Page 35 of Someone in the Water
Hey, mazzera, did you dream about Lola?
Un, deux, trois …
2004
Frankie
14th July
‘I thought today was about celebrating France’s freedom,’ Harriet muses. ‘It looks more like a Halloween parade.’
‘Bastille Day, Corsican style,’ Dom murmurs, nodding. ‘But I guess it wouldn’t be a party without a man dressed up as a profusely bleeding wolf.’
I feel my face break into a smile, and I take another sip of my drink – warm beer isn’t exactly my go-to choice but Raphael bought a can for each of us, and I’m not going to turn down free alcohol. It was Anna who mentioned that we should experience Porto Vecchio’s Bastille Day celebrations together – even though it was blatantly Raphael’s idea, him deciding we needed a bit of team bonding after the incident with Felix Drake’s finger, then getting his puppet to suggest it because he knew it was his decision not to fire Izzy that was causing the tension. Personally, quietly, I’m relieved that Izzy managed to keep her job, but I know I’m in the minority. And it is true that she really screwed up that day.
Anna doing Raphael’s bidding became even more obvious when, at the last minute, she decided not to come. Said someone needed to stay at the hotel, and she was happy to volunteer. The only other person missing from our outing is Izzy, but she’s planning to join us later. She’s meeting a friend from London who’s out here on holiday for a drink first.
For an island that supposedly wants independence from France, they put on a good show for the birth of the republic. The parade has been moving along the blocked-off coastal road for at least half an hour. It started with groups of military personnel, then musicians carrying a selection of instruments, and now there are various people in fancy dress – Marie Antionette arm in arm with Madame Tussaud was quite a sight, especially when Raphael explained that Madame Tussaud made death masks from the corpses of the French nobility to save her own skin. Who knew she’d then make a career out of it.
And now the parade has introduced some macabre history that’s more home-grown.
‘I think the bleeding wolf is representing the mazzeri,’ I explain. ‘It’s a Corsican legend. My dad told me about it when I was little, and I remember it freaking the hell out of me for a while.’
When I first arrived in Corsica, I didn’t want to talk about my dad in case my grief spilled out. But confiding in Izzy eased the secret enough for me to gradually start bringing him up in conversation with the others too. And now both my dad’s childhood friendship with Salvo and my Corsican heritage are common knowledge.
‘Mazzeri?’ Archie repeats. ‘What’s that then? A bunch of dying animals?’
Salvo is standing next to Raphael on the far side of the group, but I think I see him stiffen. Or maybe I’m imagining how my dad would react if someone spoke disparagingly about a legend that he was brought up to revere. It’s nonsense of course, but still, I should tread carefully.
‘The mazzeri are dream hunters,’ I explain. ‘The legend goes that certain people in Corsica have these special powers – they’re called mazzere if they’re men, and mazzera if they’re female.’
‘And these mazzeri people hunt dreams?’ Harriet asks. ‘Because I’ve got a few I’d like to grab hold of.’
‘Not quite.’ I take a breath. ‘The story is that the mazzeri hunt in their dreams, kill an animal, then just before they wake up, the face of the dead animal changes to that of a human being, generally someone they know. And the dream means that the person they saw is fated to die in real life.’
‘Jeez, that is dark,’ Archie murmurs.
‘They sound more like dream murderers to me,’ Jack says.
‘They’re not murderers,’ Salvo grunts. ‘They’re prophets. And they deserve our respect.’
I look down at my feet. I expected Salvo to take the legend seriously, just like my dad did, so why am I struggling to keep the giggles inside? Perhaps it’s because I can sense the same private tussle amongst my friends. It reminds me of Dr Smith’s biology lesson when he was trying to work out who’d drawn a bra and tutu on his anatomy poster.
‘So these mazzeri,’ Dom finally says, and I hope Salvo can’t see the smirk in his expression. ‘Do they tell whoever they dreamed about that their days are numbered? I mean, I’d want to know if I was about to cark it, so I could go down in a blaze of glory. Wouldn’t it be awful if you spent the entire rest of your life finishing a uni assignment or something?’
Archie is the first to giggle, and then I can’t keep it in anymore either, followed by Harriet. Dom looks pleased with his altogether different kind of power.
But Salvo seems immune to our laughter. ‘Well, that is a personal choice,’ he answers. ‘Maybe it’s kinder to keep the victims in the dark. Knowing you’re going to die might be more traumatic than dying itself.’
The mood instantly drops. I think about Salvo’s choice of language – keeping the victims in the dark. When I first met him, at my dad’s funeral, I thought he was a wise, insightful old man. But since I’ve been out here, that wisdom seems more like bitterness, and his insight closer to manipulation. Izzy is convinced he’s bad news, and from him badgering me at the midsummer party, it sounds like she did witness something he didn’t want her to see. But what? Every time I ask Izzy, she just shrugs and clams up.
‘Obviously it is just a folk story,’ Raphael says, breaking the silence. ‘Which is something my father doesn’t always remember, hey, Babba?’
Salvo shrugs, but then jerks slightly as his phone rings. He pulls it out, stares at the handset for a moment as though it’s an alien being, then answers the call. He doesn’t say much –d’accord, merci– but the news can’t be welcome, because his face turns to stone. He ends the call and pockets his phone.
‘Raphael, nous allons,’ he barks. Then he weaves through the crowd at speed, with Raphael hurrying after him, a confused expression on his face.
‘What the hell was that about?’ Dom asks.
