Page 7 of In the Garden of Monsters

“The symbol of the Orsini,” Paolo pointed out, holding up the bear.

I chose a cookie shaped like Cerberus, dipped it into the silkiest, most decadent chocolate mousse I’d ever tasted, and bit off one of its three heads.

Dalí wagged a finger at me. “Why do you eat your protector with such gusto?”

“My protector?”

“That beast guards the Underworld, and thus you, little Proserpina. You need to let his strength fill you up with each bite, not let your teeth deflate his spirit.”

I gave him a weak smile. He was really taking the idea that I was Proserpina too far. “I see.” I examined the rest of my cookie and carefully broke off another head, wondering if the rest of the week would merely be an exercise in bending to Dalí’s will.

When the plates were cleared, Ignazio brought out more prosecco and a bottle of whiskey. As he poured, Dalí suggested that Gala read her tarot cards for us.

“My Gala, Galachuka, Gravida, my Lionette! She who is never wrong,” Dalí said, his voice full of awe. “My wife is prophetic, angelic, demonic, the very picture of desire.” He leaned over and kissed Gala’s cheek.

“It’s true that Gala’s never wrong,” Jack said to me. “And she’s clairvoyant.”

Of course she is, I thought wryly.

Jack noticed my skepticism. “She really is. She can sense things that we can’t. It’s uncanny.”

Gala beamed at Jack as she began to shuffle the cards.

“Let’s start with you, Salvador,” Gala said, and Dalí pulled a card and laid it on the table. It showed a man with his hand in the air, holding a wand, with a cup, sword, and pentacle on a table before him, and an infinity loop over his head like a halo.

“The Magician. You always draw that card.” She laughed.

“That is because I amel mago! It’s the card of infinite possibilities of creation through the force of one’s will.” Dalí smiled at me and took a sip of his whiskey. “Sì, this is a good omen for my painting.”

“The Magician is a conduit between the spiritual and material realms,” Gala told the rest of us. “This connection gives Salvador the energy he needs to transform his visions into reality. He’s right about it being a good omen.” She ran a hand along her husband’s cheek. “You’ll have the power to manifest what you desire while you are here.”

Gala reshuffled the cards. “Now, one for our week here at Bomarzo.” This time she had Jack pull a card. It was an ominous one, featuring a satyr with bird feet and goat horns, a man and a woman chained to the pedestal upon which he perched—the Devil.

Gala furrowed her brow. She was silent for so long that Dalí reached out a hand and put it on hers. “My Gravida, are you all right? Is it bad?”

“I don’t know.” She picked up the card and looked at it. “This card means entrapment, emptiness, lack of fulfillment. Obsessive or secretive behavior. Fear, domination. I fear there is a force at work here that will not be in our control.”

“That sounds so dire,” Ignazio commented. He had returned to refill our glasses. “There must be more to such a reading, no, Signora Dalí? What if it was a tale of two lovers?”

“Yes, the card could be interpreted as lust, temptation, or hedonism.”

“The pursuit of life’s earthly pleasures,” Ignazio said, handing me a new goblet of prosecco. I was careful not to touch his fingers as I took the glass. He turned back to Gala. “Will you read a card for me?”

Gala brightened at the suggestion. She shuffled the cards and Ignazio plucked one depicting Adam and Eve with an angel looking down over them.

“Interesting. It appears I’ve drawn a card that reflects my theory—The Lovers,” he said.

“But it is reversed,” Gala said, noting that the card was upside down.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

“Imbalance. Something is opposing the lovers, keeping them from being together.”

Dalí tapped a finger on the card, indicating the fruit tree behind Eve, around which a snake was entwined. “Some scholars believe Eve didn’t eat an apple, and it was actually a pomegranate.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” Ignazio chimed in. “I believe it to be true.”

Dalí clapped his hands together. “If only you had pulled that card, Julia. Proserpina you would truly be!”

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