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Brood of a New Age

12.

It was Graziella's fourth day in America and with the Dracons. And it did not get better. Yesterday morning a man had rung at the door, who turned out to be her tutor. The little man in his sixties with horn-rimmed glasses was supposed to teach her every other day from now on. In every subject! At home. He was, as he stutteringly told an at first very wary Maria, a professor of Indo-European languages, also had a teaching license in history and mathematics and enough knowledge of physics, chemistry and natural sciences to be qualified for the position. He was here on Dino Dracon's order, and Graziella found the word order strange in this context.

At first Graziella assumed that the adult's nervousness was due to Maria, who was standing in front of him with her cooking spoon (she had been simmering a tomato sauce since she arrived in the morning) and her arms crossed, as if he were a threat to her protectorate and especially to Graziella. But after Maria had seated the man and Graziella at the table in the dining room (close enough to the kitchen that she would be able to hear every word) and changed rooms again, the man was still meek and seemed somehow afraid. As if he was only with her and teaching her because someone was forcing him to. As if he feared that someone might come in at any time and beat him up. He flinched when Maria came in with a coffee for him, which he eyed briefly as if it might be poisoned - and he flinched when Maria said after two hours that Graziella needed a break and hopefully he would remember to give the child a few minutes of break at least every two hours. After seven hours and four subjects in which the man first explored what knowledge Graziella had already brought with her from Italy, he left and seemed just as exhausted as Graziella.

And today she was driven again to these horrible wives in this neighborhood called Hoboken. This time another man drove her. Another of her father's employees, whom she didn't know. He had bright slicked-back hair, a shifty face, and Maria didn't seem to like him either, because she came into the yard with him as he shooed Graziella into one of the cars.

"Just drive carefully, Joey," she said with a cold tone in her voice. She put a bottle of suntan lotion in the child's small backpack, which she took with her today (In it one of her books with which she hoped this time to distract herself from the chattering and nagging wives. Grigio stayed at home again - he liked noisy kids and annoying adults even less than Graziella). "Don't take the Lincoln Tunnel, they say there was an accident there and the traffic jam hasn't cleared yet. But don't drive past Washington Square Park either."

"Why not?" ,this Joey asked, throwing Maria a dirty grin about which her round face became very annoyed. Briefly, her eyes darted to Graziella.

"You know exactly why not."

"Oh come on, Maria!" he fluted. "This is New York - you can't keep something like that away from that little doll forever, can you? She'll love that. Kids love action like that. Mine do."

While Graziella buckled up and Maria checked the fit of the seatbelt, she wrinkled her nose and took a deep breath before her gaze became very sober and found Joey's again, who was slouched in the driver's seat "You're picking yours up there, aren't you?"

"Well, her mom and I think it's never too early for kids to get the right attitude from all sides." He slammed car door with a grin and asked Maria to slam Graziella's door too before rolling down all the windows because it was already very warm at half past ten in the morning. Maria was now standing in the shade on the steps leading into the house. With her arms folded in dissatisfaction, she seemed unhappy to have to let the child go. Graziella wondered if this was a good time to suggest that she could stay at home. But then she remembered that her great uncle had told her to visit the wives regularly. Before leaving the yard, Mister Joey lowered his head to seek Maria's gaze.

"You take care that the little princess lives in a clean castle and eats well - the rest of us will take care of her "education"." He laughed as he drove out of the courtyard and Graziella saw from the back window how annoyed Maria's look was before she went into the house shaking her head.

Traffic in Manhattan was intense, as usual.

People were rushed and self-contained. Graziella tried during the inevitably slow ride to absorb everything in order to hopefully gradually understand how this city and how her relatives ticked. She tried to see everything she encountered with an unbiased eye, but it was difficult. People rushed past each other or stood at bus stops without paying attention to each other. In Limatola everyone knew each other and a walk with her grandmother through the village could sometimes take hours because the adults talked about everything from the weather, the news, the latest gossip and even that Signor Aria's cat had broken its leg trying to climb through a tilted window. Many, especially the older ones, sat outside until the midday sun flooded the narrow streets, talking, playing cards or board games. In front of the café they drank their various coffee specialties and read newspapers sometimes until noon and then again in the afternoon or they simply observed the sluggish life around them or the tourists.

Tourist watching, as Graziella's grandmother used to call it, was a favorite pastime of many Italians and some made an art of it so that the foreigners would not even notice that they were being watched and evaluated. And children- children Graziella had always found to play with. Here Graziella saw none of them. Where were the children playing? Where were the old people? Where the strolling people, although here were many many many more tourists than in small sleepy Limatola? Or ... was Mister Joey just driving through the wrong streets?

He turned into another street after a traffic light and a few hundred meters later Graziella noticed that there were really more children around. There was complaining, crying, but above all she saw excitedly grinning children and smiling parents, who sometimes seemed mild and sometimes just as happy. And through the open windows Graziella heard little by little shouts and between them a mewling, somehow tinny voice. At first only fragments of words in a language that was still sometimes incomprehensible to her - but then whole sentences.

"Join us, dear friends. It's not too late now, either. Castaway has plans that will improve New York and the whole world."

"Oh Wow. It's been getting more and more since the court decision," Joey muttered, looking straight ahead focused. People were crossing the street in front of the car, meandering between the creeping cars. A young guy wearing sunglasses made a peace sign in front of Joey and Joey flipped him the bird. Something Graziella would have giggled at if her driver hadn't made her uncomfortable and the uneasy feeling in her stomach hadn't been so strong. More people were streaming past her, many mothers with children by the hand. Vacations here in America, she remembered, otherwise these kids would surely be in school by now. Or were they all taught at home like she was? She briefly hoped that Joey wouldn't drive her to Hoboken, but would take her to where all those kids were going. Maybe she would make friends there.

The car crept along, chugging past a sunlit park. Until it came to a crawl and finally stopped - in a traffic jam. Graziella looked out her window and turned her head. There were numerous trees, but also a large open space, at one edge of which was a magnificent structure that was not a house but looked like an archway. A grandstand was built there on the square and behind it was a large dark cloth stretched with a symbol that Graziella had never seen before. A man stood on the stand holding something to his mouth that looked like a speaking tube and again his voice blared across the square and to them. "Welcome to our gathering. Have fun but never forget what lurks in the night. We will make the night safe again." There were a lot of people in front of the bleachers but most of the children and their parents were sitting at the many wooden tables and benches. There was a bouncy castle there! And a huge fountain in which many children were jumping around in the sun.

"Where are we?" she asked.

And Joey answered without interest. "At Washington Square Park. Didn't think it would be this busy. But you can only appreciate it. The Family welcomes it even more." At the last sentence, he turned his head and seemed to scan over the people with his eyes, looking for someone. As he did so, he smirked with satisfaction as if there was more to his words.

"Is this a holiday procession?" wanted Graziella to know, sitting up straighter on the upholstery. What holiday was this? Was it a Catholic holiday and if so was she allowed to walk along?

"A holiday procession?" repeated Mister Joey before grinning. "'Tis much better. Do they have demonstrations in Italy?" Briefly, his eyes found Graziellas as he looked in the rearview mirror. She shook her head. She didn't know the word demonstrations yet but in Limatola there had been such crowds only during church processions. Like when the statue of St. Virgin Mary was carried through the whole village, everyone followed the praying and incense waving priests and afterwards there had been a wonderful festival on the village square with a children's program and a cooking competition with different categories and everyone had been allowed to taste all the food. But here she saw now also some police cars and why did one need the police at a procession? Graziella leaned out the window excitedly and shrank back screeching as a Babau appeared right in front!

"È l'uomo nero!" she screamed, backing away as far as her belt would allow, stretching painfully and bruising her torso. And only when the monster her grandmother had always warned her about when she wasn't obedient pulled the mask off her head, revealing a sweaty but grinning woman underneath, Graziella realized that it had never been a Babau - a black man. But even without the hood, this woman was scary, her teeth bared, her eyes wild and glassy.

"Well don't be afraid, little one! We're here to protect you!"

Joey laughed spitefully at her reaction.

Unasked, the woman slid her arm into the car. Graziella shifted her weight a bit (because she was squatting on the buckle of her belt and it really hurt) but barely relaxed when the woman let a piece of paper sail onto her lap. On this sheet was written in big letters: Quarrymen! And under it a little smaller: Monday evening: March through Lower Manhattan. Wednesday morning to afternoon: Rally and gathering of concerned citizens including a children's program. Friday evening: parade through Upper Manhattan. The center of the sheet showed a creepy picture. Below it the sentences: Participate. Be part of the solution. For more information, call the Youarenotalone-hotline and visit: Querrymen-your protectors from evil . us.

The woman now leaned through the open passenger window where Joey raised his hand with a smile. "Sweetie, you're preaching to the choir. You'd better take your message to the hitherto unbelieving idiots."

"I will!" she said cheerfully. "Please continue to support us." Then her eyes flew back to Graziella. She hadn't quite digested the fright, didn't know what was going on, and pale clutched her backpack, wishing it were Grigio.

"You too can be a little heroine!" the woman said. "If you and your daddy don't have time today then come next week."

"My child? That's what my old lady would like," Joey barked with a laugh, and the woman continued to speak unbrokenly cheerfully as if she were talking about her favorite thing in the world. "We have a great kids' program! Here you learn for life and survival. You don't want the monsters to get you out of your bed and eat you, do you?"

Graziella's jaw dropped and her gaze lowered to the picture in the center of the piece of paper on her lap. The image of a devil with soulless eyes without pupils, pointed ears and horns above his eyes. He had opened his mouth to a soundless roar and showed sharp fangs. The picture was cut off but she saw that he had big paws with sharp claws and wings like a bat. She felt sick at the sight. The woman had taken advantage of the car's standstill and Joey's acknowledging manner and was now leaning further into Graziella's window.

"This gargoyle menace will soon be over. A court ruling by stupid judges and a weak mayor won't change anything. Next year is election time and if he doesn't do a hundred and eighty degree turn around by then we will be greeting him with our hammers at his election rallies. Castaway will clean up this city with our help. Do not be afraid. We will protect you from these monsters." Her voice was soft and friendly but her gaze still frightened Graziella. Just as much as that of the monster on the paper. "I have another special gift for you, my cutie." She reached into a dark pouch Graziella hadn't noticed because of her dark clothes. She pulled out a bundle of ribbons. Most were blue but one was pink.

"This is my last one and I was saving it for a special girl. And that's you. Here you go." She had loosened the knot enough to pull out the pink colored leather ribbon and on the end of it hung a pendant. Hammer and a larger arc around the head of the hammer. Together it looked a bit like a Q. Graziella- as she had been taught to do when an adult wanted to give her something, reached out her trembling hand into which the woman dropped the necklace. Slowly the car started moving again. And the woman backed away from the window.

"Yeah, you gotta get 'em while they're young," muttered Joey as he peered briefly into the side mirror. The woman had put her hood back on and was also handing out flyers to the drivers of the next cars, who had their windows down because of the heat, talking to the people who seemed willing to be converted. Graziella turned her gaze back to the grounds of the park and saw there - which she hadn't noticed before - a dozen other people in dark clothing standing there - all with that hammer symbol on their robes. Some with hoods and some without. They were everywhere.

"Finally" grumbled Joey, who now stopped, though the car in front of him kept crawling. Now Graziella knew why. Bawling and shouting could be heard. Then the back door on Graziella's other side was pulled open and three people climbed inside. Graziella suddenly found herself on the back seat with Francesca's three sons. There was pushing and shoving. Francesca, summer dress and thickly made up as always, slid into the passenger seat, nagging her sons to buckle up, kissing Mister Joey as a horn was already blaring behind her car. Joey pointed a bird backwards, his sons too, Alessio even said a bad word to the driver behind them, which spurred his brothers to more laughter and shouting. Then Joey drove off with a jerk. Francesca turned back in her seat and smiled at Graziella.

"Hello sweetheart."

She fought off a half-hearted smile while being pushed even further to the edge by Alessio's twin brother, Michael. For four kids - three of whom being boys and quite rambunctious - the back seat was a bit cramped and Graziella felt sickened as hell at the pushing and shoving and stop and go of the car. Graziella got elbowed in the ribs and a most definitely not serious apology while all three boys were talking at Mister Joey and telling about their morning.

"Look at my drawing, Dad!" shouted Micheal and Joey said he'd have to stop for that and wouldn't do that here for the devil's sake.

"I braided a bracelet for my hammer," said Fabio, the oldest, and Joey grunted something about boys doing braids while the others kept talking.

"We all got armbands look!"

"I'm still driving," grumbled Joey, pushing aside the dark upper-arm armband with the hammer symbol Fabio shoved forward at him.

"I got to hold a Quarrymen's hammer" Alessio shouted proudly and Joey whistled approvingly.

"Did you get to smash rocks, too?" he asked cheerfully.

"No, but maybe I'll get to. I'll get to soon, won't I?"

Francesca sighed but also sounded very lighthearted. "I said I need to discuss this quietly with your dad." Then she turned to her husband, who didn't take his eyes off the road. "The Quarrymen are planning a youth organization. But how are we going to keep carting the boys there?"

"We're old enough mom! We can take the bus!" Alessio, even with the seatbelt, jumped up and down on the cushion so that his brothers laughed and Graziella pressed her hand to her belly. She tried to stick her head out of the window to get some cooler air. But in one of her new dresses and pressed so tightly against Michael, she felt infinitely hot. Why was it so stuffy even though all the windows were down? Next to her, Fabio's words, shrill with excitement, rang in her ears. "There's even going to be summer camps and youth camps and camping trips and whatnot," he said.

"How much is that going to cost?" Joey asked critically, and all his children loudly and enthusiastically assured him that it would cost nothing, that everything would be covered by the Quarrymen's sponsors, and that every child over the age of eight would be welcome. Francesca confirmed. Mister Joey said nothing, but Graziella, from her seat, noticed the adult's slight smirk at the prospect of sending his sons off to others and that it would cost nothing.

"Oh you got one too?" She heard Michael's voice beside her. She tensed as he reached into her lap without warning and lifted the pink leather cord that had been lying in the folds of her dress and which she had forgotten about.

"What?" shrieked Fabio. "Even though she wasn't even there? Just because she was sitting in the car?"

"How unfair. Special treatment for the girls again!" hissed Alessio, giving her a grim look.

Graziella looked to the adult with glassy eyes as Francesca spoke softly.

"It's okay if Graziella has one too. In a few weeks when she's settled in and wants to, she can tag along on Wednesdays and wear her necklace.

"We all have one, see," Michael said, pulling a leather band in blue with an identical silver hammer symbol out of his collar. Fabio at the other end of the back seat raised his hand and around his wrist flashed the pendant on a band of red and black ribbons. Alessio eyed her coldly but he too wore his necklace with pride.

"Shall I help put on your new necklace?" asked Francesca and Graziella slowly shook her head and let the necklace disappear in her bag. She didn't feel well and hoped they would be in Hoboken soon. Maybe she would be allowed to lie down for a while there at the house.

"Next week the junior supervisors say they're giving away practice hammers," Michael said as if he hadn't remembered until the necklaces were mentioned. Mister Joey didn't seem to know what to make of it.

"Practice hammers? Uhhh."

"Just plastic," Francecsa soothed, and Joey laughed while his sons began to wrestle with each other in the back seat.

"I'm going to kill all the gargoyles. And then I'll hang their heads on the wall!" boasted Alessio, disguising his voice ridiculously low.

"The counselor said Castaway had said whoever kills a gargoyle gets to keep its head and gets a medal," Fabio said excitedly.

"I'll show all my buddies the head. And I'll wear the medal to school every day," Michael chimed in, and Joey and his wife laughed at how cute and droll their murderous children were.

"I'm sure the boss will like that, too," Joey said, and Francesca pinched his shoulder.

"Don't say that! All I need is the boys sneaking out at night to go gargoyle hunting!" She turned around admonishingly and gave each of her sons individually an intense stern mother look. "No one goes gargoyle hunting here until they're eighteen, I warn you. Even Mister Castaway won't be safe if he sends you somewhere dangerous beforehand. And before that, practice with the hammers. The electricity thing is very dangerous."

All the boys bleated and grumbled and Mister Joey offensively turned on the radio and turned it up louder.

After a few hundred yards, Michael again pushed the sheet of paper forward to his father that he had been holding the whole time.

"Look at the picture I made now, Dad!"

"Later," hissed Mister Joey, "You don't distract a driving man!"

Michael crossed his arms, pouting.

"Well, Graziella," Alessio said. He had leaned forward and his grin looked terribly devious. He had never talked to her before, maybe because like the other kids he didn't dare when there were so many adults around. But now- and because through the radio his parents could not listen in too well, he did.

"Heard from Italy about gargoyles yet?"

Graziella shook her head. Her "no" sounded croaky.

Alessio smiled even wider. "Gargoyles only exist in New York. It's silly that you arrive here now, of all times. Castaway-that's the leader of the Quarrymen-says these monsters show up where they think humans are least likely to fight them. They are demons from hell. They disguise themselves as stone statues during the day and as soon as the sun goes down they lurk in the dark, preying on innocent people. They snatch little girls like you from their beds and fly with you high up in the air. So high up that you can't breathe and pass out. Then they eat you. Sometimes they wait until you wake up just so you can watch them eating you. And then they put your bones back in your bed where your parents will find you in the morning."

"Your skeleton!" giggled Fabio and all the boys laughed.

"Thats not true ," Graziella finally managed to say.

""Right," said the older boy." It's not true that they bring back your bones. They eat them, too."

"Alessio! What are you saying to Graziella there?" Francesca turned, gave her son in the middle of the back seat an annoyed look, then turned to look at the girl. "Sweetie, you don't have to be afraid. That's exactly why the Quarrymen exist. With their hammers they can smash stone statues they think are gargoyles during the day. And at night they can charge the hammers electrically and destroy gargoyles with them. None of these monsters will get you - the Quarrymen scare them off. Alessio, another story like that toward one of the younger kids and you can put any youth activity out of your mind."

"Okay Mom," Alessio agreed and Michael looked at Graziella. "You don't have to wet your dress. If the Quarrymen don't protect us there's always The Family. We are much safer than other children. " At this statement Francesca smiled and turned back to the front.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Alessio, almost standing up in his seat that his older brother protested behind him because he had his butt in his face. "When I get my hammer it's your turn, you crappy gargoyles! You're the gargoyle now, Michael!" With that, Alessio raised his hand as if he were lifting a hammer and brought his fist down on his twin, who, to escape the not-so-solid blows, squeezed the last of the air out of Graziella's chest. She tried to push the bigger boy away but no one noticed her agony in the adult's back.

"What! No!" outraged Michael, shrieking. "Always I have to be the gargoyle and get slain. I want to be Castaway or a Quarryman for once."

"You guys are so ugly, you can both be the gargoyles and I'll be Castaway," Fabio shouted and that made his older brothers jump on him - while they were still strapped in. The sheet of paper Michael had been holding all this time now fluttered onto Graziella's lap.

She looked down at the picture with the crude children's drawing. Angular or round figures of people with beady eyes all grinning broadly and throwing their arms in the air as if they were cheering. Then two larger figures with dark lines and hoods instead of faces holding hammers from which ketchup dripped. And only when Graziella saw the figure in the middle did she know it wasn't ketchup. A red and purple pile of lines had been placed at the feet of the two Quarrymen. Crooked wings peeked out of the figure , the limbs- as poorly drawn as they were- angular and twisted, a pool of red around the dead-beaten gargoyle. Graziella swallowed but her mouth was parched. As she tried to scrape some saliva together, she suddenly realized how nauseous she felt. Again she got an elbow from the wrestling boys. Then a kicking foot. Francesca yelled to the back that Mister Joey was about to stop and throw them out, not even hearing Graziella's quiet voice at first.

Already on the first day all the wives had told Graziella she should call them her aunts. And so Graziella did.

"Aunt Francesca," she croaked, taking a deep breath. It was hot and stuffy. Why did she feel so nauseous? She was sweating but her sweat was cold. She stared at the drawing on her lap. Red and purple felt-tip pen lines and puddles, crippled limbs. Grinning humans and bloody hammers. The gargoyle with X's instead of eyes.

"Aunt Francesca," she repeated louder, briefly drowning out radio and boys.

"What, Graziella? I'm sorry our boys-" Francesca's eyes grew wide as she finally turned her head far enough to look at Graziella.

"I have to get out!" the child whined, her voice muffled again because she had her hand over her mouth.

"How out? We're about to enter the Holland Tunnel," Joey said, turning down the radio.

"I have to- mhmmm." Graziella pressed her hand over her mouth with all her might.

"Pull over Joey!" shrieked Francesca, by which time Graziella was yanking open her door, leaning painfully wide out of the car and vomiting.

.

.

In the evening Graziella lay in her bed. On her bedside table were tea and rusks. Today, for once, she hadn't had to go to the wives. And not that much vomit had ended up in the car. Even her dress hadn't been affected. Still, Joey, his wife and their three screamers had been disgusted and Joey had immediately turned around because he didn't want to leave a possibly sick child alone with his own for the day.

Graziella was not sick. She had only felt nauseous in the car and she didn't know exactly why. She was fine now, but if she played sick long enough, she might avoid the tutor tomorrow and another meeting with the wives and their horrible children the day after. Just then there was a knock on the door and Graziella turned off the small TV that Maria had brought from the kitchen and set up so that she wouldn't be bored. She had been able to watch whatever she wanted all afternoon and evening, which was great, even though she knew she wouldn't be allowed to keep a TV in her room.

"Yes?" she called softly and her door opened.

Maria came in smiling and she also smiled as the plump woman came closer. Graziella looked at the clock. It was just before nine in the evening. The sun was just about to set and Maria was about to leave as well.

She lifted the teapot that still had a little left in it, nodded with satisfaction that there was only a little rusk left, sat down on the edge of Graziella's bed and put a hand on her forehead.

"No fever," she said, and Graziella nodded. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," whispered the child- unable to lie in front of the nicest woman in New York.

Maria sighed as if that would take a huge load off her mind.

"I told him not to drive past Washington Square Park. Just because he's too lazy to pick up his spoiled gang a block away and drive to Hoboken. Did that scare you a lot?"

Graziella thought about it for a moment. What did Maria mean? Did she know about the Quarrywoman with her crazy eyes? About those people in their dark clothes and hoods? Or did she mean the subject of this gathering today? Michael's horrible picture? Gargoyles? Graziella thought briefly of the picture on the flyer and closed her eyes for a moment, suffering. Then she opened them again immediately because she didn't like that she couldn't see anything. The woman had frightened her briefly before she took off her hood - that was for sure. But the thing on the sheet of paper was just that. Just like Michael's drawing. A picture on a piece of paper. The woman today had been real. But she had said gargoyles were real, too. Everybody said so. Had she really come to a town where demons flew over their heads every night? Had her grandmother known that? Or had she thought those were just stories from crazy city folk?

Graziella rubbed one eye and still didn't know what to say to Maria. She seemed to understand, stroking her head again with her softest smile.

"I'm not going to have the TV carried down by a family member until tomorrow. Then you can watch the children's program in the morning. But don't stay up all night watching scary movies. You've had enough excitement for one day," she reminded as she kissed Graziella on the cheek and stood up.

Graziella nodded with a smile. Nothing would make her watch a scary movie now, too.

"Thank you Maria. Good night."

"Good night, my darling. Don't think about today anymore. Tomorrow will be a better day."

Maria closed Graziella's bedroom door. She heard footsteps moving away. And then the front door slamming into the lock. She was alone again. Alone in her huge house. Alone in her huge bed.

Now that the last bit of the evening sun had set, it quickly became gloomier in her room. Graziella thought about reading one of her books - but she was afraid she wouldn't be able to concentrate on the sentences. Then it occurred to her to turn the TV back on, even though the children's shows were long over - but she was afraid she might accidentally turn on one of those scary movies or other adult films. Instead, she watched the darkness in her room creep along the walls. Taking dominion over the area behind her closet. Behind her dresser, behind her large standing mirror in the corner. Minutes passed while Graziella ran through her English vocabulary in her head. But again and again her thoughts wandered to the Quarrywoman. To the screaming brats of Francesca and Mister Joey. To Gargoyles.

Unable to distract herself but also not tired enough to doze off, Graziella pressed Grigio against her. In her mind he spoke to her that nothing bad had happened after all. The woman, Joey, his sons - all of them had only wanted to scare her. Nothing and no one was lurking in the growing shadows. Nothing and no one was waiting outside her window to snatch her out of bed and eat her. And why Graziella in particular? There must have been much fatter children in America than Graziella. Three of the wives' children alone were fatter than her. Sonny certainly wouldn't be taken, he'd beat up any monster.

She winced as lights flashed briefly across her ceiling. A sigh of relief escaped her - it was only the headlights of a car. She got up, scurried to one of her windows and opened it. Warm evening air wafted around her nose and the evening hum of the big city enveloped her. Yes - it was better that way. She was not alone. Millions of people lived here. A black car was parked in the dim light of the courtyard. Her dad didn't get out, but three other men did - again, her dad's co-workers. Graziella had already realized that the large courtyard was used to park vehicles from her father's business. In the morning and in the evening some of his employees met here, they talked, they smoked, sometimes they even came into the house and if Maria was already or still there she made them a coffee. They were there. Big strong men, who were not afraid of any Quarrymen or Gargoyle.

The girl left the window open and lay down in her bed. Grigio lay on her stomach and together they listened to the men talking in the courtyard. The voices clearly echoed up to her but it did not bother her. Not even that the men - because they thought no one was listening to them, let alone a child - used really bad words. Graziella listened and in the next few minutes learned quite a few words for which her grandmother would have literally washed her mouth out with a bar of soap. And the men talked strange - like the gangsters in the old movie Graziella had seen one afternoon when Signor Stronzo was babysitting her and they were just watching TV. It was almost funny. Graziella grinned and made notes in her mind.

The gutter language didn't bother her. She was just glad there were people outside her room. People who somehow - if not by blood - were part of " The Family." That felt nice. As if she had her own guards outside her little castle. But far too quickly, those guards departed. Then the courtyard was silent. And although the roar of distant cars still reached her ears, low humming from a radio, whispering of voices on the streets in front of the house, Graziella again had that dull feeling of fear. She flinched as something cracked. She had heard noises in the house before when she concentrated on them. Maria had said the house was old. Water pipes sometimes rumbled. Wood cracked, it "worked" with the temperature changes between day and night. But for the first time, Graziella experienced these sounds as threatening.

She took a deep breath. She was strong and brave, she told herself. Again and again.

Then she folded her hands.

Graziella was not a devout believer to the extent many old people in Italy were. She did not even have so much faith in God that she could really say with certainty that there was any God. She had been baptized. She had received Holy Communion. She had been given a host and a sip of grape juice every Sunday at Mass, like all children, when she went to church with her grandmother. But how could she have been a true believer? As an illegitimate child - as a figlio illegittimo. Her mother and her grandmother had never made a secret of it. Her mother didn't even go to church anymore and her grandmother perhaps only out of defiance to those who said that with this family she had no right to. Graziella knew that it was not good that her mom had given birth to her without her parents being married. And yes... she had asked her grandmother years ago what a bastardo was, because that was what one of the boys had called her (for once not Roberto). Her grandmother had then visited the boy's family and a day later the boy had barely been able to sit on his butt (even if Graziella didn't believe that her grandmother had spanked the boy herself). She knew that the church did not approve of bastards. Nevertheless, the priest at Limatola had always been nice to her, even if Graziella had sometimes wondered if he wasn't more afraid of her grandmother's ice-cold threatening look. A look she had given to everyone she even suspected of looking at Graziella with pity or disgust.

And maybe Graziella was praying more to this priest or rather to her strong grandmother far away in Italy. That's why she spoke Italian again.

"Il giorno si spegne lentamente:

Ti preghiamo, Signore,

resta con noi Signore, vieni nella nostra casa,

e proteggila dalle insidie del nemico:

La notte si avvicina

e siamo spaventati.

Ci sono quelli che non dormono,

veglia su di loro:

lascia con noi i tui angeli

perchč custodiscano la nostra pace

e la tua benedizione rimanga sempre con noi e con loro. Amen."

She felt better after the prayer. Still she dreamed of monsters that night. With claws and wings, hammers and black masks. And insane eyes.

Translation Graziellas prayer:

The day is slowly fading away:

We pray to you, Lord,

stay with us Lord, come into our home,

And protect it from the wiles of the enemy:

Night is approaching

And we are frightened.

There are those who do not sleep,

watch over them:

leave with us thy angels

That they may guard our peace

And thy blessing remain with us and them always. Amen.

This prayer is composed of two other prayers. I found the mixture so wonderfully fitting because it is somehow ambiguous. Thanks for reading, Q.T.