because one of Daniela’s cousins actually IS in the finance police.
The text was sent. A reply was received immediately denying any knowledge. Damn! That was it, we thought, our ruse had failed. But then the next day another reply (she must have been stewing all night) she was in the area in the afternoon and wished to call in to see how we were. Interesting. Perhaps it was someone else? We may have been casting unwarranted aspersions.
The afternoon came, another text was received. “Can we meet downstairs?” At which point I began to imagine a bunch of heavy’s from the Sicilian mafia waiting outside to clobber us and get away with the cash. People here have died for far less. I still knew it was her though. I think we all did. So we went down to meet her. And there she was, shrivelled and tearful, standing by the entrance to the supermercado we now call it the corner of shame. She spoke for a while of her guilt and regret, her health condition and fear that the money would never be discovered and how she wouldn’t want anybody else to get the blame. Well, there WAS nobody else to blame was there?
At this point she slid her hand into her bag and pulled out an envelope. Guilty as charged. She had done exactly as we thought but worse still she had had the loot in her bag whilst reciting hail Mary’s in the church and mourning with the rest of us. She had broken every conceivable catholic doctrine and she had been rumbled. What a sweet scent victory is.
Out of every sadness comes light, though, and this was our moment to savour our victory. The poor woman is probably still curtain twittering expecting the finance police to come and cart her away ignominiously. I feel sorry for her really but not enough to put her out of her misery, just yet.
So it is a sad sad goodbye to a gentle fellow and a great man in my opinion. I wish I had known him longer, had more time to learn his language and speak more with him. But then maybe I wouldn’t like him as much.
Bon voyage Pietro Petralia
A lovely tale about one of life’s rich characters, best wishes to both of you.
Chris.